Preface

Echoes of the Void
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/60649624.

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends Relationships: OC/Jinx, Caitlyn/Vi, Jinx (League of Legends)/Original Character(s), Jinx & Vi (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends) & Original Character(s), Caitlyn (League of Legends) & Original Character(s) Characters: OC - Character, Jinx (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends), others will appear as well, No spoilers - Character, Original Characters, Ekko (League of Legends), Viktor (League of Legends) Additional Tags: Soulmates, Falling In Love, Tragedy, Dark, Funny, Romance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-11-18 Updated: 2025-02-14 Words: 168,091 Chapters: 23/? Echoes of the Void

by Justiniann

Summary

Echoes of the Void is a story about Jax, an orphan from Zaun who spends his days scraping by, until a chance-meeting with Powder sparks an unexpected friendship. But his life flips upside down when he discovers a terrifying power within himself. Fearing the chaos he could unleash, he abandons Zaun to seek answers, leaving the only home he'd ever known.

Years later, he returns to find Zaun teetering on the edge of collapse—and Powder, the girl he once cared for, unrecognizable, transformed into someone entirely different.

/ Not related to champion Jax, only using the name for the main character. Follows the story of the Arcane and expands heavily on the existing universe. Lore-Friendly.

From the Streets of Zaun

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

ARC I - WHISPERS IN THE STEAM

Zaun was a city alive with chaos. Its towering structures of rusted metal and crumbling concrete jutted out at odd angles, a labyrinth of pipes and platforms illuminated by flickering neon lights. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of oil, metal, and ozone, a constant reminder of the industrial sprawl that defined the Undercity. Steam hissed from cracked vents, and the hum of machinery pulsed like a heartbeat, giving Zaun its distinct rhythm of life.

Jax darted through the narrow alleys, his satchel clinking with scavenged parts as he hummed a tune to himself. The boy, tall and wiry for his age, had messy blonde hair and a perpetual grin that made it hard to take him seriously, even when he was trying to be. Not that he tried to be serious often. Life was too short in Zaun, and if Jax had learned anything, it was that laughter made the grime and the noise a little more bearable.

Today had been a lucky day—or so he thought. He'd found a half-working power core and some gears that looked almost new, a rare treasure down there. His mind buzzed with ideas for his next "brilliant" invention (a spring-loaded shoe that, in theory, would let him jump twice as high). But his thoughts screeched to a halt when he rounded a corner and nearly tripped over someone sitting on the ground.

It was a girl, small and hunched over, her bright blue hair tied into two short, uneven pigtails. She froze, looking up at him with her blue eyes—wide with panic.

"Uh, hi?" Jax said, tilting his head. "You always sit in alleys like this?"

The girl flinched, clutching a rusty piece of metal to her chest like it was something precious. "I—I wasn't doing anything," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll leave if you want. I… I didn't mean to get in the way."

Jax frowned, the grin fading slightly from his face. She looked like she'd bolt if he so much as blinked. He raised his hands in what he hoped was a friendly gesture. "Whoa, hey, slow down," he said. "You're not in my way or anything. I just… didn't see you there."

The girl's eyes darted toward him nervously, her grip tightening on the piece of scrap. "You're not gonna… take it?" she asked, her tone cautious.

"Take what? That chunk of metal?" Jax asked, blinking in surprise. "Nah. I've got my own pile of junk." He patted his satchel, the clink of parts inside making her flinch again. "Besides, I'd probably mess it up anyway."

Her brow furrowed. "Mess it up?"

"Yeah," Jax said, plopping down cross-legged a few feet away from her. "I try to build stuff, but it usually, uh… doesn't work. Or explodes. Or both."

For a moment, the girl just stared at him, her face a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "You… build stuff?" she asked quietly.

"Well, I try," Jax admitted, shrugging. He pulled a mangled contraption from his satchel—a crude, bent device with wires sticking out at odd angles. "This was supposed to be a handheld fan," Jax said, holding up a device with blades bent in all the wrong directions and a motor that hummed weakly. "But now it's, uh… a very dangerous way to mess up your hair."

Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to smile. "That's… kinda dumb."

"It isn't dumb," Jax shot back, his grin faltering just slightly. His ears went a little pink, though, betraying his embarrassment. "It's creative. And it's fun."

The girl's eyes widened with mild amusement. "Fun? How is it fun?"

Jax straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve like he was about to present something grand. "You just gotta see it, okay?"

"See what?"

"Building stuff," he said, holding up a small, rusty gear. "You look like you're good at finding junk. Ever tried making something out of it?"

She shook her head quickly, her fingers tightening around the scrap in her hands. "No. I… I'd mess it up."

"Nah," Jax said with a wave of his hand. "Messing up's part of the fun. Here." He reached out, gesturing to the piece she was holding. "Let me show you. I won't break it—promise."

The girl hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the piece of scrap. Finally, she handed it over, her movements slow and cautious. "Okay," she whispered.

Jax took it with an exaggerated flourish, like it was the most important thing in the world. "All right, let's see… This is perfect for a noisemaker. Ever wanted to make something really annoying?"

Her eyes flickered with a spark of interest. "Like… loud?"

"Super loud," Jax said, grinning. "We'll make the loudest, most annoying thing Zaun's ever heard."

For the first time, the girl smiled—a small, hesitant curve of her lips. "Okay," she said.

And just like that, Jax's grin grew even wider. "Alright, so… what do I call you?"

"Powder," she said quietly, almost like she wasn't sure she should answer

"Powder," Jax repeated, nodding with approval. "Cool name. I'm Jax."

X

Jax had always thought his workshop was the coolest place in Zaun. Sure, it was a mess—tools scattered across every surface, parts and scraps piled haphazardly in the corners—but it was his. A space where he could create, dream, and occasionally blow things up. It was home.

But now, with Powder sitting on the edge of his cluttered worktable, nervously fiddling with a piece of scrap metal, he found himself seeing the space differently. She looked out of place, like she didn't belong in a room so chaotic, so loud. Her blue eyes darted around the workshop, taking in the piles of half-finished gadgets and the faint hum of the jerry-rigged generator.

"This is where you live?" she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Yep," Jax said, dropping his satchel onto the table with a loud clatter. He spread his arms wide and grinned. "Pretty awesome, huh? It's like a workshop and a fortress rolled into one."

Powder's gaze flicked to a shelf sagging under the weight of rusted tools and broken parts. "It's… messy," she muttered.

"Messy is genius," Jax said with a shrug, walking over to grab a particularly clunky contraption off the table. He held it up like a trophy. "See this? Grappling hook. For climbing walls, sneaking into places, maybe even escaping if you're in a jam."

Powder tilted her head, her blue hair falling into her face. "Does it work?"

"Of course, it—" Jax hesitated, his grin faltering. "Well, no. Not yet. But it will. I just need to fix, uh… pretty much all of it."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as though she was holding back a laugh. "What else have you got?"

"Glad you asked," Jax said, tossing the grappling hook onto the pile with a dramatic flourish. He rummaged through another stack and pulled out a small, gear-filled contraption. "This is the Auto-Winder. Wind up any string, rope, or cable automatically. Super useful."

Powder leaned closer, inspecting it. "Does that work?"

"Technically?" Jax scratched the back of his neck. "Kinda. It winds things too fast, though. Once it yanked a whole coil of wire out of my hand and smacked me in the face."

That did it. Powder laughed—a short, awkward burst that surprised both of them. Jax grinned wider, the sound lighting up his workshop like the buzz of a freshly charged circuit.

"See? You're already having fun," he said, grabbing another device. "And this one's gonna blow your mind. Let me introduce you to the greatest noisemaker Zaun's ever seen."

Powder frowned, watching as he dumped a pile of gears, springs, and loose bolts onto the table. "You haven't even built it yet."

"Details," Jax said, waving her off. "This is gonna be loud, obnoxious, and totally awesome. And you're gonna help me make it."

Her fingers tightened around the piece of scrap in her hands. "I don't know," she murmured. "I've never made anything before."

"Perfect," Jax said, sliding a few parts toward her. "That means you can't mess it up. Here, take this gear. It's the most important piece. I think."

Powder stared at the gear in her hand like it might bite her. "What if I do mess it up?"

"Then we laugh at it and make a better one," Jax said easily, grabbing a spring and fitting it into place. "That's half the fun."

Slowly, Powder started to help. Her hands were careful, almost too careful, as she followed Jax's overconfident directions. He talked the whole time, filling the room with chatter about how this noisemaker would be so loud that even Piltover would hear it, and how they'd probably become famous inventors after this.

"Famous?" Powder asked, her voice skeptical but amused.

"Totally," Jax said, hammering a bolt into place with a rusty wrench. "Zaun's gonna put up statues of us. Well, me. But I'll let you be in the background."

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched into a smile.

An hour later, the noisemaker sat on the table. It was a bulky, lopsided thing with exposed gears and a crank that wobbled when Jax spun it. He leaned back, hands on his hips, grinning like he'd just built a masterpiece.

"Ready for the loudest noise in Zaun?" he asked, turning to Powder.

She nodded, her blue eyes wide with anticipation. "Ready."

Jax cranked the handle, his grin widening as the gears clicked into motion. For a moment, it seemed to work. Then, with a sputtering rattle, the noisemaker let out a pitiful wheeze before grinding to a halt.

Powder blinked, staring at the contraption in stunned silence. Jax froze, his hand still on the crank.

And then she laughed.

It started as a giggle, small and soft, but quickly grew into full-blown laughter. Powder doubled over, clutching her stomach as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "That's it?" she managed between fits of laughter. "That's your noisemaker?"

Jax flushed, but his grin never faded. "It's just a prototype," he said, crossing his arms. "You can't rush genius."

Powder's laughter only grew louder, and after a moment, Jax couldn't help but join in. The sound filled the workshop, mingling with the faint hum of machinery, and for the first time in a long while, the room felt warm.

As the laughter faded, Powder wiped at her eyes, a small, genuine smile still on her face. "Thanks," she said softly, glancing at him.

"For what?" Jax asked, leaning against the table.

"For… this," she said, gesturing vaguely to the noisemaker, the cluttered room, and everything in between. "It was fun."

Jax shrugged, pretending not to care. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. Next time, we're building something that actually works."

Powder smirked, her blue eyes glinting. "We'll see."

The workshop grew quiet after Powder's laughter faded, the failed noisemaker still sitting between them like a lopsided trophy. The soft hum of Zaun's ever-present machinery filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional creak of pipes outside. Jax leaned against the edge of his worktable, fiddling with a loose bolt in his hand. Powder sat across from him, her fingers turning the small gear she'd been clutching since they started.

Her question still lingered in the air.

"Do you live here alone?"

Jax hesitated, keeping his eyes on the bolt. "Yeah," he said, his voice casual. "It's just me."

Powder tilted her head, her blue eyes watching him carefully. "Don't you get lonely?"

The question hit harder than Jax expected. He let out a laugh, a little too loud, a little too forced. "Lonely? Nah. I mean, look at all this stuff!" He gestured around the room, the cluttered shelves and piles of scrap. "I've got more junk than I know what to do with. Keeps me busy."

Powder didn't look convinced. "But… it's just stuff," she said quietly. "Doesn't it feel quiet when you're not building things?"

Jax rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. "Zaun's never quiet," he muttered. "There's always noise, you know? The pipes, the machines… it's like the city's always talking. Keeps me company."

She opened her mouth to say something, but Jax cut her off, his tone light but a little too quick. "What about you? You've got people, right? You don't seem like the 'alone' type."

Powder blinked, surprised by the shift. "Oh. Yeah, I do," she said, her voice softening. "There's Vander. He's not my real dad, but he's… well, he's like a dad, you know? He takes care of us."

"Us?" Jax asked, glancing up at her.

"Me and my sister," Powder said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Her name's Vi. Well, Violet, but no one calls her that. She's tough, always looking out for me. Then there's Claggor. He's really nice, and he's super good at fixing things. And Mylo…" She trailed off, her expression souring. "Mylo's a jerk."

Jax raised an eyebrow. "A jerk?"

"Yeah," Powder said, crossing her arms. "He's always calling me names, saying I mess things up. But I don't care what he thinks."

Jax chuckled. "Sounds like you've got a whole crew. Even if one of them's a pain."

"Yeah," Powder said, her smile returning briefly. "It's nice. Most of the time."

Jax watched her for a moment, her expression softening as she talked about her family. He shifted slightly, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What about your real parents?" he asked, his voice careful.

Powder's smile faltered, and her fingers tightened around the gear in her hands. "They… they were killed," she said quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "By the Enforcers. Vander found me and Vi after… everything happened."

Jax's chest tightened at her words, and he leaned back against the table, staring at the bolt in his hand. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. "That… that sucks."

"It's okay," Powder said quickly, though her voice wavered. "I mean, it's not, but… Vander's been there for us."

Jax nodded, letting the silence linger for a moment before Powder spoke again.

"What about your parents?" she asked, her blue eyes searching his face. "Where are they?"

Jax froze for a second, his grin flickering. "I, uh… I don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. "Never knew them."

Powder's eyes widened slightly. "Never?"

"Nope," Jax said, forcing a shrug. "I've been on my own for as long as I can remember. It's not so bad, though. I mean, who needs parents when you've got all this?" He gestured vaguely to the room, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Powder didn't say anything for a while, her gaze flicking between him and the mess of gadgets around them. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft. "That sounds lonely."

Jax swallowed, the words hitting harder than he expected. He tossed the bolt onto the table and stood up, grabbing a random piece of scrap to busy his hands. "Eh, I've got Zaun, right? And now we've got the world's worst noisemaker. Can't get lonely with all that going on."

Powder smiled faintly, but there was a sadness in her eyes he couldn't quite shake. "Yeah," she said, almost to herself. "I guess you're right."

Jax didn't push further, and neither did she. They just sat together in the workshop, the quiet hum of Zaun filling the space between them, until the awkwardness melted away into something easier. Something that felt a little less lonely.

"Powder!"

The sudden voice cut through the air, sharp and loud. Jax froze, the spring slipping from his fingers as his head snapped toward the door.

"Powder!" the voice called again, this time closer.

Powder flinched, her blue eyes going wide. "That's Vi," she muttered, quickly scrambling off the edge of the table.

"Vi?" Jax repeated, standing up as well. "Your sister?"

"Yeah," Powder said, looking toward the door. "She must've been looking for me."

Before Jax could respond, Powder was already heading toward the workshop's makeshift entrance. He grabbed his wrench instinctively, just in case. A sister couldn't be that bad… right?

They stepped out into the alley, and Jax immediately spotted her. Vi stood a few feet away, hands on her hips, scanning the shadows. Her hair was bright pink, messy and cropped short, and she had the kind of posture that screamed "don't mess with me." The instant she saw Powder, her expression hardened.

"Powder!" Vi barked, marching toward her. "What the hell were you thinking, running off like that? Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?"

Powder shrank back slightly, clutching the scrap gear she'd been holding in her hands. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vi's eyes narrowed. "Sorry? You can't just disappear, Powder! What if something happened to you?"

"I was upset," Powder said, her voice trembling slightly. "Mylo… Mylo was teasing me again."

Vi's scowl deepened, but she softened a little at that. She crouched down, resting her hands on Powder's shoulders. "Pow Pow, you know Mylo's an idiot. You can't let him get to you like that. Next time, just come to me, okay? Don't run off."

"Okay," Powder murmured, nodding.

It was then that Vi noticed Jax standing behind her sister, awkwardly holding his wrench like it was some kind of shield. Her sharp gray eyes locked onto him, and Jax felt a chill run down his spine.

"Who's this?" Vi asked, straightening up. Her tone wasn't exactly threatening, but there was an edge to it that made Jax's grip on the wrench tighten.

"Oh, uh, this is Jax," Powder said quickly, stepping to the side so Vi could see him fully. "He has a workshop. I was… helping him build something."

Vi raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Helping him build something?" Her eyes flicked over Jax, her gaze critical. "What are you, some kind of inventor?"

"Uh… yeah," Jax said, trying to sound confident but failing miserably. "I mean, sort of. I… I make stuff."

Vi didn't look impressed. "And you just… let her into your place? You don't even know her."

"I—well—she was upset," Jax stammered, his usual bravado nowhere to be found under Vi's scrutinizing glare. "And I figured… I mean, I wasn't gonna just leave her out there."

Vi stared at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. Jax felt like she was measuring him, sizing him up, and he wasn't sure he liked what she might be thinking. Finally, she let out a huff.

"Fine," she said, turning back to Powder. "But you're still in trouble. Next time, you tell me where you're going. Got it?"

"Got it," Powder mumbled, glancing back at Jax with an apologetic look.

Vi sighed, ruffling Powder's blue hair affectionately. "Come on. Let's get you home."

Powder hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Jax. She lingered just long enough to make Vi stop and raise an eyebrow. "What is it, Pow?" her sister asked, her voice softening ever so slightly.

"I…" Powder shifted awkwardly, clutching the small gear she still held in her hands. She turned to Jax, her blue eyes glinting in the dim light. "Thanks… for, um, letting me help."

Jax blinked, startled by the sincerity in her tone. He wasn't used to people thanking him, especially for something as silly as a failed noisemaker. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, no problem. You, uh… did pretty good for a first-timer."

Powder smiled, a small but genuine expression that made Jax feel strangely proud. She waved the gear at him. "I'm keeping this," she said, her voice teasing but light.

"Consider it a gift," Jax replied, grinning. "You can call it a souvenir from the 'Invention Station.'"

Vi rolled her eyes, clearly impatient. "Okay, she said goodbye. Let's go, Powder."

"Hold on!" Powder said, huffing at her sister before looking back at Jax. Her gaze softened. "Maybe… I could come back sometime? To build something else?"

Jax hesitated, surprised by the question. He glanced at Vi, whose sharp gray eyes narrowed slightly, as if daring him to answer wrong. "Uh, yeah," he said quickly, looking back at Powder. "Sure. Anytime. The workshop's always open."

Powder giggled, her small laugh breaking the tension in the air. "Okay. See you, Jax."

She turned to follow Vi, but not before giving him one last wave over her shoulder. Vi sighed, putting a hand on Powder's back to guide her forward. As they started walking away, Vi glanced over her shoulder at Jax one more time, her gaze sharp and assessing.

"Thanks for looking out for her, I guess," Vi said, her tone grudging. "Just… don't get any ideas."

"I—what?" Jax sputtered, but Vi had already turned away, her arm slung protectively around Powder as they disappeared into the alley.

He stood there for a moment, watching them go. Powder's small figure, the blue of her hair catching the faint glow of Zaun's lights, lingered in his mind longer than he expected. He let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as the silence of the alley settled around him.

"Don't get any ideas," he muttered under his breath, mimicking Vi's sharp tone. He shook his head with a faint grin, turning to head back into his workshop. "She's scary, but I guess she's got a point."

As he closed the creaky door behind him, the hum of Zaun filled the space once more, and Jax found himself glancing at the small pile of parts they'd used earlier. Powder's laugh echoed faintly in his mind, and for the first time in a long while, the thought of someone coming back didn't seem so bad.

He leaned against the worktable, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. His satchel hung loosely from his shoulder, its contents forgotten for the moment. Powder's words from earlier played on a loop in his mind.

"Don't you get lonely?"

Jax let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "What kind of question is that?" he muttered, half to himself. He looked around the room, his eyes skimming over the shelves of half-finished gadgets and the scattered tools on the floor. It wasn't like he didn't have company, he thought. He had his inventions. His projects. The constant hum of Zaun outside.

But the room felt quieter than usual now, and no matter how much he tried to dismiss it, Powder's question lingered. She'd been so curious, so genuine, and for a moment, he'd felt something shift.

Jax moved to the small mattress in the corner of the room and flopped onto it, staring up at the patchwork ceiling. His hands rested behind his head as he let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest refusing to fade.

"Lonely," he murmured to himself, tasting the word like it was foreign. He thought about Powder's family—Vander, Vi, Claggor, even the annoying-sounding Mylo. She had people. Even if they weren't perfect, even if some of them made her upset, they were there for her.

And him? He had his tools, his gadgets, and the endless noise of Zaun. That was enough. It had to be.

Still, as he lay there in the dim light of his workshop, Jax couldn't shake the image of Powder laughing at their failed noisemaker. Her bright blue eyes had sparkled with something he hadn't seen in a long time—joy. Real, unfiltered joy. And for a moment, he'd felt it too.

"Maybe," he muttered, his voice quiet, "it wouldn't be so bad to have someone around once in a while."

The thought lingered as he closed his eyes, the soft hum of Zaun lulling him into a restless sleep. The workshop stayed the same, cluttered and chaotic, but for the first time in a while, it didn't feel so small. And as Jax drifted off, he wondered if, just maybe, there was something more to life than gears and gadgets.

Something that felt a little less lonely.

Chapter End Notes

Please don't hesitate to comment on my work. It always motivates me to write more when I see what you guys think about it, share ideas, and give an honest critique on how I can improve the story :)

Trouble at the Docks

He was standing in the darkness. The air felt heavy, though there was no air to breathe. There was no sound, no smell, no sense of where he was or how he had gotten there.

Shapes began to flicker at the edges of his vision, indistinct and blurry, like shadows cast by something he couldn't see. Whenever he'd turn to look at the shapes, he couldn't see anything. Was it even possible to see in this darkness? The ground beneath his feet was soft, yet solid. Jax tried to look around, to focus, but nothing held its shape. Everything wavered, like looking through rippling water.

Colors swirled in the distance – muted purples and deep blacks that seemed to pulse faintly. They moved like a heartbeat, slow and steady, drawing him closer without him realizing it. He stepped forward, though he wasn't sure his legs were moving. The swirling colors seemed to grow brighter, but with each step, the air felt thicker, pressing against his chest.

He looked down at his hands. They looked normal at first, but as he stared, faint tendrils of darkness began to seep from his fingertips, curling upward like smoke. He shook his hands instinctively, trying to rid himself of the strange tendrils, but they didn't stop. They grew, spreading up his arms into the space around him.

Panic swelled in his chest. The colors in the distance began to shift and contort, becoming jagged, chaotic. The ground beneath him rippled violently, and suddenly he was falling—or was he floating? He couldn't tell. He wasn't sure what was up or down anymore.

Then he heard it—a voice, faint and distant, like a whisper carried on the wind. "Jax…" It called his name, soft yet haunting, just barely audible. He froze, straining to hear it, his chest tightening as the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. He stumbled forward toward the voice, the darkness pressing heavier against him. Just as it grew louder, almost within reach, the shadows rushed toward him, and—

"Jax!" The voice jolted him awake.

He blinked a few times, his mind still clouded by the remnants of the strange dream. Another nightmare. Not the first nor last. Then, Powder's face came into focus, her eyes wide with urgency. "It's afternoon already," she said. "You're still in bed? Come on, lazybones!"

"Powder? What are you doing here?" he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "What am I doing here? What are you still doing in bed? We have to get to the docks, like, now!"

"The docks?" Jax repeated groggily. "What's at the docks?"

Powder groaned, bouncing on her heels like she was ready to drag him out of bed herself. "Mylo said he saw an abandoned shipment of tools and parts down there."

Jax frowned, running a hand through his messy hair. "What's the rush?"

Powder rolled her eyes. "The rush is that everyone knows about it, and if we don't get there first, we'll get stuck with nothing but junk – and not the good kind of junk." She crossed her arms, fixing him with a pointed look. "You really want to miss out on this?"

Jax groaned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Fine, fine. I'm up. But I'm not running if it's just going to be scraps."

"It's not scraps!" Powder said, grabbing his arm and yanking him to his feet. "It's good stuff. Really good stuff. Tools, parts, maybe even something we can sell—if we get there before everyone else."

Jax sighed, reaching for his satchel and slipping it over his shoulder. "Alright, alright, let's go. But if Vi gets mad about how much we grab, I'm blaming you."

"Deal," Powder said with a mischievous grin, already heading for the door. "Now hurry up!" Jax barely had time to grab his satchel before Powder was out the door. "Come on, slowpoke!" she called over her shoulder.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Jax shouted back, slinging the bag over his shoulder and breaking into a jog to catch up. As they slipped into the maze of Zaun's alleys, Jax tried to focus on the rush, on Powder's determination to beat the others to the docks. But the strange echo of his name from the dream lingered in the back of his mind. Pushing it out, he tried to focus on the task at hand.

The alleys were alive with their usual chaos: merchants hollering about wares, the hiss of steam pipes venting overhead, and the hum of distant machinery. Jax dodged a group of scavengers arguing over scrap, nearly tripping over a stray pipe as he tried to keep pace with Powder, earning a curse or two aimed at him from behind.

As they rushed, Jax's mind wondered. From what he came to know about her, Powder had always been full of energy and ideas, but something had shifted in the past few months since they'd met. She'd grown obsessed with crafting – taking scraps and tools and trying to make things. Just like Jax, most of Powder's creations didn't work the way she hoped, but she had a determination that sometimes even surpassed his own. They'd spend countless hours in the Invention Station—a name he'd proudly given his cluttered workshop—tinkering with scraps, sharing ideas, and laughing at their frequent failures.

It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had hesitated to even touch a screwdriver. What had changed? Was it their tinkering sessions? Or was it something else entirely? He didn't know, but seeing her excitement made him proud, even if she teased him about his "not-so-genius" inventions."

Powder often stayed late, her excitement keeping her going until Vi inevitably showed up to drag her home. Vi was always impatient, her nerves on edge as she scolded Powder for staying out too long. But beneath that tough exterior, Jax could see the spark in Vi's eyes when she looked at her sister—a softer, protective affection she couldn't quite hide. He hadn't met the others from Powder's family, he had only seen them from afar, and Powder frequently talked about them.

"Claggor? He's the best. He's so strong and smart and always knows how to fix stuff. He can fix everything with his toolbox, and it'll be good as new. He's kinda like a big brother, but nicer than Mylo because he doesn't tease me as much. And he's so funny!"

When she mentioned Mylo, her face scrunched up in a mix of annoyance. "Mylo? Ugh, he's annoying and mean! He always calls me names like 'jinx' and acts like he's better than me just because he's older. But… I guess he's kinda funny when he's not being a jerk. He's always trying to act tough, like he knows everything, but I think he just wants us to think he's cool."

Her tone would soften when she spoke about Vi, her eyes lighting up with admiration. "Vi is my best friend. She's the bravest person I know. She always stands up for me, even when Mylo's being mean, and she's so good at fighting – bam, bam, bam! No one messes with her. I wanna be just like her when I grow up. She says I'll be strong one day too, but… I don't know. I mess things up a lot."

When Jax asked about Vander, her voice often grew warm, almost reverent. "Vander's like… a dad to us. He keeps ups safe and takes care of everyone. He's big and strong, but not scary – he's nice! He always says we have to stick together and take care of each other. I like when he talks to me like I'm important, like I can help too. He believes in us, even me…"

Powder suddenly skidded to a stop, snapping him out of his thoughts. She turned back to him, hands on her hips. "You're so slow, Jax! At this rate, we'll get there and find Mylo sitting on our crate, laughing at us."

"I never knew you'd care about this so much."

Powder shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Maybe I just like making stuff now. Or maybe I want to prove I'm better than you." She stuck her tongue out and bolted again before he could reply.

Jax grinned, shaking his head as he pushed himself to catch up. "Better than me? Not in a million years!"

By the time Jax and Powder arrived at the docks, the place was already in chaos. Shouts and curses rang out as scavengers, workers, and gang members fought over crates of supplies that had just been unloaded. The air was thick with the smell of saltwater, oil, and tension.

Jax froze for a moment, taking in the scene. People were darting between the crates, some already hauling away their spoils while others argued over who had claimed what. A group of burly men stood near the largest shipment, their voices booming as they threatened anyone who dared get too close.

"See what I mean?" Powder said breathlessly, clutching his arm. "If we don't hurry, there's gonna be nothing left but junk."

Jax scanned the area quickly. "Where's Vi? And the others?"

"There!" Powder pointed toward the far end of the dock, where Vi was standing between Claggor and Mylo. Her arms were crossed, expression sharp as she argued with another group over a large crate. Mylo, true to form and skinny as branch, looked like he was enjoying the conflict, while stocky Claggor stood back, clearly trying to stay out of it.

Jax groaned. "Great. It's already a mess."

"Come on!" Powder urged, tugging at his sleeve. "We've got to find something good before they take everything!"

The two of them weaved through the chaotic scene, dodging swinging fists and flying debris. Jax noticed smaller crates tucked behind larger ones, mostly overlooked in the frenzy. He grabbed Powder's arm and pulled her toward them.

"Over here!" he said, dropping to one knee and prying open a small crate. Inside were a few tools—rusted, but salvageable—and a handful of gears that looked promising. Powder's eyes lit up as she grabbed a piece of equipment and turned it over in her hands.

"This is perfect!" she whispered excitedly.

"Not bad," Jax admitted, shoving as much as he could into his satchel. "But we've got to move fast. If anyone sees us—"

"Hey!" a rough voice barked behind them. Jax and Powder whipped around to see a gang of three young men stalking toward them, their eyes fixed on the crate they'd just opened. "That's ours!"

"No, it's not," Jax said instinctively, stepping in front of Powder. "You didn't even see it until now."

The tallest of the three cracked his knuckles, his grin anything but friendly. "Doesn't matter. Hand it over, or we'll take it ourselves."

Powder clutched the gear she'd picked up, her knuckles white. "We found it first," she said, her voice trembling slightly but determined.

Jax glanced back at her, then at the three men closing in. His heart raced. He wasn't a fighter, but he couldn't just hand everything over. His mind buzzed, scrambling for a plan.

Before he could think of anything, a sharp voice cut through the chaos. "Back off."

Vi.

She strode toward them with the kind of authority that made even the boldest thugs hesitate. Claggor and Mylo followed close behind, Claggor holding a length of pipe like a club. Mylo, smirking as always, cracked his knuckles theatrically.

"You heard me," Vi said, stopping a few feet away from the group. "They're with us. Get lost."

The tallest man sneered, but the hesitation in his eyes was obvious. "This ain't your territory, Vi."

"Doesn't matter," she shot back. "We can fight if that's what you want." She tilted her head, daring them to make a move.

The men exchanged uneasy glances before the leader spat on the ground. "Not worth it," he muttered. With one last glare, they turned and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jax let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Powder grinned up at Vi. "You're the best, Vi."

Vi smirked, ruffling Powder's hair. "And you're the worst for running off without telling me. Again." She glanced at Jax, her eyes narrowing. "Good thing I got here when I did."

Jax shrugged, trying to play it cool. "We had it under control."

Vi rolled her eyes. "Sure you did." She turned to the others. "Come on, let's get the rest of this stuff and get out of here before things get worse."

As the group began hauling supplies, Jax couldn't shake the adrenaline coursing through him—or the unease that lingered from how close things had gotten. The docks weren't just chaotic—they were dangerous. And something told him this was only the beginning.

The docks buzzed with chaos, as Jax, Powder, Vi, Claggor, and Mylo worked quickly to gather whatever supplies they could. The air was tense, thick with the shouting of rival scavengers and the scrape of crates being hauled away. Jax stuffed a handful of gears into his satchel, keeping one eye on Powder, who was eagerly digging through a smaller crate.

"Got some good stuff here!" Powder said, holding up a bundle of wires triumphantly.

"Great," Jax muttered, glancing over his shoulder. He didn't like how some of the groups nearby were eyeing them, their postures stiff and aggressive. "But let's make it fast. I don't think they're happy we're here."

Before anyone could respond, a sharp shout rang out.

"Hey! That's ours!"

Jax looked up to see a group of thugs approaching, led by a burly man with a jagged scar across his face. His crew wasn't large—maybe five men—but their menacing glares and makeshift weapons made it clear they weren't bluffing. They stopped a few feet away, their eyes locked on the crate Vi and Claggor were rummaging through.

"This?" Vi said, straightening up and placing herself squarely in front of the crate. Her tone was calm, but her body was coiled like a spring. "Pretty sure you weren't touching it when we got here."

"Doesn't matter," the scarred man growled. "It's ours now. Move."

Vi smirked, cracking her knuckles. "How about no?"

"Vi," Claggor muttered, gripping a pipe in his hands, "maybe we should—"

"No," she cut him off, her gaze never leaving the thugs. "They're not taking anything."

The scarred man sneered. "Fine. Have it your way."

He lunged forward, swinging a crowbar. Vi ducked easily, her fist snapping upward to connect with his jaw. The blow sent him stumbling back, but his crew didn't hesitate. They charged as one, weapons raised.

Jax's heart leapt into his throat. "Powder, get back!" he shouted, stepping in front of her as the chaos erupted.

Claggor swung his pipe with surprising force, knocking one attacker's weapon out of his hand. Mylo darted in from the side, grinning as he jabbed another thug in the ribs. "Too slow!" he taunted, only to yelp as a second man nearly clipped him with a wooden plank.

Vi moved like a whirlwind, ducking, weaving, and landing punishing blows. Her confidence was unwavering, but Jax couldn't shake the feeling that they were outnumbered. He grabbed a loose gear from the ground and hurled it at one of the attackers. It clanged uselessly off the man's shoulder.

"Really?" Powder said from behind him, her voice equal parts terrified and incredulous.

"Shut up," Jax muttered, scanning the chaos for anything he could use.

The man broke past Vi, heading straight for him. His face twisted into a cruel sneer as he raised a rusted wrench. Jax swung the crowbar awkwardly, but the man batted it aside with ease, the force sending Jax stumbling back.

"Jax, do something!" Powder called from behind one of the crates, clutching the bundle of wires she had scavenged.

"Yeah, great idea, Powder!" Jax shot back. "What exactly am I supposed to do—scare them off with bad jokes?"

The man's grin was twisted, his heavy wrench swinging lazily in one hand as he closed the distance. "End of the road," he sneered.

Jax raised his hands instinctively to protect himself, his heart pounding. "Back off!" he shouted, though his voice cracked slightly. He took a shaky step back, nearly tripping over a loose plank. The thug laughed, stepping closer, his grip tightening on the wrench.

And then, the man stopped.

His grin vanished, replaced by a sudden, wide-eyed panic. His wrench fell from his hands with a loud clang, and he stumbled back as though he'd seen something horrifying. "No… no, no, no…" he muttered, his voice trembling.

Jax froze, unsure what was happening. "What—what's wrong with you?" he stammered.

The thug didn't answer. His gaze darted wildly around, his breathing ragged. Without another word, he turned and bolted, shoving past his own crew as he ran for the far end of the docks. The others stared after him, momentarily stunned.

"What the hell was that about?" Mylo called, narrowly dodging a swing as the fight resumed.

Jax stayed rooted in place, his hands trembling as he tried to catch a breath. He hadn't done anything. Had he? He glanced at Powder, who was peeking out from her hiding spot, her expression as bewildered as his own.

"Did you see that?" she whispered. "He just… ran. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Jax muttered, shaking his head. "I don't know what happened."

The sound of a loud thud snapped them back to the fight. Vi had knocked the leader flat, standing over him with her fists clenched. "Get lost," she growled. "Unless you want me to make it worse."

The remaining thugs exchanged uneasy looks. Muttering curses, they hauled their leader up and backed away, casting wary glances at Jax before disappearing into the maze of crates.

Vi turned, wiping the blood under nose as she strode over. "You alright?" she asked, her sharp gaze flicking between Jax and Powder.

"Fine," Jax lied, though his voice felt hollow. His thoughts raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Vi raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Good. Now grab what you can carry. We're getting out of here before someone else decides to pick a fight."

As they finished gathering their supplies, Jax caught Powder glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She'd been unusually quiet since the fight, her usual energy replaced by something more subdued.

"What?" Jax asked, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "You've been staring at me for like a minute."

Powder hesitated, kicking at a loose nail on the ground before speaking. "That guy… why did he run off?"

Jax frowned, the memory flashing in his mind. "I don't know," he said honestly. "One second he was about to clobber me, and the next… he just freaked out."

Powder tilted her head, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. "You didn't do anything? Like… accidentally scare him or something?"

Jax huffed, half-laughing. "What, you think I grow claws or something?"

She studied him for another moment before shrugging. "Weird. Maybe he's just a big baby."

"Yeah, maybe," Jax muttered, though his tone lacked conviction. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, the weight of the tool and parts inside pressing against his back. Just as he was about to head back toward his workshop, he saw a crate tucked behind a stack of broken pallets, its lid barely hanging on by a few rusted nails. He pried it open with a grunt, expecting the usual junk – scrap metal, tools, maybe a few bolts if he was lucky.

Instead, his hand closed around something solid and smooth. He pulled it out, his eyes widening slightly. It was a sword – plain, unadorned, and worn with use. The blade had a few nicks, and the leather wrapping on the hilt was frayed, but it was sturdy.

Jax held it up, testing its weight. It wasn't flashy or particularly impressive. He gave it a small swing, feeling the way it cut through the air.

"Not bad," he muttered to himself, tucking it under his arm.

As Jax walked back toward the group, the sword tucked awkwardly under his arm, Mylo spotted him and immediately burst into laughter. "What's that supposed to be?" Mylo said, pointing at the blade. "You planning to be a knight or something?"

Jax frowned, gripping the hilt defensively. "It's a sword," he said flatly. "You know, for protection."

Mylo doubled over, clutching his stomach. "Protection? From what? Rust monsters? That thing looks like it's about to fall apart!"

Claggor shook his head, muttering, "Lay off, Mylo."

Jax rolled his eyes at Mylo's teasing, refusing to rise to the bait. "Yeah, yeah, real funny," he muttered, tucking the sword back under his arm. He turned to Powder, who was standing next to Vi, inspecting some kind of needle in her hand. "I'll see you later, Powder."

"Wait, you're leaving already?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jax said, adjusting the satchel on his shoulder. "Got what I came for. No point hanging around."

He adjusted the strap of his satchel and started toward his workshop, eager to leave the docks behind. But the lingering tension from the fight clung to him. Usually, he was pretty good at avoiding fights, and keeping to himself, but not today. His mind kept circling back to that moment – the thug who'd stared at him, terrified, before running away like he'd seen something unspeakable.

Before he could spiral further, Vi's voice cut through his thoughts. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

Jax stopped, glancing back at her. Vi was standing a few steps away, her arms crossed.

"You're not seriously thinking of walking home alone with that haul, are you?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Jax shrugged, "I've done it before."

"Yeah, well, today's different," Vi said, stepping closer. "You saw how things went down back there. Those thugs aren't just gonna let this slide. And if it's not them, someone else will be watching."

Jax hesitated, her words cutting through the uneasy haze in his mind. She wasn't wrong. That man's terror might've been luck, but the others? They wouldn't think twice about jumping him.

"Come back with us," Vi said, her voice softening. "You can crash for a bit, let things cool down. No one's gonna mess with you if you're with us."

"I don't need—" Jax started, but Powder grabbed his arm, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Come on, Jax," she said. "Vi's right. Come with us."

He sighed, glancing between Powder's concern and Vi's no-nonsense stare. The image of the terrified thug flashed in his mind again, tightening his chest. "Fine," he muttered. "But just for a bit."

Vi smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. "Smart choice, kiddo. Let's move."

The journey through the Lanes was chaotic as usual but oddly familiar. The narrow streets teemed with people shouting, bartering, and moving with purpose. Steam hissed from pipes above, mingling with the flickering glow of Zaun's rusted lanterns. Jax kept his head down, clutching his satchel tightly, the sword bumping awkwardly against his leg as they weaved through the crowds.

Powder walked beside him, her usual energy returning as she chattered about the parts they'd grabbed. "That one gear, the big one? I bet we can use it for something really cool. Like maybe a wind-up… uh, something! We'll figure it out."

"Yeah, sure," Jax muttered, distracted by the growing noise and movement around them. The closer they got to Vander's place, the more crowded the streets became. People lounged on crates, groups huddled in corners, and kids darted between the legs of merchants, laughing as they vanished into the maze of the Lanes.

Jax shrank back slightly, feeling out of place in the bustling crowd. Powder, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. Vi led the way, her presence parting the groups like a blade through water. Everyone seemed to know who she was, and no one wanted to get in her way.

Finally, they reached Vander's place—a dimly lit but solid-looking tavern called The Last Drop, tucked between two leaning buildings. The warm glow of lanterns spilled out onto the cobblestones, accompanied by the low murmur of voices and the occasional burst of laughter. The smell of ale and something fried hit Jax's nose, making his stomach rumble.

Vi pushed open the door, motioning for the others to follow. Inside, the place was packed. People sat at the bar, crowded around tables, and leaned against walls, all talking over one another. It was overwhelming. Jax hesitated in the doorway, his grip tightening on his satchel.

Powder noticed and grabbed his arm, tugging him forward. "Come on, it's fine. Nobody's gonna bite."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Jax muttered, his face flushing slightly.

Powder sighed and led him through the room, navigating the maze of bodies until they reached the bar. Behind it stood Vander—a towering man with broad shoulders and a calm, commanding presence. He was pouring a drink when he noticed the group approaching, his face softening into a smile.

"Well, look who's back," Vander said, his voice a deep rumble. His eyes landed on Jax, and one brow raised in curiosity. "And you brought someone new."

"This is Jax," Powder said quickly, nudging him forward. "He's, uh… my friend. He helped with the haul."

Vi smirked, leaning against the bar. "More like we had to make sure he didn't get robbed on the way home."

Jax shifted uncomfortably under Vander's steady gaze. "I can take care of myself," he mumbled, looking at the floor.

Vander let out a low chuckle, his large hand resting on the counter. "That so?" His tone wasn't mocking, but there was a warmth to it that made Jax feel a little less like an outsider. Vander's eyes flicked back to Vi, his warm expression dimming slightly. "Alright, Vi," he said, his tone calm but heavy. "Let's hear it. What happened this time?"

"Oh, nothing serious." Vi said dismissively, adding an innocent smile.

But Vander wasn't smiling anymore. "Your nose says otherwise."

Vi straightened from her lean against the bar, crossing her arms in an almost defiant stance. "Don't worry about it," she said with a shrug. "Just some low-lives at the docks who thought they could mess with us."

Vander's brow furrowed, his fingers tapping lightly on the counter. "Low-lives? That the term you use for everyone who lives down here? Or just the ones you get into fights with?"

"They started it," Vi said quickly, her voice hardening. "We were just defending ourselves. You'd rather we let them take everything?"

"I'd rather you didn't put yourselves—and Powder—in harm's way," Vander replied, his tone sharpening just a fraction. "You know how things are right now. People are on edge, and you going around throwing punches isn't exactly helping."

Vi's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. Powder shifted nervously beside Jax, who was suddenly very interested in the scuffed floorboards.

"They had it coming," Vi muttered after a beat, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "What was I supposed to do? Let them walk all over us?"

Vander sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw, covered in graying beard. "I'm not saying you don't stand your ground, Vi. I'm saying you've got to be smarter about it. You're not just some kid anymore. People look at you, and they see someone tied to me. That means the trouble you stir up comes back here."

Vi's fists clenched at her sides. "I wasn't stirring up trouble. I was protecting what's ours."

"Maybe so," Vander said, his voice low and steady, like a storm about to break. "But what happens next time? Next time, it's not a handful of thugs—it's someone worse. Someone who doesn't care how tough you are. And you're dragging Powder into this too." His gaze shifted to Powder, softening briefly. "She shouldn't be anywhere near fights like that."

"Hey!" Powder piped up, stepping forward. "I can handle myself!"

"You shouldn't have to," Vander said firmly, cutting her off but not unkindly. "You're smart, Powder. You've got potential. Don't waste it getting caught up in these scraps."

Powder frowned but didn't argue. Vi, however, bristled, her tone hardening again. "I'm not dragging anyone into anything. Powder's the one who wanted to come."

"And you're supposed to be the one looking out for her," Vander shot back, his voice rising slightly before he took a breath, forcing himself to calm. "You think you're protecting everyone, but it's on you if something happens."

Vi's lips pressed into a thin line, her shoulders tense. "Fine," she muttered, her voice low and sullen. "I get it."

"I hope you do," Vander said, his tone softening again. He looked at her for a moment longer before nodding. "You're a good kid, Vi. But you've got to learn when to fight—and when to walk away."

Vi didn't respond, but the tension in her stance eased just slightly. Powder glanced between them, clearly uncomfortable with the exchange, and Jax awkwardly adjusted his satchel, feeling like he'd stumbled into something he wasn't supposed to witness.

Vander finally looked back at Jax, his voice lighter. "And you," he said, the warmth returning. "You helped Powder out there?"

Jax shifted, feeling the weight of Vander's attention again. "Uh, yeah. Just… made sure no one got hurt."

"Good," Vander said with a nod. "You're welcome here anytime. Just keep an eye on that sword. Don't want you scaring off my customers."

Jax managed a faint smile, his cheeks reddening again. Powder grinned and nudged him. "See? You're part of the crew now."

Vander chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to the bar. "Crew, huh?"

The conversation turned lighter as the tension faded, but Vi stayed quiet, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, her expression thoughtful. Jax glanced at her, wondering what she was thinking, but decided it was better not to ask.

As the commotion in the tavern settled and the others went about unloading their haul, Jax found a quiet corner and slumped onto a worn bench. He tugged at the fraying strap of his satchel, muttering under his breath. It must've been damaged at the dock when he was smacked with a wrench. It was barely holding together, and no amount of fiddling seemed to help. He sighed tiredly, giving up.

"You're so bad at that," Powder said, appearing beside him with a grin.

Jax jumped slightly, but her teasing tone softened the edge of his nerves. "What now?" he asked, giving her a sideways glance.

"That strap," she said, pointing at the satchel. "You're gonna wreck it if you keep pulling like that. Give it here."

Jax frowned but handed it over reluctantly. Powder plopped down beside him, pulling a bit of wire from her pocket and twisting it deftly around the worn leather. "There," she muttered. "Not pretty, but it'll hold."

Jax smirked faintly. "Ah, what would I do without my savior Powder?"

"Lose everything halfway home," Powder said with a grin, nudging his arm. But as the moment passed, her grin faded, and she looked down at the strap in her hands. "Vi's gonna lecture me later. She always does."

Jax tilted his head. "For what? You didn't do anything wrong."

Powder shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the wire she'd just tied. "She's always worried about me. Like, all the time. And I get it, you know? She's just trying to protect me. But it's like… she doesn't think I can do anything on my own."

Jax frowned, watching her carefully. Powder rarely got this quiet.

"And it's not just her," she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Claggor's nice, but he doesn't think I can handle stuff either. And Mylo? He's always calling me a 'tagalong.' Like I'm useless or something."

"You're not useless," Jax said firmly, his voice cutting through her self-doubt. Powder looked up at him, startled by the conviction in his tone.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her. "You're smart, Powder. Smarter than most people I've met."

Powder blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. "You really think so?"

Jax nodded. "Yeah. I mean, come on—you already fix my stuff when it breaks, and half the time you come up with ideas I wouldn't even think of. Hey, you fixed the strap that even I couldn't. And I'm a genius. That's not nothing."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks, Jax," she said quietly, her voice softer now.

"Don't mention it," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Just don't let Mylo's dumb comments get to you. He's just jealous 'cause you're better at this stuff than he is."

Powder giggled at that, the sound lightening the mood between them. She handed him back the satchel with a triumphant grin. "There. All fixed."

Jax took it, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Looks perfect."

As the noise of the tavern swirled around them, Powder leaned back on the bench, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all evening. Jax glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but feel a rare sense of calm.

From the corner on the opposite side of the room, Vi was watching, and her lips curled upwards into a smile.

A Shared Spark

"Useless. Just like always."

Mylo's voice rang out, cutting through the hazy, smog-choked air of the Lanes. Powder stood on the stoop outside The Last Drop, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared at him. The worn cobblestones beneath her feet seemed to radiate the frustration building inside her.

"I'm not useless!" she shot back, her cheeks burning as her voice cracked slightly.

"Yeah, right." Mylo leaned lazily against the doorframe, his smirk so infuriatingly smug it made her boil. "What, you gonna prove it with another one of your exploding toys? Oh wait, you can't, because they don't work."

Powder's fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to sting. "They'll work! Jax and I are just… figuring it out."

"Jax?" Mylo barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh yeah, the king of broken gadgets. Great team you've got there, Powder. Bet you'll have the Lanes bowing at your feet any day now."

Her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. "Shut up, Mylo," she muttered, turning her back on him.

"Don't take it so personal, tagalong," Mylo called after her, his tone light but biting. "You'll get something right one of these days. Probably."

She didn't answer, didn't look back. The door slammed behind her as she stormed up the stairs, her boots hitting the rickety wood harder than necessary.

In the bedroom, Powder collapsed onto her bed, her heart still pounding from the argument. Mylo's words looped in her mind. "Tagalong." The name was like a splinter under her skin—small but impossible to ignore.

She grabbed her sketchbook from the nightstand, flipping it open to the first blank page. Her pencil moved quickly, the familiar motion of sketching soothing her frayed nerves. At first, she didn't care what she was drawing. It was easier not to think.

The lines slowly took shape, forming an absurd idea she'd had earlier: a toaster that launched bread halfway across the room. She couldn't help but smirk as she imagined Mylo ducking to avoid flying toast. A few loud chuckles came out as she imagined a piece of burnt toast hitting his head.

The next page held a design for a spinning top that never wobbled. She'd tried to build it once, but it had turned out more like a spinning disaster, the parts flying apart the moment it started moving. She laughed under her breath, remembering how Jax laughed as she scrambled to gather the pieces.

Her hand stilled as she flipped to a fresh page. This time, her strokes were slower, more deliberate. The lines curved and connected, forming Vander's broad shoulders, Vi's confident smirk, Claggor's round face, and even Mylo's annoying grin. She added herself in the corner, a little smaller than the others, holding one of her gadgets.

She stared at the drawing for a long moment, her chest tightening. It should've felt comforting, seeing them all together like that, but something was missing. Her pencil hovered over the page before she began sketching again.

Messy hair. A crooked grin. Jax.

She added him next to her, a little taller and more hesitant, like he wasn't quite sure where he belonged.

Her heart ached as she stared at the finished sketch. Jax was always so full of energy, bouncing from one idea to the next with a laugh that made her forget everything else. But underneath it, she could see something else.

He never talked about it, but she knew. Jax didn't have a family like she did. And as much as he tried to hide it, she knew he felt sad about it. He never said anything, though—probably because he didn't want her to feel sorry for him.

The door then creaked open, and Powder looked up to see Vi leaning against the frame.

"Hey, Pow-Pow," Vi said, her smirk softening as she took in her sister's glum expression.

"Hey," Powder replied, her voice quieter than usual.

Vi stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "What's up? Mylo being a jerk again?"

Powder sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Just like always."

Vi sat on the edge of the bed, ruffling Powder's hair. "Don't let him get to you. Mylo's just got a big mouth and a tiny brain."

Powder giggled despite herself, and Vi smiled. "See? There's that laugh. So, what've you been working on? More weird gadgets with Jax?"

Powder hesitated, her face reddening. "Maybe."

Vi raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. "Maybe? Lately, you've been talking about him nonstop. What's the deal with you two anyway?"

"Nothing!" Powder blurted, her cheeks burning even more.

Vi smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure. You're just best buddies, right?"

"Vi, stop," Powder muttered, her voice dropping.

Vi's grin faded as she noticed the shift in her sister's tone. "Hey, I'm just teasing. What's wrong?"

Powder hesitated, twisting the hem of her shirt. "It's… Jax. He doesn't have a family. Not like us. And I think…" She trailed off, struggling to put her feelings into words.

"You think what?" Vi prompted gently.

"I think he's lonely," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "He acts like everything's fine, but I don't think he's happy."

Vi glanced at her younger sister, her brows knitting together in thought. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Yeah, I've noticed that about him," she admitted after a moment. "He's always bouncing around, cracking jokes, acting like everything's great."

Powder looked up at her, surprised. "You noticed that too?"

"Of course I did," Vi said with a small shrug. "He's a hard one to pin down. But I think… he's just scared to let people in. When you don't have anyone growing up, you get good at acting like you don't need anyone."

Powder's heart sank. She couldn't imagine what that kind of loneliness felt like. Even when Mylo teased her or when she felt like the odd one out, she always had Vi, Vander, and Claggor to fall back on. "That's… sad," she murmured.

Vi nodded, her expression softening. "Yeah, it is. But it doesn't have to stay that way. He's got you, doesn't he? And you're about as stubborn as they come. If anyone can make him feel like he belongs, it's you."

Powder blinked, caught off guard by her sister's rare praise. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely," Vi said with a grin. Then she leaned back, her smirk returning. "Besides, you two are practically joined at the hip. If he wasn't already stuck with you, I'd feel bad for him."

Powder giggled, though the warmth in her chest was mixed with a touch of sadness. "He's not stuck with me."

"Yeah, yeah," Vi teased, ruffling her hair again. "He's lucky to have you, Powder. And you're a good friend for worrying about him."

Powder clung to Vi tightly, a faint smile breaking through the gloom that had settled over her earlier. "Thanks, Vi."

As Vi pulled away, she tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know, he's got a good heart, that kid. A little goofy, sure, but for a ten year old, I think he's tougher than he lets on. He's made it this far on his own, hasn't he? That's gotta count for something."

"Yeah," Powder said quietly, her fingers tracing a small pattern on her blanket. "But I just wish he didn't have to be alone."

Vi stood, brushing herself off before giving Powder a reassuring look. "Don't worry so much. If he's got you, he's not as lonely as you think."

Powder nodded, her heart feeling a little lighter. As Vi left the room, she reached for her sketchbook, flipping it open to the unfinished drawing of Jax. She traced over his grin, making it wider and brighter, then sharpened the lines of his messy hair. Her pencil hovered for a moment before she added the sword he'd found at the docks, clutched confidently in his hand. It looked almost heroic, like he was someone who could take on the world—and win.

As she stared at the finished sketch, a small smile tugged at her lips. Maybe he didn't see himself the way she did, but she'd make sure he knew.

x

Jax adjusted the small bundle in his arms, the warmth of the bread and stew radiating through the thin cloth. The rich, earthy aroma of spices and freshly baked crust made his stomach twist in a mix of hunger and guilt. He sighed, shaking his head as his boots crunched against the uneven cobblestones of the Lanes. He hadn't wanted to take it, but old Grimrose had been as persistent as ever.

"You'll waste away if you don't eat, boy," she had said, scanning his skinny frame, her tone firm and with an undertone that made it clear she wasn't taking no for an answer. Her weathered hands, lined with years of hard work, had gently but insistently pressed the bundle into his chest. "No arguing. I've got plenty."

She always said that, even though Jax knew it wasn't true. Grimrose's corner stall was a cluttered collection of secondhand trinkets and odds-and-ends, her profits barely enough to scrape by. Still, she always found a way to give him something—a hunk of bread, a bowl of soup, or, on rare occasions like tonight, a full meal.

"Thanks," he'd muttered, his cheeks flushing as he shuffled away under her watchful gaze. He hated taking handouts, but Grimrose never made him feel like a charity case. Her gruff kindness was one of the few things in Zaun that didn't feel transactional. She often mentioned how he reminded her of her grandson—witty and full of trouble.

That thought warmed him slightly as he turned into a narrow alley, the bundle cradled carefully against his chest. The shadows stretched long in the dim glow of the overhead lamps, the faint buzz of flickering bulbs mixing with the distant hum of machinery. The Lanes felt quieter than usual, the usual commotion replaced by the muted whispers of voices in the distance.

Jax's footsteps echoed softly against the uneven cobblestones, the bundle of food warm in his arms offering a faint comfort against the chill of the Lanes. He kept his eyes ahead, his thoughts wandering between Grimrose's kind words and the small but nagging guilt of taking her offering. Yet, as he walked, something shifted—not immediately, but subtly, like the air itself had changed.

The hum of distant machinery seemed to fade. The faint buzz of a flickering overhead lamp became sharper, almost grating, as it cut through the eerie quiet. Jax slowed his pace, glancing around. The shadows pooling in the corners of the alley seemed to stretch a little farther than they should, darker than they had any right to be.

His chest tightened, though he couldn't say why. It was just a feeling—a prickle at the back of his neck, a creeping unease that wrapped around him like a whisper he couldn't hear. He shook his head, trying to brush it off. "Zaun junk," he muttered to himself, though the words felt thin.

The shadows deepened, the puddles reflecting the dim light in strange, rippling patterns. Jax frowned, his steps faltering as his eyes darted across the narrow passage. It wasn't just the dark—it was something in the dark. Or was it? There was nothing there, but the air carried a weight now, pressing down on his chest like a heavy hand.

He took another step forward, his breath quickening as the feeling grew stronger. The oppressive stillness of the alley felt unnatural, as though the Lanes themselves had stopped breathing. His pulse quickened, the bundle of food trembling slightly in his arms.

Suddenly, he froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. The air thickened, growing heavier and colder, and the alley around him seemed to shrink, its walls folding inward as though trying to trap him. Someting—a faint, flickering distortion—danced at the edge of his vision. His heart thundered as he turned his head slowly toward it.

Nothing. No figure, no sound, no movement. But Jax felt it, stronger than before, that terrible certainty that something was there. Watching. Waiting. It wasn't the kind of presence you saw or heard—it was the kind you felt.

The back of his neck prickled sharply, and his breathing grew shallow. He tried to speak, to break the silence, but his throat was dry, his voice caught in the suffocating grip of dread. He forced the words out, barely louder than a whisper. "Not real. It's not real."

The words offered no comfort. They felt hollow, swallowed by the vast stillness around him. Whatever he thought he saw—it wasn't there anymore. But the feeling of being seen, being known, remained. It wasn't a gaze he could avoid, not eyes he could look away from. It was deeper, more invasive, cutting into him like shards of ice.

Jax's steps quickened, his boots splashing through shallow puddles as he pressed forward. Each step felt heavier, as though the air itself resisted him. The sensation didn't fade. It clung to him, whispering silently in the back of his mind, a shadow of something that wasn't there—but somehow was.

The alley stretched on endlessly, the familiar path to his workshop now feeling foreign and labyrinthine. He broke into a jog, the sound of his footsteps echoing too loud, too sharp, against the smothering quiet. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and the food bundle felt heavier with every step.

He didn't notice the figures until it was too late.

"Hey, look who we've got here," a voice drawled from the shadows, low and menacing.

Jax stopped and blinked in confusion as the thugs' voices cut through the air, sharp and taunting, snapping him back to reality. The feeling was sudden as if he broke free from an illusion, the oppressive feeling from a moment ago evaporating in an instant. Slowly, he looked up to see a small group stepping out from the murky edges of the alley. It was the same crew from the docks, their faces illuminated faintly by the flickering light overhead.

"Well, if it isn't our little friend," another sneered, his lips curling into a predatory grin. "Miss us, kid?"

Jax's mouth went dry, his grip tightening on the bundle of food in his arms. "I'm just trying to get home," he said, his voice steady despite the fear bubbling in his chest. "I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" The largest thug stepped forward, cracking his knuckles as he loomed over Jax. "You made plenty of that for us back at the docks."

"I didn't do anything to you," Jax shot back, his voice firmer now. "You got scared off. Not my fault you can't handle yourself." The words escaped before he could think better of them, and the tension in the air thickened immediately. The largest thug's grin disappeared, replaced by a snarl.

"You've got a smart mouth, kid," he said, stepping closer. "Let me fix that for you."

Jax took a step back, his heart racing as the thugs spread out, cutting off any escape route. He glanced around, looking for an opening, but they had him boxed in. The narrow alley felt even tighter now.

"I don't want to fight," Jax said, his voice unsteady. He wished he had his sword with him, though deep down, he wasn't sure it would've made a difference.

"Good," the lead thug said. "We don't want a fight either. We just want to teach you a lesson."

Before Jax could react, the first blow came—a hard shove to his chest that sent him stumbling back against the wall. The bundle of food tumbled from his arms, hitting the ground with a muted thud.

"Oops," one of them said mockingly, kicking the bundle aside. "Looks like dinner's ruined."

"Stop!" Jax shouted, but his voice was drowned out by their laughter.

The second blow came quickly, a punch to his gut that knocked the wind out of him. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as pain flared through his body. Another punch followed, right under his right eye, which made him roll over and fall down. While down, the biggest one grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against the wall.

"You should've stayed out of our way," the leader hissed, pulling out a knife.

Jax squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact, when a deep, commanding voice echoed through the alley.

"That's enough."

The thugs froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the voice. Vander stood at the mouth of the alley, his broad frame backlit by the dim light. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with quiet fury, and his bristly beard made him look like an angry bear, or a wolf.

"Leave the boy alone," Vander said, stepping forward slowly.

The leader sneered but didn't move. "This ain't your business, Vander."

"Everything in the Lanes is my business," Vander said, his tone low and measured, with just enough weight to make the thugs hesitate. "You know how things go when I have to get involved. Don't make me remind you."

The thug hesitated, glancing at his crew. For a moment, it looked like he might argue, but Vander's imposing presence was enough to make him think twice.

"Tch. Lucky kid," the leader muttered, stepping back. "Let's go."

The thugs slinked away, their muttered curses fading into the distance. Vander waited until they were gone before turning to Jax, his expression softening.

"You alright, kid?" he asked, crouching down to Jax's level.

Jax nodded weakly, though his ribs ached, and his knees felt like jelly. "Yeah. Thanks," he mumbled.

He offered Jax a hand, pulling him to his feet with ease. Jax winced as he straightened, his ribs aching with every breath. The bundle of food lay in the dirt nearby, the cloth torn and the contents scattered. He stared at it for a moment, a hollow feeling settling in his chest.

Vander glanced at the bundle of food lying in dirt. "That old Grimrose's food?"

"Yeah," Jax muttered, his voice tight. "Not much left of it now."

Vander's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't comment right away. "She'll understand," he said after a moment. "She's got a good heart, that one."

Jax didn't respond. His thoughts were tangled, a mess of anger at the thugs, frustration at himself, and that strange, gnawing dread from earlier. Talking felt like too much effort for him at the moment.

Vander gave him a tap on the shoulder, "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

They walked in silence for a while, the faint hum of The Last Drop's neon lights growing louder as they neared the tavern. Vander glanced at Jax again, his tone softening. "You can't take on everything by yourself. No shame in having people to back you up."

Jax's jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the cobblestones ahead. "What people?" he asked, his voice low and strained. "I don't exactly have my people."

Vander's steps slowed, and he turned to look at Jax fully. "You've got more than you think, kid."

Jax shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. "Like who? Grimrose? She gives me food sometimes, sure. Powder? She likes my inventions, but she's got her family. Like Vi. And you."

"Stop," Vander said firmly, his voice cutting through Jax's growing bitterness. He placed a hand on Jax's shoulder, his grip steady but not forceful. "Listen to me. No one here makes it alone. Not for long."

Jax hesitated, his breath hitching. "I've been doing it alone my whole life."

"And how's that working out for you?" Vander asked, his tone blunt. "Getting jumped by thugs? Losing food you needed? Worrying about what's lurking in every shadow? That's not living, Jax. That's surviving."

Jax clenched his fists, the words hitting harder than he wanted to admit. "What choice do I have? I don't have a family. No one's waiting for me. I don't… belong anywhere."

Vander's expression softened, his hand still resting on Jax's shoulder. "That's what you think. But I see a kid who's trying, even when the world keeps knocking him down. That takes guts. And if you're still standing, then you've already got something most people don't—a reason to keep going."

Jax swallowed hard, his chest tightening. "I don't know if that's enough."

"It is," Vander said quietly. "And you don't have to figure it all out right now. What matters is that you don't shut people out. Powder? She's never been as happy as she has these last few months since she met you. She thinks the world of you, kid. Don't push her away just because letting someone in feels scary."

Jax looked away, the weight of Vander's words sinking in. He thought of Powder's grin when they were working on inventions, the way she never treated him like an outsider. But even then, the fear of being a burden lingered. "What if… What if that's not good enough?"

Vander sighed, letting his hand fall to his side. "No one's asking you to be perfect. Just show up. Do your best. That's all anyone can ask for." He paused, his voice softening further. "You don't have to be alone anymore. But it's up to you to let people in."

Jax didn't reply, his throat tight. The Last Drop loomed ahead, its neon lights casting faint reflections on the slick cobblestones. Vander clapped him gently on the back, steering him toward the entrance.

"Think about it," Vander said as they reached the door. "You've got more than you realize. Just don't wait too long to see it."

Jax nodded faintly, stepping inside. The warmth of the tavern wrapped around Jax. It was a stark contrast to the chill of the Lanes, but Jax barely noticed. His ribs ached with every step, and Vander's words lingered on his mind.

Vander guided him to the backroom, pushing open the creaky wooden door. Inside, Vi and Powder were perched on a couple of overturned crates, deep in conversation. Powder's hands moved animatedly as she spoke, her eyes wide with excitement, while Vi leaned back, smirking at whatever story Powder was telling.

"Patch-up time," Vander announced as they entered, his voice cutting through their chatter. Both girls turned toward them, Powder's grin fading as her gaze landed on Jax.

"What happened to you?" she asked, hopping off her crate and rushing over. Her blue eyes scanned him, concern replacing the usual mischief. "You look awful!"

"I'm fine," Jax muttered, though he winced as he lowered himself into a nearby chair. "Just ran into some… people."

Vi stood and crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Thugs?"

"Thugs," Vander confirmed, rummaging through a small cabinet and pulling out a rag, some bandages, and a bottle of antiseptic. "Dock crew, most likely."

Powder frowned, hovering close to Jax. "Why didn't you call for help or something?"

Jax shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "I can handle myself."

"Sure looks like it," Vi said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She leaned against the wall, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You're lucky Vander showed up."

"Yeah," Jax admitted quietly, glancing at the older man as he sat down beside him.

Vander poured a bit of antiseptic onto the rag, the sharp, chemical smell filling the small room. "Vi, get out of his face. Let me patch him up."

Vi rolled her eyes but stepped back, motioning for Powder to follow. Powder hesitated, glancing between Jax and Vander, before reluctantly joining her sister.

As Vander began dabbing at the bruise on Jax's face, the boy flinched but didn't pull away. "You're gonna feel this," Vander warned, his tone softening just a bit.

Jax gritted his teeth as the antiseptic stung, the pain sharp but manageable. He stayed silent, focusing instead on Powder and Vi's murmured conversation. Powder was talking about some gadget they'd been working on earlier, her words fast and excited as she described her latest idea. Vi interrupted every so often, teasing or throwing in a sarcastic remark, but there was an easy warmth between them.

Jax watched Powder for a moment, the way her face lit up when she talked about her inventions, her hands moving as if she were already building something in her mind. For all the chaos in the Lanes, she carried a brightness that cut through the gloom.

"She cares about you, you know," Vander said quietly, breaking Jax's train of thought.

Jax blinked, glancing at the older man. "What?"

"Powder," Vander said, his voice low enough that only Jax could hear. "She's always talking about you. Your projects. How you're teaching her stuff. She looks up to you."

Jax hesitated, the words catching him off guard. "I'm just… helping her with some gadgets. It's no big deal."

Vander raised an eyebrow, dabbing at another cut. "No big deal to you, maybe. But to her? It's everything."

Jax didn't know how to respond, so he stayed quiet, his gaze flicking back to Powder. She was laughing now. For a moment, the ache in his ribs didn't seem so bad.

As Vander finished wrapping the bandage around Jax's ribs, he gave the boy a pat on the shoulder—not too hard, but enough to make him wince slightly. "That'll hold for now. Try not to get into any more trouble tonight, yeah?"

"Got it," Jax mumbled, his face warm with embarrassment.

Vander stood, stretching his shoulders before glancing toward the door. The muffled sound of customers and clinking glasses filtered in from the tavern beyond. "I'd stay, but it sounds like the crowd's getting impatient. You'll be alright?"

"Yeah," Jax replied, though he wasn't entirely sure.

Vander nodded once, his gaze lingering on both Powder and Vi for a moment. "Watch out for each other," he said simply before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

The moment the door clicked shut, Powder's excitement bubbled over. "Come on, Jax! I've been waiting to show you this!"

Jax blinked, caught off guard. "Show me what?"

"My room!" she said, practically bouncing on her feet. "You've never been, and I've got all my sketches and stuff there! You'll love it!"

Vi, still leaning casually against the wall, smirked. "Taking him to your room, huh, Powder? That serious already?"

Powder turned, sticking out her tongue at her sister. "You're so annoying, Vi. Go bother Mylo or something."

Vi chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. "Just saying, you and Jax spend a lot of time together. Maybe Mylo's onto something with all that 'lovebirds' teasing."

"Shut up!" Powder shot back, grabbing Jax's arm and dragging him toward the door leading to the upper floor. "Just ignore her. Let's go Jax."

Jax, for his part, wasn't so skilled at ignoring it. His face burned as he let Powder pull him along, the teasing words echoing in his ears. "It's not… We're not…" he stammered, glancing back at Vi, who gave him a knowing wink.

"Relax, kid," Vi said with a laugh, waving them off. "Go have fun with your sketches."

Powder groaned audibly, slamming the door behind them as they headed down the narrow staircase. "She's so annoying sometimes."

Jax chuckled nervously, still feeling the heat on his face. "She's, uh… yeah… I mean, I guess."

Powder rolled her eyes, leading him down the short hallway before pushing open her door. The room was small but packed with personality. Papers and sketches were scattered across the desk, pinned to the walls, and even tucked into corners. A collection of tools and spare parts sat in a carefully organized pile on one side, and a small bed with a threadbare blanket occupied the other.

"Wow," Jax said, stepping inside and taking it all in. "You've built, like… a whole workshop in here."

"Right?!" Powder grinned, rushing over to the desk and picking up a piece of paper. "Look at this! It's an idea for a gadget that could launch a toast at someone! And over here—" She darted to another part of the room, pulling out a small contraption that looked like it had been cobbled together from scrap. It had a series of mismatched gears and a thin pipe sticking out of the top, with wires dangling haphazardly from the sides. Powder held it up proudly, grinning. "It's supposed to be a smoke launcher! Like, for making dramatic escapes or scaring Mylo. But, uh… it mostly just sputters and makes a weird wheezing sound."

After that, she practically dragged Jax over to her cluttered desk, her voice buzzing with energy. "Okay, okay, look at this," she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from the pile. She smoothed it against the desk, revealing a rough sketch of a lopsided bird with wings. "It's supposed to fly and whistle, but it didn't really work. Like… at all."

Jax leaned in, tilting his head as he inspected the drawing. "Didn't fly or didn't whistle?"

"Neither," Powder said with a dramatic sigh. "The wings just flop around, and the sound comes out all screechy. It's kind of embarrassing."

Jax chuckled. "Yeah, but it's a cool idea. Could totally work if you tweak it a bit."

"Pfft, I'm over it," Powder said, waving a hand dismissively. She reached into the pile again, pulling out a small, tube-like gadget. "What about this? It's supposed to launch marbles, but it jams all the time."

Jax took the contraption, turning it over in his hands. "Jams, huh? You sure it's not just exploding?"

"Maybe a little," Powder admitted with a sly grin. "But it was loud, so that's kind of cool."

Jax shook his head with a smirk, handing it back to her. "Loud is cool."

Powder plopped into her chair, spinning idly as she rifled through more sketches. She held up a boxy machine with mismatched wheels. "This was supposed to be a cart that moves on its own, but it just falls over."

"Falling over is definitely a problem," Jax teased, sitting on the floor beside the desk.

"Ugh, I'm bored of all this," Powder said, tossing the sketch onto the desk. She spun in her chair again, resting her chin in her hand. "None of this stuff is exciting anymore. I wanna make something new. Something big."

"Big?" Jax echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, like something loud and awesome," Powder said, her eyes lighting up. "Something that'll freak Mylo out so bad he won't stop screaming."

Jax grinned, grabbing the sketchpad from the desk and flipping to a blank page. "Alright, big and loud… let's see what we can do."

Powder perked up, leaning over to watch as his pencil started to move across the page. Slowly, the outline of a monkey began to take shape—a clunky, mechanical figure with hinged arms holding cymbals.

"What's that?" Powder asked, her curiosity growing.

"A monkey bomb," Jax said, grinning as he added a spark emitter to its chest. "It claps its cymbals together, makes a ton of noise, and then… boom."

Powder's eyes widened, and she let out a delighted laugh. "That's perfect! Mylo's gonna lose his mind."

"Exactly the point," Jax said, adding some gears and wires to the sketch. "We'll need some parts, but I think we can pull it off. Might take a few tries, though."

Powder grabbed the sketchpad, holding it up like it was the greatest thing she'd ever seen. "This is amazing. We're totally doing this."

Jax leaned back, his grin softening as he watched her excitement. "Guess we've got our next project."

Powder nodded eagerly, her blue eyes sparkling. "This is gonna be awesome. We'll start tomorrow. Mylo's not ready for this."

Jax laughed, the aches and bruises from earlier fading into the background as Powder's enthusiasm filled the room. But then Vander's words came back at him, and he realized it. Loneliness was something he'd never really thought about before—not until Powder. It had always been a fact of his life, as constant as the smog and the noise of the Lanes. He never saw it as a big deal; it was just the way things were.

But then Powder had burst into his life—or rather, he'd stumbled into hers, quite literally, when he turned the corner of that narrow alley too fast. It was a messy, unexpected meeting, but somehow, it changed everything.

For the first time, he had someone. Someone who made him laugh, who shared his excitement for their clunky, half-working inventions, who looked at him like he was more than just another stray kid scraping by in Zaun.

It hit him then, as he stood there by her side, that having someone like Powder in his life made all the difference. It wasn't just about surviving anymore. It was about the spark of joy she brought, the way she made the world feel a little less heavy.

Maybe Vander was right. Maybe he didn't have to face everything on his own. The thought scared him. This was something new, something he hadn't experienced ever before.

"Jax?" Powder's voice cut through his thoughts, her head tilting as she peered up at him. "You okay? You've got that look again. Like you're spacing out or something."

Jax blinked, pulled back to the present by her question. "Huh? Yeah, I'm fine," he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "Just… thinking."

Powder squinted at him suspiciously, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. "Thinking about what? Is it another crazy invention idea? Or are you just planning how to get Mylo back for calling you 'junk-boy' again?"

Jax chuckled, shaking his head. "No, not that. Just… stuff."

"Stuff?" Powder raised an eyebrow, her grin softening into something more curious. "You never think about 'stuff.' You're always moving, always talking. Come on, tell me!"

Jax hesitated, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, he considered brushing it off with a joke, but the genuine concern in her expression made him pause. "I was just thinking… how nice it is to have someone to talk to," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Powder blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Oh," she said, her tone softening. "Well… you've got me. So… you're not alone or whatever."

Her words hung in the air, simple but weighty, and Jax felt a warmth rise to his face. He looked away quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah… well, sure…" he mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment.

They both fell quiet, the moment stretching into a comfortable silence as they returned to their work. Jax fiddled with some loose wires and gears while Powder tinkered with her half-finished bird contraption, her hands steady but her expression distant, like she was lost in thought.

The only sounds were the faint clink of metal and the hum of Zaun's ever-present machinery in the background. But for Jax, it wasn't the usual oppressive quiet. This silence was different—warm, easy, and shared.

Every now and then, Powder would glance at him from the corner of her eye, and he'd pretend not to notice, his focus locked on his work. And maybe, just maybe, he caught himself doing the same.

The Shadows in the Lanes

The sun was setting over Zaun, its dim light painting the city in hues of green and gray as Jax leaned against a rusted pipe. He watched the group with an amused smile as they bantered, their energy infectious despite the grim surroundings. Vi stood at the edge of the rooftop, her arms crossed and a cocky grin on her face.

"Rules are simple," she said, pointing to the towering factory vent belching steam a few rooftops away. "First one there wins. No shortcuts through the street. Stay on the rooftops."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Mylo grumbled, his wiry frame bouncing with anticipation. "This time, I'm gonna wipe that smug grin off your face, Vi."

"Sure you will," Vi shot back, clearly unimpressed. Her confidence wasn't forced—she owned it, and Jax couldn't help but admire that.

Claggor chuckled, his large hands adjusting the straps on his gloves. "Just don't get stuck halfway like last time, alright?" Mylo groaned annoyingly.

"Hey, Powder," Vi said, her voice softer than usual. She crouched down, placing a hand on Powder's shoulder. "Are you sure you wanna do this? These races aren't just fun and games. The roofs are no joke. If something happens, I-" She stopped, her jaw tightening. "I don't want you getting hurt."

Powder hesitated, her fingers tightening around the gadget she's been working on. For a moment, it seemed she might listen. But then Powder glanced at Jax, who was leaning casually against a pipe, that confident smirk plastered across his face.

"If Jax is going to do it," Powder said firmly, her chin lifting in defiance, "then I'm going too."

Vi raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Powder, Jax is…" She glanced over at him, then sighed. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"I'm not proving anything!" Powder snapped, her voice sharp, but her cheeks flushed. "I just… I want to do it, okay?"

Vi studied her for a long moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. From what he came to learn about her, Jax knew that look in Powder's eyes—stubborn, determined, the same look he himself had when no one could talk him out of something. Finally, Vi sighed and stood up. "Alright, fine. Just… stay safe, okay? If anything feels wrong, you stop."

Powder nodded quickly, the small smile that broke across her face softening Vi's worry. "I will," she promised.

Jax leaned down just enough to catch Powder's eye, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Try not to blow yourself up out there," he teased, then added more softly, "but don't worry—you can do this." Powder smiled and nodded a few times excitedly.

As Vi turned back toward the others, her expression hardened again. "Alright," she called, raising her voice, "let's get this over with."

"Can I use this?" Powder asked, holding up what looked like a makeshift grappling hook.

"Only if it doesn't explode," Mylo quipped. Powder glared at him, clutching the device protectively.

Jax let the banter roll over him, his smile widening. "So," he drawled, stepping forward, "are we doing this already?"

Vi arched a brow, looking him over. "What's the rush? You think you can keep up with us, rookie?"

Jax shrugged, brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. "Guess we'll find out."

Her smirk deepened. "Alright, Blondie. Don't cry when I leave you in the dust."

Jax grinned back, not bothering to reply. His mind was already working, mapping the path ahead, calculating every jump and step. The rooftops stretched out before them—a series of uneven platforms, precarious gaps, and jagged obstacles. To most, it would seem chaotic, unpredictable. To him, it was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"Ready… set… GO!" Vi's shout rang out, and they were off.

Jax let the others rush ahead of him a bit, holding back only for a moment. He wanted to watch them—how they moved, where they stumbled. Vi was fast, all power and momentum, her boots slamming against the rooftop as she surged ahead. Mylo was quick too, but less controlled, his movements erratic. Claggor lagged behind slightly, his heavy frame steady and deliberate, while Powder brought up the rear, her small figure darting carefully around obstacles.

Satisfied, Jax accelerated, his body moving instinctively. His steps were light, precise, as if the uneven terrain wasn't even there. A broken plank? He adjusted his weight without missing a beat. A loose brick? His foot found the edge perfectly. The wind rushed past him, the sounds of the others fading into the background as his focus narrowed.

The first major gap loomed ahead—a wide stretch between two buildings with a dizzying drop into the smog below. Vi launched herself across effortlessly, landing in a crouch. Mylo followed, but his foot slipped on the edge, and he barely caught himself. Jax watched as Claggor paused to measure the jump, then cleared it with a powerful leap. Powder hesitated, clutching her grappling hook.

Jax reached the gap, his steps unbroken. He didn't pause or calculate—he didn't need to. His body knew what to do, the movement fluid and almost unnaturally smooth. He landed silently on the other side, his boots barely scuffing the surface.

Vi glanced back, her brow furrowing as she caught sight of him. For a split second, her confidence wavered. "Not bad," she muttered under her breath, though Jax didn't respond.

The next stretch was a series of slanted roofs and narrow ledges. Vi powered through, her strength and determination carrying her forward. Mylo struggled, slipping and cursing as he scrambled to keep up. Claggor moved methodically, using his bulk to steady himself. Powder, ever resourceful, found a pipe to climb, bypassing the worst of the terrain.

Jax moved differently. He wasn't fast like Vi, nor as cautious as Claggor. His movements were fluid, as if he wasn't reacting to the obstacles but anticipating them. He ducked under a low-hanging pipe without looking, his feet finding perfect purchase on a crumbling ledge. When a plank creaked ominously under his weight, he adjusted mid-step, his balance impeccable.

It wasn't just instinct—it was something deeper. He could feel the rhythm of the environment, the way the structures leaned, the faint vibrations of the rooftops beneath him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it guided him.

Vi, ahead of him, noticed again. She wasn't the type to miss details, and Jax's movements were too precise. "Who taught you to run like that?" she called over her shoulder.

Jax grinned, brushing off the question. "No one," he replied casually.

The factory vent loomed ahead, but the last rooftop was the hardest—a slanted surface covered in loose tiles, with a plank bridging the final gap. The hiss of steam from a nearby pipe added to the tension.

Vi tackled the slope head-on, her boots slipping slightly as she climbed. She slid down the other side with a whoop, already reaching for the plank. Mylo, predictably, stumbled, nearly losing his footing before clawing his way up. Claggor climbed steadily, his weight making the plank groan as he crossed.

Panic flickered in Powder's eyes as her grappling hook jammed, refusing to retract. "No, no, no!" she cried, frantically tugging at it. The others were already ahead, and the frustration in her chest threatened to boil over into tears.

Vi's voice carried from ahead. "Powder! Just climb—hurry!"

Jax, halfway up the slanted roof, stopped and glanced back. For a moment, he looked like he might keep going, but then he sighed and turned around, jogging back toward her. "Guess I've gotta save the day, huh?" he teased, his lopsided grin as cocky as ever.

Powder looked up, her voice shaky. "I-I can't… it's stuck! They're gonna leave me behind!"

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Hey, hey. No one's leaving you." His gaze flicked to the slope ahead. "Here. We have to go before Mylo and Claggor cross the plank. They're hesitating. Hold onto my hand—just don't let go, okay?"

"W-what? But what if—"

"You can do this," he said, his tone surprisingly steady for a ten-year-old.

Powder blinked at him, her lip trembling, but after a beat, she nodded. She grabbed his outstretched hand, her smaller fingers clutching his tightly. Together, they moved toward the slope, Powder awkwardly climbing while Jax guided her, his own steps unusually sure for the shifting tiles beneath them.

See?" Jax said as they neared the top, glancing back at her with a teasing grin. "Not so bad. And you didn't even break anything."

"Yet," she muttered, though the hint of a smile crept onto her face.

As they reached the top of the slope, the rickety plank came into view. Claggor and Mylo were standing just before it, hesitating. The plank groaned ominously under the weight of the wind, swaying slightly between the rooftops.

"You going or what?" Jax called, raising an eyebrow.

Mylo crossed his arms, clearly trying to mask his unease. "Just making sure it doesn't collapse, alright? Someone's gotta test it."

Claggor glanced at him, unimpressed. "So… you're testing it by standing here and staring at it?"

"I'm strategizing," Mylo shot back, then added under his breath, "It's called being cautious."

Jax snorted, stepping up beside them. "Fine, I'll test it for you. Just try not to fall in my way, alright?"

Without waiting for a response, Jax crouched low and stepped onto the plank, testing the creaking wood. His balance was unnervingly steady as he crossed to the middle. He looked back at Powder and gestured for her to follow. "Your turn. Just follow exactly where I step, alright? No pressure, but if you fall, Vi's probably gonna kill me."

Powder bit her lip, her legs wobbling as she stepped onto the plank. The dizzying drop below made her stomach churn, but she focused on Jax's footsteps, her small frame lighter and steadier than she expected.

"I'm gonna die," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"You're not gonna die," Jax said over his shoulder, his tone light but reassuring. "But if you don't hurry, Mylo might faint from fear."

"Hey!" Mylo protested, though his voice cracked slightly.

His calm tone and the image of Mylo whining managed to pull a shaky laugh from her. Step by step, she followed him, mimicking his precise movements. The plank groaned ominously under their combined weight, but Jax glanced back at her and winked. "Told you we'd make it look cool."

They reached the other side together, Powder practically collapsing onto the rooftop as Vi came into view by the vent. Powder let out a shaky laugh. "That… was kind of awesome."

Jax flopped onto the ground beside her, grinning. "Obviously. That's because of me."

Powder's laugh bubbled up again, her earlier panic fading into exhilaration. Jax smirked, pulling himself up and offering her a hand. "Come on. Race isn't over yet."

Powder grabbed his hand, steadying herself before breaking into a run toward the vent. Jax stayed close, his steps precise and measured as they closed the gap. Vi was already ahead, her fists pumping in triumph as she reached the vent and slapped her hand against it.

"Ha! Told you no one beats me!" Vi crowed, turning to face them with a smug grin.

Powder and Jax arrived together, stumbling to a stop beside her. Powder, still catching her breath, leaned against the vent and flashed Vi a triumphant grin. "Well, I didn't fall!"

Vi arched a brow, her gaze flicking between them. "And whose fault is that? Jax?" she asked, crossing her arms but smiling despite herself.

Jax shrugged casually. "Guess I'm good at saving people from falling.."

"Real hero," Mylo muttered as he finally reached the vent, collapsing onto the rooftop with a groan. "This whole thing is rigged. I slipped, like, a hundred times."

"Because you're terrible at this," Vi shot back.

Claggor arrived last, his steady pace unbothered by the banter. "Still made it," he said simply, brushing dust off his gloves. "Guess that makes me the only one who didn't almost fall today."

"Hey, I didn't fall either!" Powder piped up, straightening. She shot a look at Jax and added with a grin, "Not really, anyway."

Vi's sharp gaze lingered on Jax, her arms still crossed. She didn't say anything right away, but her brow furrowed slightly, as if she was trying to work something out. "You're faster than you look," she said finally, her tone casual but curious. "And… weirdly good at this."

Jax met her eyes, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrug. "I just did it a lot." She stared at him like a hawk. "What? I live alone, I had to have fun somehow. Running on rooftops is pretty fun."

Powder giggled, completely missing the subtle tension between them. "He was awesome! He helped me when my grappling hook broke, and we still made it across. Right, Jax?"

"Right," he said, scratching his neck. "You did most of the work, though."

Before Powder could reply, Mylo groaned dramatically from where he was sprawled on the rooftop. "Ugh, get a room, lovebirds," he muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, smirking as he propped himself up on his elbows.

Powder's face turned bright red. "W-we're not—!" she stammered, flailing her arms.

Jax, a little flustered but quick on his feet, smirked at Mylo. "At least I'm not the one who almost fell a hundred times. Maybe I should've stayed back to save you instead."

The group burst into laughter, even Claggor chuckling as he helped Mylo to his feet. Powder, still red-faced, crossed her arms and glared at Mylo. "You're the worst," she muttered.

Mylo mocked a laugh, ruffling her hair before dodging her swat.

"Alright, enough," Vi cut in, shaking her head. She pointed toward the factory's edge. "Let's get moving before someone falls for real."

"Yeah, like Mylo," Powder teased, sticking out her tongue.

"Hey!" Mylo protested, his voice trailing off as the group started making their way back. Jax hung toward the back, his smirk lingering as he glanced at Powder, who seemed pretty satisfied with herself.

The group began their trek back through Zaun's maze-like Lanes, the fading light casting long shadows that tangled with the steam and smoke rising from the machinery below. The air was thick, as usual, and not as clean as in the Upper City, but Jax never went there to see for himself. He only ever heard about it from others.

Vi led the way, her strides confident as she occasionally glanced back to make sure everyone was keeping up. Mylo stuck close to her, still defending his performance in the race. "I didn't almost fall a hundred times," he muttered, glaring at Powder. "It was maybe… five."

"Five hundred," Powder quipped.

"Keep it up, Powder," Mylo warned, his tone mock-serious. "Next time, I'm not helping you with your gadgets."

"You never help me with my gadgets!" she shot back, skipping ahead so she's the one closer to Vi than Mylo.

Claggor chuckled softly, shaking his head. He walked in the middle of the group, a steady presence, while Jax mostly hung toward the back. He wasn't talking much, his eyes wandering over the narrow alleyways and the dim glow of neon signs flickering above. Zaun always felt alive, but not in a comforting way—it was a place of constant motion, like a beast that never truly slept.

Jax's attention flicked back to the group when Vi said, "Alright, Powder, no more shortcuts on the next race. You almost gave me a heart attack back there."

Powder shrugged, looking pleased with herself. "I still made it, didn't I?"

As the others laughed and bickered, Jax's gaze drifted again, his footsteps slowing. Something felt… off. The Lanes were never quiet, not really, but now the usual buzz of voices, clanking pipes, and distant machinery seemed muted. He scanned the shadows stretching out from the corners of buildings, his stomach tightening. There was nothing in the alleys around them, nothing he could see at least. He shifted irritably, rubbing his arms, and reminded himself to keep moving forward and stop thinking about stupid things. But the sudden cold that formed from his breath made him shiver. Then he glanced over his shoulder... and blinked.

That was when he saw it.

A figure stood at the end of a narrow alley, not more than twenty spans ahead, cloaked in black that seemed to absorb the dim light around it. The edges of the cloak rippled faintly, as if caught in a wind that didn't exist in the still air of the Lanes. The figure wasn't moving—just standing there, watching.

Watching him.

Jax froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. The figure didn't have a face. Or maybe it did, but it was hidden deep within the shadow of the hood. It didn't matter. Jax could feel its gaze locked onto him, cold and unrelenting, like it saw through him. He looked at those invisible yes, and felt hatred, hatred for everything that lived. Hatred for him most of all, hatred for him above all else.

Abruptly a low pipe caught his heel, and he stumbled, breaking his eyes away from the cloaked figure. He dropped on the ground, bruising his palm as he tried to ease the fall.

"Jax?" Vi's voice broke through his trance. She'd stopped walking and turned to look at him, her brow furrowed. "You good?"

Jax blinked and glanced back toward the alley. The figure was gone. The space it had occupied was empty, only the faint hiss of a steam pipe and the dull glow of a cracked neon sign marking the spot.

"I… yeah," Jax said quickly, shaking his head. He forced a grin, hoping it didn't look as shaky as it felt. "Just thought I saw something."

Vi studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Well, hurry up. We're not waiting for you to zone out."

As the group started moving again, Jax couldn't shake the unease curling in his chest. His eyes kept darting to the shadows, searching for a flicker of movement, a ripple of that impossibly dark cloak. But the figure didn't reappear.

x

They spilled into the backroom of The Last Drop, their voices filling the small space as they jostled for seats. Powder darted to the floor near the table, already tinkering with her broken grappling hook, while Vi claimed the largest chair with a triumphant grin.

"Alright," she said, kicking her feet up onto the table. "We all agree I won, right? No arguments?"

"Uh, yeah, because you shoved me!" Mylo retorted, dropping into a chair opposite her. "I could've won if you played fair for once."

Vi snorted. "You tripped over your own feet. Again."

"Vi won fairly." Powder chimed in without looking up, her hands busy with the gadget. "Besides, Jax and I were way faster than Mylo."

"Excuse me!" Mylo said, throwing his hands up. "The only reason you made it was because your grappling hook didn't work. That's cheating!"

"How's it cheating if it didn't help me?" Powder shot back, narrowing her eyes.

Claggor shook his head, sitting down with a chuckle. "It's not cheating, Mylo. You're just mad Powder got across faster than you, even without it."

"I'm not mad," Mylo muttered, crossing his arms. "I'm just saying, if my boots weren't slippery, I would've smoked you all."

"You're saying if you weren't bad at running, you'd be better at running?" Jax said, leaning against the table with a crooked grin.

The room erupted into laughter, Mylo glaring at Jax with mock indignation. "Oh, you think you're funny now, huh? You've been here five minutes, and you think you're better than me."

"At running? Definitely," Jax quipped, earning another round of laughter.

"You're all terrible," Mylo grumbled, slumping in his chair. "I'm surrounded by traitors."

"Love you too, Mylo," Vi said, smirking at him. "Now quit whining before Powder sticks a gadget to your face."

The laughter and teasing began to fade as the group's energy dwindled, the adrenaline from the race finally wearing off. Powder's stomach growled loudly, cutting through the chatter like a thunderclap.

"Okay," Vi said, standing up and stretching. "Time to eat. Let's go see what Vander's got."

"Finally!" Mylo exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I'm starving. If Vander's made stew, I'm calling dibs on the first bowl."

"You mean you're calling dibs on half the pot," Claggor muttered, following the others toward the door.

Jax hesitated, hanging back as they filed out of the backroom. He glanced toward the entrance of the bar, the thought of slipping away tugging at him. This was fun—more fun than he was used to—but it wasn't his place. He didn't belong here, not really.

"I'll, uh, catch you guys later," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I should probably head home."

Vi, already halfway out the door, turned and gave him a sharp look. "What? You're not leaving yet."

"I've got stuff to do," Jax said, shrugging as casually as he could.

"Stuff like what?" Vi asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. "Staring at walls? Scavenging for scraps you don't need? Come on. You're eating before you go anywhere."

"I'm fine," Jax insisted, though his stomach betrayed him with a low grumble.

Vi smirked, nodding toward his gut. "Sure, you are."

Jax sighed, realizing there was no way out of this. "Alright, alright. One bite, then I'm gone."

"One bowl," Vi corrected, stepping aside to let him through. "And maybe a dessert if Vander's feeling generous."

The main room of The Last Drop was as chaotic as ever, filled with the din of Zaunites talking, laughing, and arguing over drinks. The air was heavy with the scent of grease and smoke, mingled with the tantalizing aroma of whatever Vander had cooking in the back.

The group made their way to the bar, weaving through the crowd. Vander spotted them immediately, a broad smile breaking across his face as he wiped his hands on a towel. "Well, if it isn't my favorite troublemakers," he said, stepping out from behind the counter. "You all look like you've been running from Enforcers."

"Not this time," Vi said with a grin, hopping onto a stool. "We just need food. Mylo's about to wither away."

Mylo dropped into a seat beside her, clutching his stomach dramatically. "I'm serious, Vander. I'm dying over here."

"You'll survive," Vander said, shaking his head. He turned and grabbed a large pot from behind the counter, setting it down in front of them. "Stew's still hot. Help yourselves."

"Yes!" Powder cheered, scrambling up onto a stool and grabbing a bowl.

Jax hung back slightly, unsure if he should join in. He didn't want to impose—this wasn't his place, after all. But before he could slip away, Vi grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the counter. "You're eating," she said firmly.

"I told you, I'm fine," Jax protested weakly.

"Yeah, sure," Vi said, handing him a bowl. "Sit down. Shut up. Eat."

Jax sighed, taking the bowl reluctantly. The stew smelled amazing, and as he took his first bite, the warmth of it seemed to seep into his bones. It wasn't just food—it was comfort. He still had hard time getting used to all of this.

"See?" Vi said, nudging him with her elbow. "Told you it's better than whatever scraps you'd dig up."

Jax smiled faintly, nodding. "Yeah… it's good."

Vander, watching from behind the counter, gave him a small nod of approval. "Good to see you eating, kid. You're welcome here anytime."

Jax's smile widened as the group dove into their meal, the chatter and laughter around him feeling a little more like home with every passing moment.

The warmth of stew and the easy banter among the group was a welcome distraction, but the noise in the main room of The Last Drop was beginning to shift. The usual hum of laughter and conversation was giving way to raised voices and heated tones.

Jax paused mid-bite, glancing toward the bar where a patron slammed his mug onto the counter. "I'm telling you," the man said, his voice rough with frustration, "it's getting worse out there. These gangs—they're taking over the Lanes, doing whatever they want."

Another man seated near the door leaned forward, his face shadowed. "They don't just want the Lanes," he muttered. "They want all of Zaun. My brother's shop got hit last week. Didn't even care he didn't have anything to give—just smashed the place up to send a message."

The room quieted for a moment, tension hanging thick in the air. Then a woman near the center of the room spoke up, her voice sharp. "And what message is that? That they can rip the rest of us apart while they carve out their piece? Where's that leave the rest of us?"

Vi tensed, her spoon clinking against her bowl as she set it down. Powder leaned closer, whispering, "Vi, what are they talking about?"

Vi didn't answer, her eyes fixed on the growing commotion.

"Zaun's been dying for years," the man at the bar growled. "Now it's just speeding up. We're all sitting here, waiting for someone to take charge. Vander, you hear anything about it?"

The attention in the room shifted toward Vander, who was standing behind the counter, his broad shoulders taut. He slowly wiped his hands on a rag, his expression calm but guarded. "I hear plenty," he said evenly, his deep voice cutting through the room like steel.

"Then what are you doing about it?" the first man pressed, standing from his stool. His tone wasn't hostile, but it carried the weight of desperation. "We need someone to step up. Someone like you."

"Careful, Kess," Vander said, his voice steady but edged with warning. "You're not wrong that things are bad. But pointing fingers in here won't fix what's out there."

"Then what will?" the woman near the center asked, her tone tight with frustration. "Every day it's worse. The gangs are getting stronger, them folks in the Upper City don't give a damn, and people like us are just getting crushed under it all. So what do we do?"

The room fell into uneasy silence, the tension so thick it felt like the walls were pressing inward. Jax shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing between Vander and the restless patrons. Powder's grip on her bowl tightened, her wide eyes darting nervously toward Vi.

Vander finally sighed, setting the rag down and leaning heavily against the counter. "I get it," he said, his voice quieter but no less commanding. "I know how bad it's getting out there. But stirring up trouble in here? That's not how we make it better."

"Then what's the plan, Vander?" Kess asked again, softer this time but no less insistent. "You keep saying we've gotta stick together. How? Against who? What are we waiting for?"

Vander straightened, his gaze sweeping the room. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and measured, with just enough warmth to steady the unease. "For now, we look out for one another. Keep this place a refuge, a place where we can breathe easy. That's what matters—sticking together, making sure no one gets left behind."

Kess leaned forward in his seat, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "But Vander, that's not enough," he said. "We can't just sit here waiting for things to get worse. People are scared, and they're looking to you. You can't just—"

Vander raised a hand, cutting him off. His expression didn't harden, but his voice carried an unmistakable finality. "Go home, Kess," he said firmly. "Get some rest. You've had a long day, and this talk won't change anything tonight."

Kess hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he wanted to press the issue, but the weight of Vander's tone left no room for argument. He pushed back his chair with a scrape and stood, muttering under his breath as he made his way toward the door.

"Goodnight, Kess," Vander called after him, his tone softer now, almost conciliatory. The man paused briefly before leaving, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull clang.

The room sat in a heavy silence for a moment before Vander exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "Anyone else want to lecture me?" he asked, his tone light but edged with weariness. The patrons shifted in their seats, but no one spoke.

Vander turned back to the counter, grabbing a bottle and pouring himself a drink. "Alright, then. Let's get back to what this place is for—good food, decent company, and maybe a little peace."

The room settled back into its usual rhythm after Kess left, the tension fading into the background like a bad dream. The group returned to their stew, the clinking of spoons and low murmurs filling the air. Jax, however, couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. The figure in the black cloak lingered in his mind, his thoughts racing as he replayed the moment over and over.

Vander leaned against the counter, sipping from his glass, his eyes scanning the room like always—calm, watchful, as if he saw everything and missed nothing. That thought struck Jax. Vander knew a lot about Zaun. More than anyone, probably. Maybe if anyone could make sense of what he saw, it'd be him.

Jax hesitated, his spoon clinking against his bowl as he set it down. His voice came out quieter than he intended. "Hey… Vander?"

Vander looked up, raising an eyebrow. "What's on your mind, kid?"

Jax glanced around nervously. The others had stopped eating, their attention shifting toward him. He swallowed, feeling suddenly small under their curious gazes. "Uh… I was just wondering. Do you… do you know anything about a man in a black cloak?"

Vander frowned, his hand lowering the glass to the counter. "What man?"

Jax hesitated again, glancing at Vi, then Powder, before looking back at Vander. "I saw him earlier today… in the Lanes. He was just… standing there, watching me. He didn't move or say anything. Just… stood there. His cloak was… weird. Like it didn't belong in Zaun. And… I don't know. It felt like…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain the chill that had crept into his bones.

The room went quiet again, everyone listening closely. Powder's eyes widened, her fingers gripping her bowl tightly. Claggor leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, while Vi's brow furrowed deeply.

Mylo, as usual, broke the silence. "Oh, great. The kid's seeing ghosts now," he mocked, though his tone carried a nervous edge. "Next thing you know, he'll say the guy was floating."

"Shut up, Mylo," Vi snapped, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. Mylo yelped, glaring at her as he rubbed his side. "I'm just saying," he muttered under his breath, but he didn't continue.

Vander's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as he studied Jax. "You're sure about what you saw?" he asked carefully.

Jax nodded. "Yeah. He was just… there. And then he wasn't."

Vander rubbed his beard thoughtfully, his gaze distant for a moment before he spoke. "Could be nothing. Could just be someone keeping an eye out for… something or someone else. The Lanes have plenty of shadows, kid. Not all of them are after you."

"But…" Jax started, his voice faltering. "It didn't feel like nothing."

Vander's eyes softened slightly, and he nodded. "I hear you. I'll keep my ears open, alright? If there's anything I learn, I'll let you know. But for now, don't lose sleep over it. Keep your head up, and don't go walking alone in the night. Sound good?"

Jax nodded slowly, though the uneasy knot in his stomach didn't fully untangle. The others returned to their bowls, though Vi kept shooting Jax concerned glances, her expression tight.

As Vander turned away to tend to another patron, Jax leaned back in his chair, his thoughts still circling the figure. Vander's reassurances should've helped, but something about the way he'd answered—calm, measured, like everything's fine but with a trace of something Jax couldn't quite place—only made him feel more unsettled.

The Festival of Sparks

Jax blinked awake, his body heavy and cold. At first, he thought he was back in his workshop – the faint glow of Zaun's lights was there, but something wasn't right. The glow didn't flicker like it usually did. It was too steady, too bright, casting sharp, unnatural shadows that stretched in impossible directions. The distant hum of machinery was not present, replaced by eerie silence.

He sat up slowly, a dull ache throbbing in his head. His breath misted in the air despite no chill, and the silence around him was suffocating and vast. This wasn't his workshop. He was somewhere else.

Jax looked around, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. The streets of Zaun stretched out before him, but they weren't right. The buildings loomed taller, their jagged silhouettes exaggerated, as though the city had grown teeth. The streets were slick with an unidentifiable sheen, the ground reflecting the eerie greens in strange, distorted patterns. Thick mist curled through the narrow alleys, flowing like it was alive, pooling at his feet.

He stood shakily, his boots tapping faintly against the damp metal ground. The sound echoed briefly, then disappeared as if swallowed by the mist. "Hello?" Jax called out, his voice trembling slightly. He took a cautious step forward, then another, his eyes darting left and right, following the shifting shadows. The mist moved strangely, parting in tendrils to reveal faint outlines of things that weren't there – a twisted streetlamp here, a broken ladder there – shapes that faded as soon as he tried to focus on them.

Then it happened.

The city shifted.

At first, it was subtle – a faint ripple in the air, like the world was exhaling. Then the buildings bent, their edges folding inward as if the streets themselves were twisting around him. The mist thickened, and the hum grew softer, almost like it was retreating, leaving behind a deafening silence. Jax froze, his breath catching in his throat, as a voice cut through the stillness.

"Jax…"

It was faint, soft, and layered – neither distinctly male nor female. It carried a weight that made his chest tighten, both familiar and foreign. He felt as though the voice was speaking to a part of him he didn't know existed.

"Who's there?" Jax shouted, spinning around. His voice sounded small, muffled, and insignificant in comparison. There was no answer.

The mist surged, and the city shifted once more. The streets of Zaun folded into themselves, the jagged buildings melting into massive, broken spires. The air grew hotter, dry and suffocating, and the ground beneath his feet cracked like parched earth. Towering structures jutted from the horizon, their sharp ends carved with symbols he couldn't understand. The sky above was bleeding in an unnatural crimson, like a fresh wound. Jax's heart raced as he turned in place, trying to make sense of it all.

"Jax…" the voice came again, softer now, almost like a whisper carried on the dry wind.

Jax stepped cautiously onto the cracked, brittle ground. Faint whispers of wind carried the echo of distant clashing steel, or maybe it was his imagination – he couldn't tell. The streets were wide and uneven, lined with the ruins of massive structures that once might have been temples and fortresses. He didn't recognize this place. All he knew was that he wasn't in Zaun anymore. Shattered statues stood like sentinels, their features eroded into faceless visages.

Jax walked slowly, cautious of each step he made. He felt small, dwarfed by the sheer scale of the place, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him. Something unseen. Something he wasn't supposed to see.

Ahead, a wide avenue opened into what might have once been a grand plaza. Broken columns jutted from the ground like teeth, and at its center stood a massive stone plinth, its surface scorched and cracked. Jax hesitated.

"Where… am I?" he whispered.

The only response was a faint, distant buzz, low and resonant, vibrating in his bones. He clenched his fists, his breath quickening as he forced himself to move forward, his footsteps echoing faintly against the ruined streets.

But as he moved forward, the world shifted again. The heat evaporated, replaced by an oppressive, golden haze. The cracked earth turned to sand, and massive sandstone pillars surrounded him, their surfaces adorned with weathered carvings.

"Jax…" The whisper came again, insistent but still impossible to place.

"Who's there?" he called again, his voice hoarse.

With the silence being his only response, Jax trudged forward, the sand shifting beneath his boots with every step. It was strange. The air was around him was heavy, but not hot – not like he imagined a desert should be. It was not only strange, it was wrong. He glanced up at the golden haze that hung low in the sky. There was no blazing sun, no searing heat, only the weight of the air pressing down on him.

He paused beside one of the massive sandstone pillars, its surface weathered with intricate carvings he couldn't understand. The symbols twisted and coiled like they were alive. He reached out tentatively, his fingertips brushing the stone. The pillar crumbled instantly, disintegrating into fine dust that swirled around him before vanishing into the haze.

Jax stepped back, surprised. The ground didn't feel real beneath him, and the absence of heat – of any natural sensation he could name – set his nerves on edge. He clenched his fists, the golden sand sifting through his fingers as he muttered, "Why isn't it hot here? It's a desert… right?"

The ground trembled, and the golden haze fractured like glass. Shadows surged around him, pulling him into darkness. Now he stood in ruins – great stone towers shattered and broken, clawing toward a sky that flickered violently, shifting between light and shadow. The air buzzed faintly, heavy with a strange tension that weighed him down.

Ahead of him, a massive crater split the ground, its edges glowing faintly with an eerie light of color he couldn't quite name. The color was familiar, but could it be that he had forgotten it? The mist coiled around it, swirling like it was being drawn in. Jax stepped forward, his legs trembling, unable to stop himself from approaching the edge. The glow intensified, the buzz turning into a deep vibration that he could feel in his bones.

Then the voice came again, sharp and clear, cutting through the chaos.

"JAX!"

The light flared, blinding him, and a wave of force rippled out from the crater, knocking him off his feet. He tumbled backward, hitting the ground hard, his breath torn from his lungs. The world fractured around him, collapsing in on itself as the mist surged forward, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud. The mist thickened, pressing in from all sides, its cold touch seeping into his skin. The hum roared in his ears, drowning out his thoughts as he clawed and screamed to free himself.

He turned his head wildly, desperate to see anything beyond the fog. Then, just as the world seemed ready to collapse entirely, he saw it.

At the edge of the crater, something began to rise.

Jax bolted upright, gasping for air. His hands gripped the edge of his bed, the sharp bite of the metal grounding him, yet the room around him – the cluttered chaos of his workshop – felt strangely distant.

The dim, flickering light from his lamp was a reminder of the real world, but Jax didn't feel much relief. He sat motionless, his breath ragged, the dream – or whatever it was – clinging to him like a second skin. The crimson sky, the heatless desert and its shimmering gaze, the faint hum of something vast and incomprehensible – it was all still there, pressing against the edges of his mind.

"What… was that dream?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking the heavy stillness of the room. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, his fingers catching on damp strands. The sound of Zaun's distant machinery reminded him of the place where he lived, but it felt different now, hollow, like an echo of itself.

He glanced to the corners of the room, half-expecting the mist to creep out from the cracks, or for something to shift in the shadows. But there was nothing. Just tools scattered on the workbench, half-finished gadgets staring back at him like lifeless sentinels.

His mind drifted back to the figure in the black cloak.

It had been months since he'd seen it. That night in the Lanes, its shadow had loomed over him, a presence that felt more real than anything else in his life. He'd told Vander about it – not everything, but enough. Vander had listened, calm and steady as always, but his silence afterward had been deafening. No answers. No reassurance. Just a faint nod and a quiet dismissal.

And the figure never appeared again.

Jax had spent days glancing over his shoulders, jumping at shadows, waiting for that gaze to return. But it never did. Days turned into weeks, then months, and slowly, he convinced himself it had been nothing. Just his imagination running wild. A trick of the dim light in Zaun's twisting alleys.

But now…

The dream lingered, vivid and raw, pulling at the edges of his mind. The mist, the shifting ruins, the crater – none of it made sense, and yet it felt connected. And as much as he tried to push it aside, doubt crept back in, coiling around his thoughts like a snake.

Jax glanced at the old, rusted clock sitting on his workbench and felt a jolt of panic. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He had promised Vander he'd come by late morning to help with the preparations for the Festival of Sparks, and judging by the time, he was already late.

Grabbing his jacket, Jax hurried out of his workshop and into the winding streets of the Lanes. The moment he stepped outside, the atmosphere felt different. The air was filled with anticipation, a stark contrast to Zaun's usual grim and muted energy. Strings of glowing chem-lights were being hung between buildings, their soft green and blue hues casting playful reflections on the damp cobblestones.

Jax slowed his pace for a moment, taking in the light. The streets looked more alive than he'd seen them in weeks – maybe months. Children darted between vendors at their stalls, their laughter ringing through the air as they chased each other with makeshift sparklers. Shopkeepers were busy decorating their storefronts with handmade lanterns and garlands of scrap metal, polished to gleam. Even the usual haze of Zaun's smog seemed less prominent, the colorful lights cutting through the gray with an almost magical glow.

He passed a group of tinkerers adjusting a mechanical float, one of them cursed loudly as a spark flew too close, and the others burst into laughter, patting him on the back as he grumbled. Jax couldn't help but smile; it was rare to see so much life in the Lanes, even if it was fleeting.

As he turned a corner, the sound of a steam-powered organ drifted through the air, accompanied by a distant cheer. Someone must've started testing the music for the performances. The sound pulled at something in Jax's chest – a mix of nostalgia and unease. He had never quite felt at home in Zaun's celebrations, but something about this year felt different. More… important.

Shaking off the thought, Jax picked up his pace, weaving through the growing crowd. As he approached The Last Drop, its familiar outline came into view, standing proud amidst the chaos of the preparations. The glow of chem-lights already adorned the entrance, and he could hear the faint clatter of work being done inside.

Jax took a deep breath before stepping through the doors, his mind already racing with the tasks ahead. "Alright, Vander," he muttered to himself. "Time to prove you're not just letting me hang around for free."

The moment Jax stepped in, he was hit with a wave of noise and activity. The tavern was alive with the chaos of preparation—clattering dishes, heavy footsteps, and raised voices echoing off the metal walls. Vander's booming voice carried over it all as he barked orders, his tone brisk but not unkind.

"Vi, get those tables wiped down, not just pushed around!" Vander called, his voice gruff as he strode past, carrying two massive kegs of ale like they weighed nothing. His muscles flexed with the effort, and Jax couldn't help but gape for a moment. How does he even do that? Jax thought. He doubted he could lift even one, let alone two at a time. Vander didn't stop moving, setting the kegs down near the bar with a thud that made the floorboards shake. "This place needs to be spotless! You all know how it goes—after the main festivities, they'll pour in here like a flood, and we need to be ready!"

Jax winced, already feeling guilty for being late. Vander clearly wasn't in the mood for delays or excuses.

To the side, Vi was aggressively wiping down tables with a damp cloth, her sleeves rolled up and her expression determined. "If Mylo cleaned as fast as he talks, this would've been done an hour ago," she muttered, shooting a glance at her brother.

"Hey, I'm doing the important stuff!" Mylo shot back, balancing on a rickety stool as he tried to hang a string of chem-lights above the bar. "Do you want these lights up or not?"

"Not if you're gonna break your neck doing it," Claggor called from across the room. He was crouched near the window, carefully fitting a replacement pane of glass into the frame. "The last thing we need is more broken glass to clean up."

"Or more of Mylo's whining," Vi added with a smirk, which earned her a glare from Mylo.

Near the far corner of the room, Powder was hunched over a cluster of glowing chem-lights spread across the table, her fingers working quickly to untangle the wires and adjust the settings. She was muttering to herself as she tinkered, a small spark flying out as one of the lights flared too brightly for a moment.

When she spotted Jax standing awkwardly near the entrance, her face lit up. She waved enthusiastically.

Jax moved through the bustling room to her side, his cheeks flushing slightly as she immediately thrust a mess of wires and bulbs into his hands. "Here, hold this," she said quickly, not giving him a chance to protest. "And don't pull too hard on that one—it'll snap."

As he fumbled to get a grip on the tangled lights, he glanced over his shoulder at Vander, who was now wiping down the bar himself, muttering under his breath about how nothing was getting done fast enough. "Vander's… uh, kind of serious today," Jax said, his voice low. "I mean, he's always serious, but this is… something else."

Powder didn't look up from her work, twisting two wires together with precision. "Of course he's serious," she said matter-of-factly. "The Festival of Sparks is huge. Everyone comes here afterward. If we mess this up, it's on him. That's why we have to take this very seriously, Jax." She shot him a pointed look before turning back to her work.

Jax's stomach churned with guilt. He hadn't meant to be late, but now he felt even worse. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice quieter. "Sorry. I should've gotten here earlier."

Powder's expression softened slightly as she glanced at him again. "You're here now. Just don't mess up these lights, okay?" She offered him a small, reassuring smile before refocusing on the wires.

Jax nodded, determined to make himself useful. As he carefully held the lights for Powder, he stole another glance at Vander, who was now inspecting Mylo's progress with a critical eye. I'll make up for it, Jax thought. I owe him that much.

The chaos of preparation continued in full swing, each member of the group tackling their tasks with varying degrees of enthusiasm and competence. Vi wiped down tables with the intensity of someone scrubbing rust off a battleship. Occasionally, she'd pause to smack Mylo with her cloth as he passed by, earning an exaggerated yelp.

"Hey! This is why I don't help with tables!" Mylo complained, narrowly avoiding a second smack as he teetered on his stool, hanging the last of the chem-lights. "You're just jealous of my superior height and skill!"

"Your superior clumsiness," Claggor muttered from the window, grinning as he slid the final pane of glass into place. "Try not to fall before the festival starts, Mylo. We'd like to enjoy at least one night without you breaking something."

"Funny guy," Mylo shot back, but his foot slipped, and he grabbed the string of lights just in time to stop himself from toppling over. "I meant to do that!" he added quickly, as Vi and Claggor burst into laughter.

Powder, meanwhile, was focused entirely on the lights. She zipped around the room, adjusting chem-lanterns and replacing bulbs with such speed and precision that Jax struggled to keep up.

"Hold this! No, not like that! Here, twist it like… this," she said, darting back and forth, her hands a blur. Jax's fingers fumbled with the wires she shoved at him, and one of the bulbs lit up with an impressive pop!.

"Uh, was that supposed to happen?" Jax asked nervously, holding up the glowing bulb like it might explode.

Powder snatched it from him, her face split into a mischievous grin. "Of course! Kind of. Well, maybe not that bright. But it looks cool, right?"

Jax just nodded, deciding it was best not to argue.

Vander stomped through the tavern like a one-man machine, hauling crates of supplies and bellowing over the din. "Mylo, those lights better stay up! Claggor, how's the window? Powder, stop zapping Jax—he doesn't need to glow like one of your lanterns!"

"I'm fine!" Jax called, though he wasn't entirely sure he meant it as another bulb sparked in his hands.

Despite the commotion, Vander managed to keep things moving, his voice cutting through the chaos with the authority of someone who had seen it all. At one point, he stopped to test the chairs, giving each one a firm shove to ensure it wouldn't collapse under a particularly enthusiastic festival-goer. When one wobbled slightly, he handed it off to Claggor without a word, who sighed and got to work fixing it.

By the time the preparations were nearing completion, The Last Drop looked almost unrecognizable. The lights cast a warm, colorful glow across the room, the tables gleamed, and the air was thick with the scent of freshly polished wood and just a hint of ale.

"Not bad," Vander muttered, surveying the room with a critical eye. Then his gaze landed on Mylo, who was testing the lights by pulling faces at the bulbs. "Except you. Stop that before you break something."

"Break something? Me? Never!" Mylo said, turning to protest—only to knock over an empty crate with a loud thud. Powder burst into laughter, and even Vander cracked a smile as Mylo scrambled to set the crate back upright.

Jax wiped his hands on his jacket, feeling a mix of exhaustion and pride. The chaos had finally settled, and for the first time since he'd arrived, the tavern felt ready.

"Alright, folks," Vander said, clapping his hands together. "Tonight we'll see if all this work pays off."

Vi smirked, slinging an arm around Jax's shoulders. "Nice job, Blondie. You did well, considering you were late."

Jax flushed and looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, well… I got, uh… stuck fixing a thing," he mumbled.

Vi raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Fixing a thing?"

"Yeah," Jax said quickly, nodding as if to convince himself. "It was, uh… super important. You know. Gears. And… stuff."

Powder giggled from across the room, barely holding back laughter as she fiddled with the last light. "Sure, Jax. Gears and stuff. Super convincing."

Jax groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Alright, alright, I was late. Can we move on now?"

Vi chuckled, giving his shoulder a light shove. "You're lucky you're useful."

The group slumped into chairs around a freshly cleaned table, air mingling with the satisfaction of a job well done. Vander strode over from behind the bar, carrying a tray of mismatched mugs filled with frothy, amber ale for the older kids and a fizzy, non-alcoholic drinks for Powder and Jax.

"Here," Vander said, setting the tray down with a thud. "You earned it. Try not to spill, yeah?"

"Finally," Mylo said, grabbing a mug and taking a long sip. "I thought we'd never stop working."

"You barely did anything," Vi shot back, smirking as she took her own drink.

"Hey! Hanging lights is an art," Mylo countered, leaning back in his chair. "Not my fault you don't appreciate the finer things."

"Not your fault you almost fell and took half the place down," Claggor muttered, grinning as he reached for his mug.

"Thanks, Vander," Jax said quietly, taking his drink and cradling it in his hands. He hadn't felt like he'd earned it, given his late start, but he wasn't about to say no.

They all settled in, the din of Zaun's streets outside growing louder as the festival began to take shape. Powder sipped her drink, her eyes lighting up as she glanced out the window. "I can't wait to see all the lights," she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. "And the machines! You think there'll be new floats this year? Like maybe one with spinning gears? Or… or glowing parts that change color?"

"Probably," Claggor said, wiping the foam from his mouth. "They always try to outdo each other. But you'll be lucky if half of them don't break down halfway through the parade."

"Doesn't matter! They'll still look amazing," Powder said, practically bouncing in her seat. "I want to see everything!"

Mylo leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. "Forget the floats. The bazaar's where it's at. All the food you can eat, and everything smells like heaven."

"Yeah, and your stomach will pay for it tomorrow," Claggor teased, shaking his head. "Remember last year? You couldn't even move after eating all those fried rolls."

"Totally worth it," Mylo said with a grin. "I'm doubling up this year. Rolls, skewers, those little chem-spiced buns—"

"And the explosion burgers," Vi added, grinning. "Don't forget those."

"Especially the explosion burgers," Mylo said with a mock-serious nod, earning a laugh from everyone.

"And the fireworks!" Powder cut in, practically vibrating with excitement. "They're always so loud and bright! I hope this year's are even better!"

Claggor raised an eyebrow. "Better? They can't get worse than last year."

Vi groaned. "Don't remind me. Half the crowd ran for cover after those sparks started flying in every direction."

"And don't forget the smoke," Claggor added. "It was so thick, we couldn't see anything for an hour."

"And that weird smell," Mylo chimed in, wrinkling his nose. "What even was that?"

Powder frowned. "I thought it was fun… kind of." She turned to Jax, her curious gaze landing on him. "What do you think, Jax? You were there last year, right?"

Jax froze, gripping his mug tightly as heat crept up his neck. He forced a casual shrug, avoiding their eyes. "Uh… yeah. I guess it was… memorable."

"Memorable," Vi repeated, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. "I wonder what happened last year. Fireworks were a disaster."

Jax took a long, deliberate sip of his drink, silently praying they'd drop the subject. Powder tilted her head, watching him closely, but before she could say anything, Vander cut in.

"Alright, enough about last year's mess," he said gruffly, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "This year'll be better. It has to be. Now, finish up and get ready."

Relieved, Jax nodded quickly, hiding his growing guilt behind his mug. But as the others continued talking and laughing, he couldn't help but glance toward the distant flicker of lights outside, hoping the festival wouldn't dredge up last year's… mishap.

The streets of Zaun were alive with the hum of the Festival of Sparks as Jax, Powder, Vi, Mylo, and Claggor wove through the throngs of people crowding the winding lanes toward the bazaar. The glow of chem-lights bathed everything in vibrant hues of green, blue, and purple, which cast a magical sheen over the normally grimy city. Strings of lights zigzagged between buildings, their flickering patterns mimicking the rhythms of Zaun's ever-present machinery.

The air buzzed with energy and life. Vendors shouted over the noise, hawking sizzling skewers, steaming buns, and glittering trinkets scavenged from the depths of Zaun. Some vendors even claimed they sold the trinkets from the Upper City as well. Machines clanked and hissed as tinkers demonstrated their latest creations to awestruck crowds. Sparks occasionally flew from overloaded contraptions, earning cheers or nervous laughter depending on how close the audience was standing. Children darted between legs, clutching glowing candy and mechanical toys, their laughter echoing through the packed streets.

Jax's eyes drifted over the scene, his usual guarded expression softening. He couldn't help but smile at the scene he found himself in. The chaos of the bazaar was infectious, a rare burst of color and joy in a city that often felt endlessly gray. For a moment, the gnawing doubt and unease from his dream melted away, replaced by the simple pleasure of the festival.

"Come on, slowpoke!" Powder called. Her excitement was boundless, her wide eyes darting from one brightly lit stall to the next. "We're gonna miss all the good stuff!"

"Yeah, like the food!" Mylo added, already sniffing the air with exaggerated enthusiasm. "I can smell the explosion burgers from here!"

"And the fried rolls," Claggor added, grinning as he adjusted his pace to keep up with the group. "If we're lucky, maybe they've got the spiced ones again this year."

Vi chuckled, folding her arms as she led the way. "Other than the explosion burger, the floats are what I'm here for. Did you see the one on Gutter Street earlier? Looked like some kind of mechanical dragon. It actually moved."

Powder's jaw dropped, and she tugged harder on Jax's sleeve. "A dragon? We have to see that!"

"We'll get there," Jax assured her, though his steps quickened as her excitement rubbed off on him.

As they turned a corner, the heart of the bazaar came into view. The narrow lanes opened into a sprawling plaza, its edges lined with colorful stalls and glowing banners. At the center, a massive float loomed over the crowd—a mechanical phoenix, its wings spread wide as gears turned to make them flap. Steam hissed from its joints, and chem-lights along its body flickered in a mesmerizing pattern that mimicked fire.

The crowd roared with approval as the phoenix emitted a burst of glowing mist from its beak, the colors swirling into the air before dissipating. Powder gasped, her hands clutching Jax's arm. "That's amazing!" she exclaimed. "Do you think it can actually fly?"

"Probably not," Jax said with a grin.

Nearby, another float began to roll forward—a mechanical spider with glowing joints and legs that clicked ominously as it moved. Children shrieked with delight and mock fear, chasing after it as it clanked down the street. Mylo raised an eyebrow at the contraption. "Alright, that's creepy. No way I'm walking near that thing."

"You're scared of a float?" Vi teased, elbowing him. "I thought you were supposed to be tough."

"Not scared," Mylo said defensively. "Just cautious. Spiders and I don't get along."

Claggor snorted. "I'd be more worried about those gears snapping. Look at how fast they're spinning."

The group continued weaving through the crowd, stopping occasionally to admire smaller inventions at the tinkerers' stalls. One vendor demonstrated a set of small steam-powered drones that hovered in perfect formation, their lights changing color in sync with a series of whistles. Another showed off a mechanical hand that mimicked his gestures, drawing applause from onlookers as it folded and unfolded with eerie precision.

"Think you could make something like that?" Powder asked Jax, her eyes wide with admiration.

Jax rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the mechanical hand. "Maybe. If I had about a year and someone else's parts to work with."

Powder giggled, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward another stall. "Come on, there's more to see!"

The smell of food soon drew them toward the other side of the bazaar. A row of food stalls stretched along the plaza, each one surrounded by hungry festival-goers. Vendors flipped sizzling skewers on open grills, while others sold buns filled with spiced meats or steaming bowls of thick, savory stew.

Mylo was the first to grab a plate, piling it high with fried rolls and skewers. "This," he declared, stuffing his mouth mid-sentence, "is what festivals are all about."

Claggor opted for a simpler plate of dumplings, shaking his head at Mylo's enthusiasm. "You're gonna regret that later."

"Totally worth it," Mylo replied, grabbing another skewer.

Powder hovered by a stall selling glowing candies, her nose practically pressed against the glass case. Jax handed her a few coins with a small smile. "Go on. Pick one."

Her face lit up as she chose a brightly colored candy that pulsed faintly with chem-light. She unwrapped it immediately, popping it into her mouth with a happy hum. "It even tastes like it glows!" she said, her voice muffled by the candy.

Vi smirked as she bit into an explosion burger, sauce dripping down her fingers. "I'm telling you, this is the best thing here. No contest."

Jax grabbed a small pastry stuffed with spiced meat, the warm, flaky crust practically melting in his hand. He took a bite and blinked in surprise as the flavors burst across his tongue. "Alright," he admitted, "this is pretty good."

The group laughed and joked as they ate, the glow of the festival around them making everything feel lighter, brighter. For a moment, Jax let himself enjoy it, not feeling the weight of earlier doubts. In fact, they weren't even in the back of his mind anymore.

As they turned down another bustling street, the crowd parted just enough for them to spot a familiar figure standing by a booth brimming with salvaged mechanical parts. Benzo, Vander's old friend and Zaun's go-to merchant for oddities, was mid-haggle with a customer. His booming voice carried over the noise of the festival, cutting through the hum of chatter and clanking machinery.

"Benzo!" Vi called out, waving.

Benzo glanced up, his weathered face breaking into a broad grin. "Well, look who finally decided to show up," he said, crossing his arms as they approached. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten where the real treasures are."

"Never," Vi said with a smirk. "We just saved the best for last."

Behind the counter, a young boy with wild, unruly white hair peeked over a pile of gears and glowing trinkets. Ekko's mischievous grin was unmistakable. "Hey, Powder! Hey, everyone!" he called, hopping up from his perch.

"Ekko!" Powder squealed, rushing forward to give him a high five. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be off building something awesome for the festival!"

"Helping Benzo is awesome," Ekko said, puffing out his chest. "He'd be lost without me."

Benzo rolled his eyes but smiled. "Sure, kid. Keep telling yourself that. You're just here for the free snacks."

"Snacks and wisdom," Ekko shot back, flashing a toothy grin.

The group laughed as Ekko ducked under the counter to join them. He pointed eagerly toward a nearby booth displaying small mechanical toys. "You've gotta see that stall over there. They've got these chem-powered snakes that slither and hiss! They even react if you get too close."

"Snakes?" Jax asked, his voice pitching higher than he intended. His eyes darted to the booth as he paled. "Moving, hissing snakes? Why would anyone make that?"

"Because they're amazing," Powder said, her grin widening as she grabbed his arm. "Come on! We've got to see if they look real!"

"Real?" Jax stammered, digging his heels in slightly as she dragged him forward. "This is a terrible idea!"

As the group wandered further through the bazaar, Mylo paused in front of a tinkerer's stall showcasing a bizarre contraption. It was a spinning device covered in glowing gears and small, waving mechanical arms meant to mimic a clockwork octopus. The arms moved erratically, jerking in every direction as the tinkerer demonstrated its mechanics to a curious crowd.

"Looks like it's about to fall apart," Mylo said with a smirk, leaning closer for a better look. "How's this thing supposed to be useful? It doesn't even—"

Before he could finish, one of the waving arms caught a strand of his hair. The device clicked loudly, and suddenly, Mylo yelped as his head jerked forward, the spinning gears tugging his hair into their grasp.

"Ow! Hey! Get this thing off me!" Mylo yelled, flailing his arms but too afraid to grab the contraption and risk making it worse.

The others froze for a moment before Vi burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as tears formed in her eyes. "Oh, this is gold," she said between gasps. "The great Mylo, taken down by a toy octopus!"

Claggor snorted, his broad shoulders shaking with laughter. "Careful, Mylo! Looks like it's winning!"

Even Powder couldn't resist, covering her mouth as she tried to muffle her giggles. "It's—it's not that bad!" she managed, though the sight of Mylo twisting helplessly only made her laugh harder. Jax smirked but tried to play it cool, leaning casually against a nearby stall.

"Need help, Mylo? Or are you just letting the octopus give you a new hairstyle?" Vi teased.

"Very funny!" Mylo snapped, still struggling to free himself. "Can someone please do something?"

"Alright, alright," Vi said, stepping forward and cracking her knuckles. "Hold still, or you'll end up bald. Though maybe that's an improvement."

Mylo glared at her but froze as Vi reached for the contraption. With a few well-placed tugs and a sharp twist of the device's main gear, she managed to stop the spinning arms and untangle his hair. When she finally pulled it free, Mylo stumbled back, patting his head to make sure it was all still there.

"There," Vi said, tossing the now-immobile contraption onto the tinkerer's stall. "Good as new. Well, for you, anyway."

The crowd around them chuckled, and the tinkerer shrugged apologetically before turning back to his booth. Mylo straightened his jacket, glaring at everyone. "Laugh it up, why don't you? Next time, I'll let you get your hair pulled by a metal squid!"

"You're just mad because it got the better of you," Vi teased, ruffling his already disheveled hair.

Powder giggled. "It's okay, Mylo. You survived! You're a hero."

Mylo grumbled, muttering something under his breath, but the corners of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile. As the group moved on, the sound of their laughter echoed down the glowing streets, filling the bazaar with a moment of lighthearted joy.

After exploring the bazaar, the group began weaving their way through the crowd, searching for the perfect spot to watch the fireworks finale. The sky above Zaun glowed faintly with the anticipation of the show, the chem-lights flickering in harmony with the buzz of excitement from the gathering crowd.

"Over there!" Powder pointed to a stack of crates near the edge of the parade route. "We'll see everything from up there!"

"Yeah, until the crates break and you land on your face," Mylo retorted, crossing his arms. "No thanks."

Claggor rolled his eyes. "We're not climbing crates, Powder. Let's find somewhere that won't collapse under us."

"What about the scaffolding by the old clock tower?" Vi suggested, jerking her thumb in its direction. "High enough, sturdy enough, and we won't get trampled."

"Sturdy enough," Mylo scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "For Powder maybe. I'm not risking my life on shaky planks. Besides, I want to eat during the finale, not dangle off some ledge."

Jax trailed slightly behind as they debated, scanning the street for a spot where he could blend into the background. He wasn't in the mood to climb anything either, but the thought of staying in the middle of the crowd didn't appeal much either.

"Come on, we don't have all night," Powder said, motioning to Jax as she spotted another option. "What about that spot over there by the fountain? We can sit, and it's close enough to the snacks!"

"Now you're thinking," Mylo said, already angling toward the fountain, which sat in a slightly quieter corner of the plaza.

The group settled on the stone steps surrounding the fountain, its glowing green and blue mist cascading gently into the air. From there, they had a clear view of the parade route and an open sky above. Powder bounced on her toes, her excitement practically contagious as she scanned the horizon.

"It's going to be amazing," she said, her voice bubbling with anticipation. "I heard they added these new burst rockets that make shapes in the sky!"

"Shapes?" Vi said, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds... weird. Cool, but weird."

Claggor grinned. "As long as they don't misfire, I'll take weird over last year's disaster any day."

"Yeah, I heard someone messed with them which is why they turned out so bad," Mylo added.

Jax froze mid-step but quickly recovered. "Who'd even try something like that?" he muttered as Powder giggled beside him.

Before anyone could dig further, the first firework shot into the air, exploding in a cascade of shimmering blue sparks that rained down like stardust. The crowd roared in approval, and the group fell silent, their faces lit by the brilliant glow. As the fireworks exploded in dazzling bursts of green and blue above them, Jax found himself unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on the sky but his mind elsewhere. He leaned slightly closer to Powder, who was perched on the edge of her seat, completely captivated by the display.

"Hey, Powder," Jax whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She turned to him, her eyes wide and glowing with the reflection of the lights. "What? Isn't this amazing?" she asked, her voice hushed with awe.

"It is," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "But, uh… I need to tell you something. About last year's fireworks."

Powder tilted her head, her expression shifting from excitement to curiosity. "What about them?"

Jax hesitated, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. He glanced at the others, who were too focused on the show to notice their quiet exchange, and leaned even closer. "It was me," he murmured, barely audible over the next explosion of light. "I'm the one who messed them up."

Powder blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Wait… what?" she said, her voice louder than intended, drawing a brief glance from Claggor before she leaned in to whisper back. "You mean, you messed up the fireworks?"

"I didn't mean to mess them up," Jax said quickly, his face flushing. "I thought I could make them better—add some extra flair, make them brighter or bigger. But…" He trailed off, wincing as another burst of light illuminated the awkward grin on his face. "It kinda… backfired."

Powder stared at him for a long moment, her mouth hanging open in shock. Then, to his surprise, she clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. Her shoulders started to shake, and before he could react, she burst into quiet laughter, her voice muffled but uncontrollable.

"You—" she wheezed, barely able to get the words out. "You're the reason half the street ran for cover? And the smoke?" She laughed, trying to catch her breath. "That's hilarious!"

"Yeah, hilarious," Jax muttered, though a small grin tugged at his lips despite himself. "I thought you'd be mad."

"Mad? No way!" Powder said, wiping a tear from her eye. "That was the most exciting thing that happened all night! Everyone was talking about it for weeks! I can't believe it was you!"

"I didn't think it was that hilarious," Jax admitted, but seeing her laugh so hard eased the tension in his chest. "Just… don't tell Vi, alright? I'm kind of scared of her."

Powder snorted, trying to contain another giggle. "Don't worry. But…" She leaned closer, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Next time you want to mess with the fireworks, we do it together, okay?"

Jax chuckled, shaking his head as another firework burst overhead, lighting up the sky and Powder's delighted face. More fireworks followed, painting the sky in dazzling greens, purples, and golds. The patterns shifted with each burst—spinning wheels, countless drops, and bright, radiant bursts that lit the streets below. Powder clutched Jax's sleeve – though she wasn't aware of that – her wide eyes glued to the sky as she gasped at every new shape. Even Vi and Mylo stopped their banter, their expressions softening in the glow.

For Jax, the moment felt surreal. The vibrant lights reflected in the chem-mist seemed to blur the edges of reality. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their voices mingling with the hum of the machinery below. Powder clapped her hands excitedly, her face glowing from the display.

"That was amazing!" she said, practically bouncing on her toes. "Did you see the ones that made the spinning shapes? And the way the lights just poofed at the end?"

Vi smirked, stretching her arms behind her head. "Yeah, they were alright. Could've used more explosions, though."

"More explosions?" Claggor said, chuckling. "We're lucky none of them went off in the crowd this year."

"Hey, progress!" Mylo added.

Vi glanced back at them "No fires. No chaos. No smoke that made half the crowd cough for a week. It's like a whole new festival."

"Yeah, lucky us," Jax muttered, keeping his head low. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

"Guess whoever handled it this year learned from their mistakes," Claggor said with a chuckle. "Probably fired whoever botched it before."

Jax winced but forced a laugh. "Yeah. Probably." Powder glanced at him with a mischievous giggle.

"Come on, let's head back. Vander's probably wondering where we are." Vi said as she started leading the way back through the crowded streets.

The group fell into step, their voices mingling with the chatter of festival-goers still lingering in the streets. The glow of the festival lights guided them through the Lanes, and the energy of the festival seemed to linger in the air, making everything feel just a little brighter.

As they passed a quieter alley, Powder came closer to Jax, her grin impossibly wide. "Hey, Jax! I have a surprise for you."

Jax blinked, his pace slowing. "A surprise? What kind of surprise?"

"You'll see," Powder said, her tone sing-song as she pulled him aside, away from the group. "It's back at the Last Drop. I've been working on it for weeks. You're gonna love it!"

Jax glanced at Vi, who had noticed them lagging behind. She arched an eyebrow but gave a small shrug before continuing ahead with the others. Turning back to Powder, he raised an eyebrow. "This isn't another one of your exploding thingies, is it? The last one blasted right in my face."

Powder gasped in mock offense. "No! This one's totally safe. Probably." She giggled, dragging him along. "Just trust me, okay? It's a good surprise."

Jax sighed but let her lead the way, a small smile creeping onto his face despite himself. "Alright, alright. Let's see what you have."

As they neared The Last Drop, the familiar noise of the tavern became louder, but Jax couldn't shake the mix of curiosity and anticipation bubbling in his chest. Powder's trinkets and inventions were always… eventful, to say the least, but there was something different about the glimmer in her eyes tonight.

Whatever it was, he couldn't help but wonder if he really was going to love it—or just survive it.

The Last Drop was a storm of noise and energy, even more alive than the bustling streets outside. The commotion of the festival seemed to have poured directly into the tavern, filling it to the brim with people. Laughter and chatter mixed with the clink of mugs and the hiss of steam-powered inventions brought in by celebrants eager to show off their latest creations. The air was thick with the smells of ale, fried food, and the faint tang of chem-fuel, a chaotic but oddly comforting combination.

Jax trailed behind Powder as she tried to weave through the tightly packed crowd. It wasn't easy—everywhere he turned, someone was shouting, gesturing wildly, or leaning too far into his space. A group near the entrance was cheering loudly as they jostled for space at one of the tables, spilling drinks onto the already sticky floor. Someone else stumbled into Jax's shoulder, mumbling an apology before vanishing back into the throng.

"Come on, Jax!" Powder called over her shoulder, barely audible above the noise. She pulled him forward, determined to cut through the chaos.

From his spot near the bar, Vander was a blur of motion. His broad shoulders towered over the crowd as he filled mugs two at a time, barking orders to the few servers brave enough to help him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the muscles in his forearms as he hefted a keg onto the counter with ease. His voice cut through the din, firm but good-natured, as he exchanged banter with a patron. Despite the commotion, Vander didn't seem fazed—if anything, he thrived in it.

"He didn't even see us," Jax muttered, glancing at Vander as Powder tugged him past.

"He's too busy," Powder said, giggling. "And that's perfect! Come on, before someone stops us!"

Jax barely managed to keep up as she led him through a narrow side hallway, away from the raucous main room. The noise dulled slightly as they climbed down a creaky set of stairs, the crowd's cheers and laughter fading in distance. Powder pushed open the door to her small room, and the familiar clutter greeted them—scraps of metal, half-finished gadgets, and blueprints scattered across every available surface. Her favorite plushy, a bunny patched more than once, was lying on the pillow of her bed.

"Alright, close your eyes!" Powder said, bouncing on her toes as she darted to her workbench.

Jax raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You're not going to blow something up, are you?"

"No explosions! I promise!" she insisted, her tone impatient but playful. "Just trust me, okay? Close your eyes!"

With a sigh, Jax complied, shutting his eyes and hearing the faint clatter of Powder rummaging through her things. "You better not make me regret this," he muttered.

"You won't!" Powder's voice came from directly in front of him now, and he felt her place something small and cool in his hand. "Okay, open!"

Jax opened his eyes and froze. In his palm was a small necklace, its pendant an intricately polished gear. A faint blue-green chem-light pulsed gently in the center of the gear, casting a soft, calming glow in the dim room.

"I made it for you," Powder began, her usual bubbly tone replaced by something quieter, almost shy. "It's from… remember that noisemaker? The one we made together—the one that never worked?"

Jax blinked, his mind immediately flashing back to the rickety contraption they'd spent hours tinkering with. It had been a disaster of gears and wires, sparking and clanking but never producing the noise they'd hoped for. He'd laughed it off, but Powder had been so frustrated she'd nearly thrown it across the room.

"This was the first gear we used," she continued, eyeing up the pendant with a small smile. "I found it again a while back and thought… well, it might not have worked then, but it could still mean something now. And the light? It'll always glow. You know… unless you switch it off." She pointed to a tiny button on the side. "Right there. But don't turn it off too much, or it's just a boring old gear."

Jax stared at her, speechless.

"And since you never told me when your birthday is," she added, grinning nervously, "this is your present. For whenever it is. You don't have to tell me—I just… wanted you to have it. "

For a moment, Jax couldn't find his voice. He looked at the pendant again, the faint glow of the chem-light reflecting in his eyes, and then back at Powder. Her face was open and earnest, her nervous energy showing in the way she shifted on her feet.

"I…" he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. "Powder, I… what am I supposed to say?"

"You don't have to say anything," she said quickly, waving a hand as if to brush away his hesitation. "Just—do you like it?"

Jax let out a breath, a small, incredulous laugh escaping him. "Like it? Powder, this is…" He paused again, his hand closing around the pendant. "It's amazing. I don't… I don't think I've ever gotten something like this before."

Powder's grin widened, her nervousness melting into pride. "Really? You mean it?"

He nodded, slipping the necklace over his head. The gear rested lightly against his chest, its soft glow warming him in a way he couldn't quite explain. "Yeah," he said, his voice quieter now. "It's perfect. Thank you."

Powder's excitement bubbled back up, and she clapped her hands together. "I knew you'd like it! It's so much better than the noisemaker, huh?"

Jax laughed, shaking his head. "Way better."

"Alright, we should get back downstairs to others" Powder said, darting toward the door. Then she paused, glancing back at him. "But, um… you really do like it, right? You're not just saying that?"

Jax smiled, his hand brushing the pendant as the glow of the blue-green light reflected in his eyes. "Powder," he began, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it, "I'll keep it with me. Always." He held the pendant for a moment longer, his fingers tightening around it as if anchoring himself to her gift. "No matter where I go, no matter what happens, I'll have this."

Powder's grin faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of unease as she shifted on her feet. "But… I don't want you to go anywhere," she said. Her wide eyes searched his face, and she played with the edge of her sleeve.

"Well, I'm not really planning on going anywhere," he said.

He lip trembled slightly, "You promise?" her voice was barely above a whisper. Jax's chest tightened at the way she looked at him. Her voice was so full of hope and worry all at once.

"I promise," he said without hesitation, his voice steady and firm.

That seemed to be all she needed to hear. Her grin returned full force, and she grabbed his arm, dragging him back toward the chaos of the tavern. But as Jax followed her, he couldn't help but glance down at the necklace again, his chest tightening for a reason unknown. He couldn't help but grin, his teeth showing as Powder tugged him back into the bustling crowd. In that moment, the dream, the figure in the black cloak—all of it faded into the background, swallowed by the warmth of the present.

Promises in the Flames

Jax adjusted a gear inside the small, half-built contraption on his workbench. Powder sat on a stool beside him, her messy blue hair tied back loosely to keep it out of her face as she fiddled with a pile of brightly painted parts. The faint scent of grease and metal filled the cramped workshop, but Jax knew that to Powder, it felt cozy—like a second home.

"Okay, hand me that piece," Jax said, gesturing toward a jagged bit of metal in the pile Powder was sorting through.

"This one?" she asked, holding it up.

"No, the other one—looks like a claw," Jax said, grinning slightly. "Unless you think the monkey needs extra ears."

Powder giggled and handed him the part. "No way, this monkey's gonna be perfect. Just wait—it's gonna be the best thing we've ever made!"

Jax smirked as he fitted the piece into place, carefully tightening a screw. "I don't know, Powder. You're setting some pretty high expectations. What if it ends up clunkier than the spybot we made yesterday?"

"That's not fair!" Powder huffed, crossing her arms. "The spybot was awesome—it just… didn't work. This time's different. I can feel it."

Jax chuckled, leaning back to examine the progress. The monkey's mechanical frame was taking shape, its thin, spindly arms stretched out as if mid-swing. A half-finished bomb casing sat next to it, waiting to be attached. "Alright, alright. I trust you. But we've gotta get this done before tonight if you want me to beat you at that board game."

Powder perked up immediately, her frown vanishing. "Oh, you're not beating me," she said, poking him in the arm. "I've been practicing. I know all the strategies now."

Jax raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "Practicing? You mean you've been spying on Mylo's games and stealing his moves?"

"That's not spying! It's called observing," Powder said with a grin, spinning a small screwdriver between her fingers. "Besides, Mylo's moves are terrible. I've got way better plans."

"I totally believe you," Jax teased, attaching a small wire to the monkey's torso. "What's this game called again?"

Powder lit up, clasping her hands together. "It's called Tinker's Gambit! You build machines and sabotage your opponent's gadgets—it's so much fun! I borrowed it from Claggor, and we've been playing all week. But tonight's gonna be the real game. Everyone will play."

"Sabotaging gadgets, huh?" Jax said, glancing sideways at her. "You're better at it than me, I think."

"Of course I am!" Powder chirped. "Because I'm totally gonna win."

Jax shook his head with a laugh, his hands steady as he adjusted another screw. "We'll see about that. But first, let's finish this monkey before it starts looking like one of Mylo's ideas."

"Ugh, gross," Powder said with disgust, sticking out her tongue. She picked up one of the monkey's hollow eyes and handed it to him, watching as he carefully slotted it into place.

The two of them worked quietly for a while, the clinking of tools and their shared laughter filling the small space. Powder's excitement for the evening never waned—she kept bouncing on the stool, rattling off ideas for traps she'd use against Jax in the game, her mind racing ahead to what she was sure would be a perfect night.

Jax, though focused on the monkey bomb, couldn't help but smile as she talked. He didn't care much about the game itself—he just liked seeing Powder light up like this.

"Alright," Jax said finally, attaching the last piece of the bomb's casing. He leaned back with a satisfied sigh, brushing his hands off. "Monkey's done. Now we've got time to grab something to eat before you go home."

Powder's face lit up, but instead of hopping off the stool, she grabbed the monkey bomb and held it up proudly. "Not so fast! We have to test it first. What if it doesn't work?"

Jax smirked, crossing his arms. "Oh, it'll work. You're the one who said it's gonna be perfect, right?"

Powder grinned nervously. "Right! But, you know… just in case." She set the monkey down in the middle of the workshop floor, adjusting its little legs so it sat upright. Jax watched as she pressed a tiny button on the back, then hurriedly scurried behind him for cover.

The monkey's eyes lit up with a faint glow, its arms jerking upward as the sound of grinding gears filled the room. Jax leaned forward slightly, watching intently. "Alright, little guy. Do your thing."

There was a loud click, followed by a whirring noise that grew higher and higher in pitch. Powder's excitement built with it, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "It's working! It's—"

The monkey sputtered, let out a sad clang, and collapsed backward, its arms stuck mid-air. A small puff of smoke wafted out of its casing, filling the workshop with the acrid smell of singed wires.

Powder's face fell, her arms dropping to her sides. "Oh, come on! It was so close!"

Jax burst out laughing, stepping forward to pick up the now-defunct contraption. "So close it fell flat on its back," he teased, shaking the monkey gently. "I think it just gave up halfway."

"Hey, don't laugh!" Powder said, pouting. "It's not funny—it's tragic! This was supposed to be my masterpiece."

Jax turned the monkey over, examining the charred wires inside. "It's not bad, Powder. Just needs a little work."

Before Powder could retort, the sound of the workshop door creaking open made them both turn. Vi stepped inside, holding a cloth-covered basket in one hand and grinning at the two of them.

"Am I interrupting your latest disaster?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she surveyed the smoky workshop.

"Vi!" Powder leapt off her stool and darted toward her sister. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought you two could use a break," Vi said, stepping inside and setting the small basket down on the workbench. "Brought some food—don't say I never do anything for you."

"Food?" Powder's eyes lit up as she peeked into the basket, pulling out two sandwiches wrapped in paper and a small container of what looked like fried dumplings. "You're the best!"

Jax leaned against the workbench, smirking at Powder. "She isn't too bad."

Vi rolled her eyes and shoved a sandwich into his chest. "You're welcome, Blondie."

The three of them sat on the floor around the workbench, the monkey bomb forgotten for now. Powder talked animatedly between bites, recounting her latest victory at Tinker's Gambit and the traps she'd already planned for her game with Jax.

Vi laughed, shaking her head as she finished her sandwich. "You better watch out, Jax. Powder's got that evil genius energy tonight."

"I've seen that," Jax said, smirking as he popped a dumpling into his mouth. "She almost scared that monkey into working."

Powder scowled playfully, throwing a crumb at him. "Just wait until later—it'll work perfectly! And I'll beat you at the game tonight, too."

As they finished eating, Vi leaned back against the workbench, tossing her balled-up sandwich wrapper into the can next to her. Her eyes wandered over the cluttered workspace before landing on Jax. Specifically, on the faintly glowing pendant around his neck, which caught the dim light of the workshop every time he moved.

"What's that?" Vi asked, nodding toward the pendant that hung around his neck

Jax froze mid-bite, glancing down at the pendant. "This? Uh…" His voice trailed off, and his hand instinctively brushed over the pendant as if trying to shield it from view.

Powder's head snapped up, her eyes widening. "It's nothing!" she said quickly, her face already beginning to flush.

Vi raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Nothing, huh?" She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her grin widening as she looked between the two of them. "Doesn't look like nothing. Looks kinda special."

"It's from Powder," Jax mumbled, his cheeks warming. He focused on the floor, suddenly very interested in a stray gear that he rolled on the floor.

Powder, now as pink in face as Vi's hair, tugged at her sleeve and looked everywhere but at her sister. "It's just—y'know—it's a necklace," she stammered. "Nothing fancy! I just made it for him because… because…" Her words trailed off as she gestured vaguely, completely flustered.

Vi's grin turned wicked as she leaned back, crossing her arms. "Ohhh, I see," she said, drawing out the words. "Powder made you a necklace, huh? And you're wearing it. Wow, Jax. Is there something you want to say?"

"Shut up," Jax muttered, his ears burning now. "It's a good necklace."

Powder groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Vi, stop it! You're embarrassing him!"

"Embarrassing him?" Vi said, laughing. "Look at you! You're the one turning into a tomato." She gave Jax a playful nudge with her elbow. "Did she ask you to promise never to take it off? Maybe say something like, 'Keep it close to your heart'?"

Jax sighed, his face now fully red. "You done yet, or are you gonna keep yapping?"

Vi leaned back, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll stop… for now." She smirked, giving them both one last teasing glance. "But it's kinda cute, okay? Just admit it."

Powder peeked out from behind her hands, still blushing furiously. "It's not cute—it's just—just practical! It's got a light and everything!"

"Oh, it's got a light," Vi said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she grabbed her jacket. "Come on, I need some air before you two get even mushier."

As Vi walked toward the door, Jax shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Annoying."

Powder giggled, tugging on the edge of her sleeve. "You… don't have to wear it all the time, you know."

Jax looked at her, his expression softening. He touched the pendant lightly, the glow reflecting in his eyes. "I want to," he said simply.

Powder's blush deepened, but she smiled, her earlier embarrassment melting into quiet happiness.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, but Powder eventually broke through the silence. She set the sandwich wrapper down, tilting her head toward him. "Hey, Jax?"

He glanced up from the gear in his hand, his eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

She hesitated, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. "I was just… um, I was wondering. You've never really talked about your parents before."

Jax froze for a moment, the gear slipping slightly in his fingers. "My parents?" he repeated, his voice quieter now. "Why're you asking about that?"

Powder shrugged, her gaze drifting back to the monkey bomb. "I dunno. I just realized I've never heard you mention them. Like, ever. And… you're always kind of quiet around my family. I just thought maybe…"

She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Jax set the gear down, running a hand through his messy hair as he leaned back in his chair. "Yeah," he said after a moment, his voice steady but low. "I never knew them, but I think I told you that."

Powder blinked, her expression softening. "Yeah," she said quietly. "You did… But I thought there was something you knew"

"Not much to know," Jax said with a faint, humorless chuckle. "I grew up in Zaun, like everyone else. Just… on my own."

Powder watched him carefully, her eyes searching his face. "Is that why?" she asked softly. "Why you're always kind of… I dunno, quiet? Around Vi, Vander, and everyone?"

Jax hesitated for a moment. He touched the pendant, his thumb brushing over its faint glow. "That's… yeah," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "It's one of the reasons."

"What do you mean?"

Jax sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Your family… you guys are close. Even when you're fighting or driving each other nuts, it's obvious. I didn't really have that growing up. Being around it sometimes feels… I dunno. Like I'm on the outside looking in."

Powder frowned. "But you're not on the outside," she said firmly, her voice soft but full of conviction. "You're one of us, Jax. Vi teases you, Vander keeps letting you hang around, and I mean—" she grinned, gesturing toward the necklace around his neck, "you're wearing something I made. That makes you stuck with us."

Jax chuckled, the sound light but genuine. "I guess you're right. I don't feel like an outsider when I'm with you."

Powder nodded, satisfied. "Good. Because I think you're pretty okay, even if you're a bit of a loner."

Jax smirked, shaking his head. "Thanks, I think."

As the hours went by, the light that shined through the windows grew dimmer. Jax, leaned against the wall, absentmindedly tinkered with a small scrap of metal while Powder sprawled on the floor, fiddling with the failed monkey bomb. She tightened another screw on the monkey's arm, and leaned back with a satisfied grin. "There. Perfect. Now it just needs a name."

Jax, who was adjusting a wire near the monkey's torso, paused and raised an eyebrow. "A name? It's a bomb, not a pet."

Powder shot him a playful glare. "It's not just a bomb—it's our creation. It deserves a name."

Jax chuckled, sitting back and crossing his arms. "Alright, go ahead. What're you calling it?"

She tapped her chin dramatically, her face scrunched in exaggerated thought. "Hmm… something classy. Something that says 'I'm dangerous but also super cool.'" Her eyes lit up as she snapped her fingers. "Clive! His name is Clive."

Jax blinked, then let out a laugh. "Clive? You're naming a monkey bomb Clive?"

"What's wrong with Clive?" Powder asked, feigning offense as she crossed her arms.

"It's hilarious," Jax said, grinning. "We're about to blow something up with a monkey named Clive."

Powder giggled, her earlier pout dissolving. "Well, Clive's gonna be the most dangerous monkey ever. Just wait and see."

Jax shook his head, still smiling as he picked up a wrench. "Alright, Clive it is. Let's just hope he survives long enough to actually do something."

The door creaked open, and Vi stepped back inside, her boots tapping softly against the floor. She glanced at Powder, still lost in her work, and let out a small sigh. "Alright, Powder. Time to pack it up. Let's get you home."

Powder looked up, blinking as though she'd forgotten how late it was. "Already?" she asked, pouting.

Vi smirked, crossing her arms. "Well, we have to get ready for that board game, right?"

Powder nodded and lightened up when she heard the words board game. Jax watched the exchange, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It wasn't the first time Vi had come to collect Powder, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. She always came, never letting Powder walk home alone through the Lanes.

Jax admired that about her. She didn't just take care of Powder—sometimes she even walked him home, too. Though, she never did it without Powder, who always insisted on going with them. It was something he appreciated more than he'd ever admit.

As Powder slung her bag over her shoulder, she turned to Jax, grinning. "I'll see you later."

Her voice was so casual, so light, that it caught him off guard for a second. She said it the same way she always did, like it was an unspoken guarantee. Jax nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Yeah," he said softly. "See you later."

Vi gave Jax a brief nod as she opened the door, letting the faint glow of the streetlights spill into the workshop. "Don't work too hard, Blondie," she teased. "This place is already falling apart."

Jax chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll try to keep it together until tomorrow."

Powder laughed, giving him one last wave as she followed Vi out the door. The sound of their voices faded into the distance as the door creaked shut behind them, leaving Jax alone in the quiet workshop.

He brushed his hand on the glowing pendant around his neck. For a moment, he stared at the door. She always says that, he thought. Like it's a promise.

He stood in place, his eyes roamed over the workshop. The Invention Station. His kingdom. His chaos. Gears, springs, and half-finished projects were scattered across every surface. Wires dangled from the shelves, tangling into little nests. Crumpled blueprints mixed with snack wrappers and a few mysterious stains he didn't want to think too hard about.

The whole workshop was a mess, and perhaps it was time to actually do something about it. He sighed, tapping his fingers on the armrests. Sure, he always found what he needed, but lately, even he had to admit it took longer. A part of him—a tiny, rebellious part—resented Vi's constant remarks about the mess, but maybe she wasn't wrong this time.

"Fine," Jax said aloud, standing up with a dramatic stretch. "Time to prove I'm civilized."

The cleaning began with an energy that felt heroic, at least in Jax's mind. He pulled a cracked box off the shelf and dumped its contents onto the floor. A waterfall of bolts, cogs, and broken circuits spilled out, and he quickly began sorting.

"This pile's for stuff I'll totally use," he muttered, making a neat stack. "This one's for... junk. Probably junk. Maybe junk?" His confidence faltered as the junk pile grew smaller than the keep pile. He shook his head and swept the "maybe" pile into the junk bin. Next, he tackled the workbench. He wiped down the oil-streaked surface with an old rag, grimacing as layers of grime came off. A pair of pliers fell to the floor, narrowly missing his toes.

"Why do I even own three wrenches the size of my arm?" he muttered, tossing two into a toolbox and keeping one "just in case." The floor was next, and it was a battle. He swept with the ferocity of someone fending off an attack, the broom scraping up mountains of dust and forgotten screws. A rusty spring popped out of nowhere and hit him in the shin.

"Traitor," Jax muttered, throwing the spring into the junk bin.

By the time he reached the shelves, his initial energy had waned. He stared at the cluttered mess and groaned. "Okay, okay. One shelf at a time."

Hours passed as he pulled down jars of mismatched parts, jars labeled "Definitely Not Explosive" (they probably were), and a surprisingly clean jar of marbles. He labeled everything meticulously—at least for him—with notes like "Sort Later" and "Important-ish."

Finally, the Invention Station began to resemble something functional. The workbench gleamed - well, relatively - the shelves were neatly organized, and the floor was visible for the first time in... weeks? Months? Jax wasn't sure.

He slumped into his chair, spinning slowly as he surveyed his work.

"Huh," Jax said, resting his hands behind his head. "Still looks like a workshop... but I guess it's less of a disaster." He stretched, his back cracking slightly as he stood in the middle of his now somewhat-tidier workshop. He ran a hand through his messy hair, smearing a bit of grease, and sighed. "Guess I should clean myself up too."

He grabbed a clean shirt from a shelf and swapped it for his grease-streaked one, tossing the old one into a corner with a mental note to deal with it later. His reflection in the cracked mirror near his bed caught his eye, and he paused, staring at the reflection for a second before he started fixing his hair. Why did he do that? He never does that. Weird, he thought. The pendant around his neck caught the faint light, glowing softly against his chest. Humming softly to himself, he laced up his boots. And as he reached for his jacket, a sudden knock echoed from the door.

He froze for a moment, his hand hovering over the laces. Then he relaxed, rolling his eyes with a grin. "Powder, I was literally about to leave," he called, shaking his head as he took his olive green jacket to put it on.

The knock came again, sharp and urgent. Jax froze, his jacket halfway on, his heart skipping a beat. He forced a smile, masking the sudden unease prickling at his skin. "Powder, seriously," he called toward the door, trying to inject humor into his tone. "I was about to leave! You don't have to bang the door down just because you're excited to play—"

CRASH.

The door to his workshop exploded inward, wood splintering like shards of glass. Jax raised his hands to protect his face, his heart leaping into his throat. A figure loomed in the doorway, tall and cloaked, its silhouette obscured by the smoke and debris from the shattered door. He couldn't see its face, not even the outlines. But he felt its gaze. That horrible gaze, filled with hatred. The one he thought he'd never see again.

For a moment, the world stood still. Jax lowered his hands slightly, his mind racing to make sense of what he was seeing. The figure stepped forward, its movements unnaturally smooth, its presence filling the room like a suffocating fog.

"You…" the figure rasped, its voice guttural, inhuman. "You will heed the call."

"…What?" Jax stammered. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like lead.

"You cannot run," it murmured, each word heavy and deliberate. "The threads are spun… the weave cannot be undone…"

Jax blinked, confusion mixing with fear. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, backing up toward his workbench. His hand groped blindly until his fingers closed around a heavy wrench.

"Look, you've got the wrong person. I'm a nobody. You hear me? Just—"

"Spoken… and yet unspoken," the figure interrupted, the voice undulating like a shifting current. "Seen… yet unseen. You carry the spark… you bear the weight. It watches."

The last word echoed, reverberating through the room. Jax's pulse raced, and his breath quickened. Desperate, he gritted his teeth and hurled the wrench at the intruder with all his strength. The metal flew through the air and hit—nothing. It passed through the figure as though they were made of mist, clattering uselessly against the far wall.

"Shitty Zaun junk," Jax breathed, stumbling back as the figure began to move toward him, their form twisting and undulating unnaturally with every step. The shadows around them seemed alive, writhing and flickering like a living void.

The voice came again, sharp and discordant. "It knows you. It watches. It claims."

Panic surged through Jax as he turned and bolted, his boots skidding on the workshop floor. Behind him, the figure gave chase, its movement unnervingly silent except for the faint hiss of air disturbed by its presence. Jax dodged between the scattered furniture. He glanced back, his blood turning cold. The figure was closer than he'd thought, the hood obscuring whatever should have been a face. Its hand—if it could be called that—reached out toward him, long and thin, its edges flickering as though not fully real.

Jax sprinted toward his bed, where the sword he found at the docks leaned against the wall. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. His fingers closed around the hilt just as the cold presence loomed behind him, the figure's distorted shadow stretching over him like a living thing.

"You cannot fight the unseen…" the voice hissed, its tone almost mocking. "You… cannot escape what is already here."

Jax spun around, holding the sword in front of him with trembling hands. The figure stopped, its form flickering with an unnatural stillness, the shadows around them twisting and writhing like a black storm. For a moment, neither of them moved. The, the figure's long hand began to reach toward him, slow and ominous. Jax stumbled back, the cold weight of dread sinking deeper into his chest with every breath. "Stay back!" he shouted, his voice trembling as he swung the sword. But the blade passed through the figure as though slicing through smoke—or had it? For a moment, Jax's vision wavered, the edges of the room twisting and distorting like a dream slipping out of focus. Reality felt unreal, shifting and fragile, leaving him questioning if the figure was even there at all.

The voice came again, colder and sharper. "The spark falters… the dark awakens… it sees."

His eyes darted around, desperate for an escape, but there was nowhere to go. The shadows seemed alive, bending and shifting with the figure as if they were one. They pressed forward, their presence growing heavier with each step.

"The weave… unravels…" the voice rasped, twisting in the air like a sickly echo. "The spark… the void… entwined."

Then, the hand touched him.

It wasn't physical—not in the way he expected. The moment the shadowy claws brushed against his chest, an icy void slammed into his mind like a thunderclap. Pain lanced through his skull, sharp and unrelenting, and his vision blurred. The room seemed to tilt and spin, the shadows swallowing everything around him.

He stumbled, dropping the sword with a loud clatter. The faint glow of Powder's necklace pulsed erratically, its light fighting against the encroaching darkness. But even it seemed to falter as the figure leaned closer, its distorted voice growing louder.

"You cannot escape… you cannot run… the dark knows."

Then the roar began.

It was unlike anything Jax had ever heard. A cacophony of voices—whispers, screams, guttural wails—all overlapping and reverberating through his skull. The sound wasn't just in the room—it was everywhere, pressing against his very being, tearing at his mind. His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor, clutching his head as the roar grew louder, more unbearable.

"Stop!" he shouted, his voice lost in the chaos. He tried to crawl away, his hands scrambling over the scattered tools and gears, but the room itself seemed alive, bending and twisting with the sound. The walls warped, the light of the chem-lamps flickering violently before plunging the workshop into utter darkness.

Then, in the black void, came the voices.

"Thisss kaaall..." one hissed, its tone low and jagged.

"Ehspar… falthar..." another murmured, its voice wet and guttural, echoing as if from a great distance.

A final voice rose, hollow and thunderous, its soundless scream rippling through the void: "VORR… KALNASH... TAHL."

The roar crescendoed, ripping through him, and his mind felt as though it was being torn apart. His hands clawed at the floor, but there was no floor, no walls, no room—just the endless, suffocating dark.

In the last flicker of awareness, he saw them—the figure, their form a twisting, writhing void of shadows. The hand reached for him again, and this time, there was no escape.

The world roared around him one final time, then everything went silent.

Darkness consumed all.

x

Powder sat at the corner table of The Last Drop, her arms crossed on the scratched wooden surface as she stared at the little board game pieces scattered in front of her. The tavern was unusually quiet tonight, the hum of Zaun's machinery outside barely audible over the muffled voices of a few patrons. A half-empty mug of something frothy sat forgotten nearby, condensation pooling around its base.

She frowned, her eyes flicking toward the door for the tenth time in as many minutes. Jax was supposed to have been here ages ago. They'd planned to play this game all week—something about strategy, dice rolls, and tinkering with little pieces of metal to build pretend machines. It wasn't her usual kind of fun, but Jax always made things interesting. Powder was insistent that they wait for him before they begin. Yet, he hadn't shown.

"Where is he?" Powder muttered, poking one of the tiny game pieces with her finger. It teetered precariously before falling over.

Across the room, Vander leaned against the bar, his large arms crossed as he spoke in a low voice with Benzo. Powder had been half-listening to their conversation earlier—something about gangs and trouble brewing—but now their hushed tones barely registered.

Benzo's voice rose slightly, catching her attention. "They're getting bolder, Vander. You know it as well as I do. The Lanes aren't safe anymore. I heard a crew from the Iron Thorn gang tried to shake down a merchant three blocks from here."

Vander sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "The Lanes have never been safe, Benzo. What's new?"

Benzo leaned closer, lowering his voice again, but Powder caught a few words. "Someone's backing them—making them stronger. You've heard the name, haven't you? That man—"

Powder stopped listening, her focus drifting to the door again. She fiddled with a game piece, her frustration building. Mylo was sitting nearby, sharpening a dagger and muttering something about "wasting time," but she barely noticed.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention.

A faint red glow flickered through one of the grime-covered windows near the entrance. Powder tilted her head, squinting as she tried to make sense of it. At first, she thought it might just be a chem-light on the fritz, but the glow was too far away, too erratic, and too... red.

"Hey," she said, standing up and pointing toward the window. "What's that?"

Mylo glanced up, following her gaze. He leaned back lazily in his chair, smirking. "What's what?"

"That," Powder insisted, gesturing more emphatically. "It looks like... fire or something. See?"

Mylo rolled his eyes, waving her off. "It's probably nothing. Someone probably spilled fuel or lit a stove wrong. People start fires all the time. Relax."

Powder frowned, crossing her arms. "I don't know... it looks big."

Vi, who had been leaning against the wall near the bar, raised an eyebrow and stepped closer to the window. "Powder's right," she muttered, narrowing her eyes. "That's more than someone lighting a stove."

Vander turned toward them, his brow furrowed. "What're you lot talking about?"

Powder pointed out the window again, her unease growing. "There's something out there. It's... glowing. Really red."

Benzo followed Vander's gaze, his face darkening. "It's not just a spill," he said quietly. "That's a fire. A big one."

Vander grabbed his coat, his expression grim as he exchanged a glance with Benzo. "Stay here," he said firmly to the kids. "Benzo and I'll check it out."

"But—" Powder started, but Vi cut her off with a shake of her head.

"Listen to Vander," Vi said, her tone serious. "Stay put, Powder. Don't do anything stupid."

Powder slumped back into her chair, but her eyes never left the glow. She bit her lip, her fingers fidgeting with one of the game pieces.

Where is he?

She sat back at the table, her fingers drumming against the wood as she stared out the grime-covered window. The red glow pulsed faintly in the distance, like a heartbeat in the dark. Her leg bounced restlessly under the table, and she glanced around the tavern. Mylo was sharpening his dagger again, occasionally throwing her a glance, while Vi leaned against the bar, talking in low tones with Claggor. Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, the tense quiet of waiting broken only by the conversation of the older kids. Powder played with one of the game pieces, spinning it idly on its edge. She kept and kept glancing on the door, her brows furrowed. But the door remained closed.

Vi sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair as she glanced at Powder. "We can't just sit here all night. Let's start the game, okay? Jax'll show up when he shows up."

"No," Powder muttered, shaking her head without looking up. "I don't want to play."

Vi raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Powder. You've been going on about this game all week. Don't let Jax ruin it just because he's late."

Powder's fingers dug into her sleeves, her voice sharper now. "I said no! It's not the same without him." She lowered her gaze to the table, her words softening as she added, "He promised he'd be here."

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I get it. But, people get caught up sometimes. Doesn't mean he didn't want to come."

Powder's jaw tightened, and she hunched over the table, her messy hair falling into her face. "Then why isn't he here?" she whispered, barely audible. "He always shows up. Always…"

Vi frowned, unsure what to say. She glanced at Mylo and Claggor, who had stayed quiet, sensing Powder's frustration. The light mood they'd tried to keep alive had faded, replaced by an uneasy silence that none of them knew how to break.

Powder stared down at the game pieces, her anger flickering between sadness and confusion. She didn't want to play. She didn't want to laugh or strategize or even talk. All she wanted was for Jax to walk through that door, grinning and apologizing for being late like nothing was wrong. But he didn't. The longer she waited, the heavier the knot in her chest grew. Why didn't he come? she thought, her hands clenching in her lap. He never broke a promise. Not to her.

And the glow just gnawed at her impatience and unease.

"How long does it take to check a fire?" she muttered under her breath. Her gaze drifted back to the window, her mind racing.

A knot tightened in her chest, and finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Powder stood abruptly. She glanced around the room - Mylo wasn't paying attention, and Vi and Claggor were too busy talking to notice. Perfect.

Moving quietly, Powder slipped toward the door, her heart pounding as she pushed it open just enough to slide through. The cool night air hit her face, and the faint hum of Zaun's machinery filled her ears. She glanced back at the Last Drop, hesitating for only a moment before setting off toward the glow.

The streets of the Lanes were quiet, eerily so. The usual sounds of late-night arguments or clattering tools were absent, replaced by a strange stillness. Powder followed the glow, her boots clicking softly against the cobblestones. With every step, her unease grew.

The glow became brighter as she wound her way through the streets, its flickering light dancing against the walls. It wasn't just a single flame—it was big, casting long shadows that loomed around every corner.

Powder quickened her pace, her small legs moving as fast as they could. The glow was pulling her forward now, guiding her like a thread she couldn't let go of. But as she turned another corner, her stomach dropped.

The fire was in the direction of Jax's workshop.

"No..." she whispered, her breath hitching as panic clawed at her chest. Powder broke into a run, her heart pounding in her ears. Her surroundings blurred as her focus narrowed on the glow, which grew brighter with every step.

As she rounded the last corner, her heart sank.

A crowd had gathered in front of Jax's workshop, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning wood and metal. People were shouting, passing buckets of water in a frantic attempt to quench the fire. Powder stopped dead in her tracks, her breath hitching as she stared at the destruction. The heat of the flames brushed off her face, even from this distance. She took a shaky step forward, her hands trembling at her sides. The stench hit her nose, and her stomach churned. The once-familiar building was barely recognizable. Shouts filled the air as neighbors passed buckets of water, splashing them over the flames.

"Powder!" Vi's voice rang out from behind her, sharp and worried. Powder turned her head slightly, her eyes wide with panic, but didn't stop moving forward.

Vi, Claggor, and Mylo caught up quickly, their footsteps heavy against the stone. Vi reached her first, grabbing her arm to stop from getting too close. "What do you think you're doing?" Vi demanded, her voice firm but laced with worry. "Vander said–"

"It's Jax's place!" Powder shouted, twisting in Vi's grip.

Vi looked up and her eyes widened, as if she only now realized where they were. Claggor and Mylo exchanged a glance, their faces pale as they looked forward at smoldering building. "This is his workshop?" Claggor muttered, his voice low and grim.

"Looks like it," Mylo said, his usual smirk absent. He hesitated, then added softly, "Doesn't mean he was in there, Powder. He could've gotten out."

Powder shook her head violently, her messy blue hair flying as she tried to pull free from Vi's grasp. "I have to see! He could still be in there!"

Vi crouched down, gripping both of Powder's shoulders tightly. Her face was stern but her eyes betrayed her own worry. "Powder, listen to me. You can't just run in there. It's not safe."

"But–" Powder started, her voice breaking as her eyes darted back to the burning building. "If he's inside, we have to help him!"

Vi's grip softened slightly, her expression wavering. "I know, but we'll figure it out, okay? Just stick with us."

Claggor stepped forward, his jaw set as he looked toward the crowd. "Vander's there," he said, nodding toward the tall, broad figure standing near the front. As if he heard them, Vander walked a path through the crowd towards them, his soot-streaked face heavy with exhaustion. He put down the empty bucket he'd been carrying and approached, his broad shoulders hunched as though weighed down by something far heavier than fatigue. His boots crunched against the wet cobblestones, each step slow and deliberate.

Vi stepped forward first, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her voice was tense, cutting through the crackling flames and murmuring crowd. "Vander," she said sharply, her eyes fixed on his grim expression. "Is there anything there? Did you find him?"

Vander stopped a few feet away, his gaze flicking briefly toward the smoldering ruins before settling on them. He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, he sighed, his voice low and strained. "We… found remains," he said, each word deliberate and heavy. "A body. But it's mostly…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "It's mostly ashes."

The words hit like a blow to the chest. Vi's fists unclenched, her shoulders dropping slightly as the weight of his words sank in. Claggor looked away, his hand gripping the back of his neck, while Mylo's usual bravado crumbled into uneasy silence.

Powder's wide, tear-filled eyes darted between Vander and the building, trying to process what he was saying. Her small voice broke the silence, trembling with fragile hope. "But… Jax is okay, right?" she asked. "He's safe, isn't he? He got out, right Vander?"

Vander crouched slightly to her level, his large hands resting gently on her shoulders. His eyes softened, the pain in them unmistakable as he looked at her. He shook his head slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Powder," he said.

Powder froze, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't move, didn't speak. She just stood there, staring blankly at the workshop as the words slowly sank in. The world around her seemed to dim, the crackling of the fire, the distant shouts of the crowd, all fading into a hollow silence.

Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. The flickering glow of the fire reflected in her wide, tear-filled eyes, but she barely seemed to notice.

Vi stepped closer, watching her sister anxiously. "Powder?" she said softly, her voice tight with worry. "Pow…?"

Powder's shoulders started to shake, the faintest quiver at first, but it grew steadily. Her breaths became shallow and uneven as her body finally caught up with the weight of Vander's words. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground, her face pale and her hands clutching at the cobblestones as if trying to anchor herself.

"No…" she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled silently down her cheeks. "No… it's not true. He… he promised. He said he'd never leave. He promised."

Her quiet words turned into choked sobs, her body trembling as she fought to speak. "He wouldn't leave me," she cried, her voice cracking. "He wouldn't… he promised."

Vi knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around Powder and pulling her close. "I'm here, Pow," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion as she stroked her sister's messy hair. "I'm here. It's okay. I've got you."

But Powder couldn't stop. She buried her face in Vi's shoulder, her sobs growing louder, raw and heart-wrenching as the reality finally broke through.

Vander stood silently above them, his shoulders slumping as he looked back toward the blackened wreckage. His large hands hung at his sides, helpless against the weight of the moment. Claggor and Mylo stood a few steps away, silent. Claggor rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the ground, while Mylo shifted uncomfortably, his arms crossed tightly as if to protect himself from the truth.

The red glow of the fire flickered against the night, casting long, ghostly shadows across the blackened walls. Her heart ached as memories and thoughts flooded her mind. He promised, she thought, her chest tightening with every passing second. He promised he'd always be with me. But the flames only flickered dimmer, leaving nothing but ash and silence.

The Place We Left Behind

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jax stood in the middle of the inferno, the heat licking at his face as flames danced along the walls of his workshop. The Invention Station, he and Powder had called it, a name born from her boundless enthusiasm and his stubborn optimism.

The fire devoured everything.

Everything Jax had built, alone and with Powder. The flames leaped hungrily from one creation to the next. The wind-powered contraption that never took off, its wooden propeller now crackling and curling into ash. The spring-loaded grappling hook that jammed more often than it worked, its metal frame glowing red before collapsing into molten ruin. The mismatched collection of gears and cogs from their countless failed experiments melted into unrecognizable blobs, their intricate designs erased in seconds.

On the workbench in the middle, the remnants of their favorite project – the monkey bomb that was supposed to think on its own – stood as a silhouette against the inferno, its mechanisms popping and snapping as the fire consumed it. A tangle of wires strung across the walls sparked violently before falling to the floor, their bright flashes swallowed by the growing blaze. Even the jars of colorful powders and glowing liquids, scavenged from Zaun's forgotten corners, exploded in bursts of light and sound, as though mourning their own destruction.

The workshop's roof collapsed in on itself with a groan. The metal joints gave way, sending the structure crashing to the ground in a shower of sparks, reduced to a heap of smoldering debris. Jax didn't flinch, even as the embers singed his hair and the heat pressed against his skin. The walls, adorned with chalk-drawn blueprints and scribbled notes, blackened and curled, their ideas turning to dust and ashes.

Everything – the dreams, the failures, the endless tinkering – disappeared into the flames, leaving nothing but heat and ash. The Invention Station, was gone, reduced to a blazing maelstrom that devoured everything in its path. The air was thick with black smoke, stinging his eyes and throat. But Jax didn't move. He couldn't. His gaze was fixed ahead, unblinking, unyielding.

Behind him, sprawled lifeless on the scorched floor, lay the man in the black cloak. The figure who had attacked him, who had tried to do something to him, was now nothing more than a motionless heap of shadowed flesh and fabric. The flickering firelight cast jagged shadows across the corpse, and there was… a face beneath the hood. It wasn't what he expected. There was no monstrous visage, no hateful gaze. Just a man. His features would be so ordinary, unremarkable if not for the scars that marked his bald head. It made no sense. That thing that broke through the doors of his workshop wasn't something normal. It was not the same thing.

He replayed the moments that had led to this. The apparition had moved with a precision, a purpose, that felt unnatural. It reached out with its hand, and touched him. One moment, the darkness had surged around him, swallowing everything in its path. The next, the man was dead.

The realization sent a cold chill through him, but he forced the thoughts away. There were no answers here, only questions that clawed at the edges of his mind. And in that moment, he didn't care. It didn't matter. The fire would consume the body, reducing it to nothing but ash – like everything else.

What mattered was what he'd seen.

The visions tore through his mind like shards of broken glass, jagged and relentless. They didn't stop, even now, flashing before his eyes in sharp, disjointed fragments that refused to make sense. He didn't understand them, but he understood enough. They were warnings, whispers of something far worse than the fire around him. And that knowledge burned hotter than the flames.

It didn't matter how much it hurt. It didn't matter how much he lost.

He had to do this.

His heart pounded, each beat a drumroll of conviction, reminding him why he'd lit the match in the first place. Why he'd destroyed the only home he'd ever known.

"No turning back now," he whispered, his voice hoarse and nearly drowned out by the crackling of the fire. His words were meant for himself, a tether to keep him grounded as his world disintegrated around him. His hands trembled, whether from fear or resolve, he couldn't tell. Maybe it was both. The workshop wasn't just a building. It was a graveyard of his failures, his dreams, and every promise he'd ever made to himself. And now, it was his first sacrifice.

Jax slung the bag over his shoulder, the weight of its contents digging into his back as he moved toward the door. The straps bit into his palms, grounding him, forcing him to focus on the future instead of the smoldering ruin behind him. Then his gaze fell on the sword on the floor next to the corpse, intact by fire. His hand moved toward it almost on instinct, his fingers curling around the grip. He hesitated, frowning at it as a strange sense of urgency stirred in his chest. Why take it? He hadn't even thought about it until now. And yet, as his grip tightened, the need to carry it felt undeniable, as if the decision wasn't entirely his own.

Without another thought, he slung the blade over his back alongside the bag and slipped outside. The cool night air struck his face like a slap after the suffocating heat of the flames. For a moment, he stood there in front of the broken door frame, staring right ahead.

The fire raged behind him, its glow stretching up into the sky, a beacon for the curious and the bold. He didn't dare look back. He didn't want to see what was left, didn't want to acknowledge the enormity of what he'd done. He knew the fire would draw people soon—neighbors, passersby, maybe even the Enforcers. Questions would follow, questions he couldn't answer, and truths he couldn't share.

Jax pulled the hood of his coat over his head, casting his face in shadow as he stepped into the maze of alleys. The sound of the fire faded with each step, replaced by the hollow echo of his boots on the cobblestones. The weight of the bag on his shoulder was a constant reminder of what came next, of the path he had chosen and the promises he had to break to see it through. He felt it, a pull, a quiet but insistent tug in his chest, urging him forward. He didn't stop to question it. He couldn't. The need to move, to get to the Last Drop, was overwhelming. It wasn't a thought or a plan—it was instinct, a force as natural and irresistible as breathing. Each turn, each alley, felt like a step closer to something he couldn't name but desperately needed to reach. The weight of it was enormous, drawing him through the maze-like streets of Zaun.

The air was thick with the city's usual haze of grime and smoke, but Jax barely noticed it. His focus was singular, his surroundings blurring into shadowed walls and faint flickers of light from distant windows. He passed by familiar landmarks—the rusted skeleton of a broken-down lift, the alley where he once scavenged for parts—barely noticing them. His memories of those places were drowned out by the feeling in his chest, that unshakable certainty that the Last Drop was where he needed to be.

The tavern's crooked silhouette finally came into view, its neon sign flickering faintly against the smog-filled sky. Jax slowed his pace, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he took in the sight. The pull hadn't lessened; if anything, it had grown sharper, like a thread winding tighter around his heart. His steps faltered for just a moment as his gaze swept over the building, the noise of laughter and shouting spilling out from its half-open door.

He stood half-hidden in the shadows of the alley, his breath misting in the cold night air. The faint murmur of the tavern reached his ears—a few soft voices, the clink of glasses, and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. His eyes, though, were fixed on the window. Through the smudged glass, he saw her.

Powder.

She was inside, sitting at one of the tables near the center of the room. Her small figure was hunched over the table, arms crossed tightly against her chest, her face scrunched up in that familiar scowl. She looked so fragile against the rough interior of the tavern. But there she was, waiting for him. Like she always did. And for a brief, agonizing moment, Jax let himself imagine walking through that door, sliding into the seat across from her, and laughing as she scolded him for being late.

She always hated waiting.

A faint, sad smile tugged at his lips. He wanted so badly to keep his promise—to sit down and play the silly board game she'd been so excited about. He watched her, and memories bubbled up unbidden, vivid and raw. The first time they met when he tripped over her feet in that alley, and when she came to the workshop for the first time with her wide-eyed curiosity and relentless questions. How she'd called his contraptions "weird, but kinda cool" and wanted to try inventing something together. He thought of the hours they'd spent side by side, searching through scrap piles, arguing over ridiculous ideas, and laughing when things inevitably blew up in their faces.

His chest tightened as another memory surfaced, one that hit harder than the rest. Her voice, soft but insistent, ringing in his mind. But… I don't want you leave. He could still see the way she'd looked at him, her wide blue eyes shining with hope and just a hint of fear. How her lips trembled as she said it. And he'd promised. Of course he had. How could he not? Powder had been the first to pull him out of the lonely, desolate existence he'd known for so long. She had stumbled into his life and insisted on being a part of it, her boundless energy breaking through the walls he hadn't even realized he'd built. She'd shared her world with him – her family, her dreams, her endless faith in what they could do together. She had made him feel like he wasn't just some stray kid scrounging through Zaun's ruins for scraps, but someone who mattered. Someone who had a place. And for the first time in his life, he accepted someone. He accepted her.

You promise?

I promise.

The weight of the promise felt like a chain around his heart. He pressed his hand onto his chest, feeling the broken pendant against his skin. The glow it once carried was gone, dimmed like a fading ember. Holding it made Jax question everything. She was right there, inside. Just a few steps away. All he had to do was push open the door, cross the threshold, and sit down at the table, and for a fleeting moment, Jax let himself believe it could be that simple. That's where he belonged. That was his place.

He took a step forward, then stopped, his feet rooted to the spot.

The vision came rushing back, cutting through his thoughts like a blade. What he saw in it… it was more real than anything else in that moment, and it crushed whatever hope had flickered inside him. He couldn't ignore it. He couldn't pretend it wasn't there. He clenched his jaw, his nails digging into his palms as her voice echoed in his mind. You promise? It tore at him, made his chest ache with a pain so deep it was almost physical.

And yet, he turned away.

Jax closed his eyes and let the ache wash over him, let the weight of his choice settle like lead in his stomach. He couldn't go inside. Over and over, he told himself it was for her, that this was the only way to keep her safe, but words felt hollow even in his own mind.

He walked away, his steps heavy and slow, each one pulling him further from the light spilling out of the tavern's windows. Powder's face lingered in his mind, her expression frozen between annoyance and hope, and it nearly broke him. But he forced himself to keep walking, his footsteps echoing in the empty streets. The vision was all he could think about now, its terrible reality driving him forward into the cold night.

He didn't look back. He couldn't.

x

Powder sat at her usual table in the Last Drop, staring blankly at the scattered gears and bits of scrap in front of her. They blurred together into a meaningless mess, no different from the clutter of the tavern around her. She ran her finger along the edge of a small, rusted piece of metal, but her hands didn't move with their usual purpose. The excitement she used to feel—the spark that came with an idea or the thrill of building something new—was gone. It had been gone for months.

The voices around her were distant, muffled like she was hearing them through water. Vander's low rumble of concern, Vi's sharp tone, even Mylo's grumbling—all of it faded into the background. Powder didn't look up. She didn't want to see the way they were probably glancing her way when they thought she wasn't paying attention. She didn't want to see their worry, or worse, the pity in their eyes.

Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed one of the scraps aside. She'd gathered these pieces weeks ago, convinced she'd make something incredible, but they had just sat there ever since. Every time she tried to focus, her mind felt heavy, sluggish, like she was wading through thick, sticky mud. The ideas didn't come. The drive wasn't there. All she could do was sit and pretend she was trying, hoping no one would notice that she wasn't.

The tavern felt suffocating. The warm light and chatter that used to make her feel safe now pressed against her, too close, too loud. Powder pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if she could make herself smaller, as if that would help her disappear into the background. She wished everyone would stop looking at her, stop worrying about her, stop expecting her to do something, to be something. She slumped further into her chair, her chin resting on her knees. She used to cry about it, but not anymore. Crying wouldn't fix anything. Nothing would.

She didn't even notice Vander watching her from the bar, his mug frozen mid-wipe, or Vi shifting uncomfortably as she muttered something Powder couldn't hear. Mylo, fidgeting at a nearby table, glanced her way for a moment before quickly looking away. Powder didn't care. She didn't care about any of it. She barely registered the sound of footsteps until they stopped beside her.

"Hey, uh, Powder," Mylo started, his tone awkward, as if he wasn't sure how to approach her. She didn't lift her head, didn't even glance up.

He cleared his throat and shifted, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "So, I was thinking... remember that thing you made last year? The, uh, the spring-loaded... thing that shot out glitter? You called it the Glitter Launcher… or was it the Glitter Grenade? Or… or whatever."

Powder's fingers twitched, but she didn't respond.

"Well, I was just remembering how you set it off in the middle tavern, and Vander got so mad 'cause it took weeks to get all the glitter out of the cracks in the bar." Mylo chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "It was everywhere. I think there's still some stuck in the ceiling beams."

Powder shifted slightly, just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. For a second, just as Mylo thought he'd gotten through to her, but then she looked away.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his grin fading. "Come on, Pow. You can't just sit here all day. You've got all this... stuff," he gestured vaguely to the pile on the table, "and you haven't even touched it. That's not like you."

Still nothing.

Mylo frowned, his fingers tapping nervously against the edge of the table. "Okay, fine, but you can't stay like that forever. I mean, you're the one who's always saying we need to do something, right? Try something new? So maybe—maybe we could, I dunno, build something together? Like old times?"

Powder didn't answer. Her shoulders hunched a little further, as if she were trying to shrink into herself.

Mylo's fidgeting stopped, and he sighed. He looked like he didn't know what else to say, didn't know how to pull her out of whatever dark place she was stuck in. "Fine," he muttered, stepping back. "Be that way. Just... tell me if you need something, okay?"

He waited for a response that didn't come, then shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and walked away. As he slumped back to his own seat, he glanced over at Vander and Vi, both of them watching from the bar. Vander gave him a small, sympathetic nod. Vi just looked more frustrated than ever. Powder stayed where she was, her face hidden, the pile of gears in front of her untouched.

"Powder, I made your favorite," Vander called from behind the bar, his voice steady but carrying that edge of concern he tried to hide. "Come grab something to eat."

The smell of stew wafted through the air—sausage, potatoes, warm spices Vander claimed to have been from the lands far away. Powder just stared at the pile on the table. The stew used to make her light up, used to make her mouth water before the bowl even hit the table. Now, it was just another reminder of how far away she felt from everything.

Vi leaned against the bar, arms crossed. "Come on, Pow-Pow. Just a few bites. You've barely touched anything for days."

Powder didn't look up. "I'm not hungry," she murmured, her voice quiet, almost drowned out by the low hum of the tavern.

"Powder," Vander tried again, softer this time.

Mylo chimed in, though his voice was more hesitant than usual. "Yeah, can't survive on... whatever it is you've been doing. Brooding doesn't count as a meal."

Vander frowned but didn't push her. He exchanged a look with Vi, who seemed ready to argue, but she held back, biting her lip as Powder stood up abruptly. Without a word, she turned and headed toward the stairs, her small frame disappearing into the shadows of the upper floor.

"You thought that was gonna get her to eat?" she heard Vi's skeptical voice coming from the tavern dining room.

"Worth a try," Vander said, his voice low. "Girl's barely touched a thing in days."

Powder's shoulders tensed. She hated how they talked about her like she wasn't there, like she couldn't hear every word. She quickened her pace toward the bedroom without a glance back. Her room was quiet, as always, a mess of parts and tools that had been left untouched for weeks. Powder stepped inside and shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment before moving toward her bed. She wasn't even sure why she'd come up here—she just needed to be away.

As she reached for the counter to steady herself, her elbow knocked something off the edge. The soft thud of it hitting the floor made her pause. Powder looked down at her sketchbook lying open on the ground. The pages fluttered slightly before settling, and her chest tightened as her eyes fell on what was staring back at her.

It was a sketch she had made. Her family was there, all of them—Vi, Vander, Mylo, Claggor—and in the corner of the page, Jax, grinning as he stood next to her, holding that sword he found at the docks. She remembered drawing it one night when she felt sad for him because he had no family and he lived alone.

Powder reached down and picked it up, settling back on the bed as she turned the sketchbook over in her hands. Her gaze locked onto Jax, her fingers tracing the lines of his messy hair and that crooked smile she'd drawn so effortlessly. She always found it funny, how his smile curled unevenly, just on one side. He was so strange—so full of wild energy and endless ideas, yet quiet and distant, always keeping parts of himself hidden. Except when he was with her. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd called out to him, waving that old board game in her hands, teasing him until he agreed to play. That was the last time she saw him. It felt like a lifetime ago. Longer.

An eternity.

Her chest ached as the months that had passed since his disappearance weighed heavily on her. She'd clung to hope for so long, telling herself he'd come back, that he'd just gotten caught up in something and needed time. But with each passing day, that hope had dimmed, and now... now it felt like it had vanished entirely.

Powder never let herself think of him as dead. That word was too final, too sharp and cruel. It closed doors she wasn't ready to close. But what else could she believe? He hadn't come back. No one had seen or heard from him. He was gone, and she had no answers, no closure—only the hollow ache of his absence.

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the sketchbook, her gaze still fixed on the small, scribbled version of him. Her throat tightened, but no tears came. She wasn't sure she had any left. Powder closed the book carefully, placing it on the bed beside her as she curled up, pulling her knees to her chest.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

Powder was still sitting on the bed when the door creaked open. She didn't bother to look up—she already knew who it was.

"Hey, Powder," Vi said softly, stepping into the room. Powder didn't respond. She kept her eyes on the sketchbook. Vi lingered by the door for a moment before crossing the room, leaning against the wall next to Powder's bed. "Vander's stew is still downstairs," she said casually. "I could bring you a bowl up here, if you want."

"I don't want it," Powder murmured, her voice flat.

Vi shifted, crossing her arms. "Okay, well... I could grab something else. You don't have to eat stew. There's bread, or—"

"I don't want anything," Powder interrupted. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Vi frowned, her jaw tightening as she looked at her little sister. Powder knew Vi just wanted to help, but she didn't feel like she wanted any help right now.

"You know," Vi began, her tone shifting, "we can go there."

At that, Powder stiffened, her gaze snapping up to Vi for the first time.

"Yeah," Vi continued, cautiously, "the old place is still there. Well, what's left of it. You haven't been since... you know. But maybe... maybe it's time you did."

"No," Powder said quickly, her voice sharp. She hugged her knees tighter, shaking her head. "I don't want to go."

Vi crouched down in front of her, lowering her voice. "I think it could help. You've been stuck in here, stuck in your head. Maybe seeing it, facing it—"

"I said no!" Powder snapped, her voice cracking. Her hands gripped her knees so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Why would I want to go back there? There's nothing left!"

Vi flinched but didn't back off. "There's something left," she said firmly. "And maybe... maybe that's what you need to see. Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

Powder turned her face away, but Vi didn't move. She stayed there, crouched in front of her sister, her voice softening. "You can't keep running from it. You loved that place. You and... you had so many memories there. You don't have to go alone. I'll be with you."

For a long moment, Powder didn't say anything. Her body was tense, her arms wrapped around her knees like a shield. Vi stayed quiet, giving her space to process, to decide. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and nodded—just barely. "Fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But only for a minute."

Vi smiled faintly and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "That's all I'm asking."

The streets of Zaun felt quieter than usual, though Powder knew it was only in her head. The muffled chatter of people in the distance, the faint clanging of metal from a workshop nearby, even the occasional creak of the city's sprawling machinery—it was all there, but it barely registered in her mind. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing, uneven and shaky, as she followed Vi through the winding alleys.

The day was sunny, but in Zaun, that didn't mean much. The crooked buildings stretched high above them, leaning together like tired skeletons, their shadows swallowing most of the light. Powder walked with her head down, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve as they got closer. She could feel it, like a weight pressing heavier on her chest with every step. The knot in her stomach tightened, and her legs felt slower, heavier, like they didn't want to move.

She didn't know why she'd agreed to this. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to see what was left of the workshop. She thought about turning around, telling Vi she'd changed her mind, but every time she looked up, Vi was still walking ahead, her shoulders squared, glancing back every so often to make sure Powder was keeping up.

"Almost there," Vi said, her voice steady but low. Powder didn't respond. Her throat felt dry.

The smell hit her first—a faint, acrid hint of smoke still clinging to the air, even after all these months. Or perhaps it was just her imagination? Powder's hands tightened into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The familiar smell dragged her back to that night, to the fire, to the heat and the smoke and the sight of the flames swallowing everything they'd built.

She stopped walking.

Vi noticed immediately, turning back to face her. "Powder," she said gently, her eyes soft. "It's okay. You can do this."

Powder shook her head, swallowing hard. "I don't... I don't want to."

"You're already here," Vi said, stepping closer. "Just a little further. I'm right here with you."

Powder stared at the ground for a long moment before finally forcing herself to take another step. Then another. Her feet felt like they were dragging her to her own execution, but she kept moving. She kept following Vi.

When they turned the final corner, she saw it.

The workshop — the place she saw him for the last time. Jax's home.

The burned-out shell of the building looked smaller than she remembered, like the fire had shrunk it. The walls were blackened and crumbling, and half the roof had caved in, leaving jagged edges of metal and wood jutting out like broken teeth. The sun tried to filter through the wreckage, casting fractured beams of light across the charred remains. Powder's breath caught in her throat.

She stood frozen at the edge of the alley, her feet refusing to move any closer. Vi had already stepped ahead, standing just inside the remnants of the doorway, glancing back at her with quiet patience.

"Take your time," Vi said softly.

Powder walked over to the edge of the wreckage, silent and still. She didn't know what to feel. Her chest was tight, her throat dry, but her mind was strangely blank as she looked at what was left of the workshop—their Invention Station.

Powder's gaze moved slowly, taking in the remnants of what had once been their place. The workbench where they spent countless hours tinkering was charred but still standing, its surface scorched and cracked. Scattered around it were pieces of their lives—warped metal, twisted scraps of inventions, and, in the corner, the molten remains of their old toolbox. Her breath stopped when she saw it. The toolbox, where they'd stored their tools scavenged from every corner of Zaun, was nothing more than a misshapen lump of fused metal now. It had been hers and Jax's—their treasure chest of possibilities. Now it was useless.

Her eyes drifted to the workbench again, and something caught her attention. Amid the wreckage, sitting on the blackened wood of what was once a workbench, were a few fresh flowers. They stood out starkly against the ruin, their colors soft and vibrant against the soot.

"Vi," Powder whispered, her voice barely audible. "Who...?"

Vi, standing a few steps behind her, hesitated before stepping closer. "Me," she admitted quietly. Powder turned to look at her, confused. "I bring them. Every now and then. Just to... I don't know. Remember how I always told him he needed some flowers to brighten up his place?"

Powder's eyes widened slightly, then fell back to the flowers. She didn't know what to say. She didn't even know how she felt—grateful? Sad? Guilty? Maybe all of it at once.

Vi cleared her throat, her voice rough as she spoke again. "He was such a pain sometimes, wasn't he?" she said, trying for a laugh but failing. "Always coming up with these wild ideas that made no sense. Like the time he swore he'd build us a flying machine out of scrap fans and some busted pistons." She smiled faintly, shaking her head. "He was so stupid. So... so stubborn."

Powder glanced up at her sister and froze. Vi's shoulders were trembling, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Powder had never seen her like this before—so raw, so vulnerable. And then she saw it. A tear, rolling silently down Vi's cheek.

Vi wiped at her face quickly, a sharp motion like she could erase the tears before they betrayed her. But more slipped free, and she turned away slightly, sniffing hard. "Ugh, stupid dust," she muttered, her voice tight and uneven. "This place is still a mess."

Powder stared, wide-eyed. Her sister—the one who always seemed so strong, so unshakable—was crying. She'd never seen her like this before. Vi swiped at her eyes again, forcing a shaky laugh that didn't quite reach her usual confidence. "I mean, it's not like it's a big deal or anything. Just... you know, memories. Dumb stuff." But her voice cracked on the last word, and she stopped talking, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she looked away.

Powder didn't know what to say. Her gaze drifted back to the flowers on the workbench, their fragile petals so out of place among the scorched wood and twisted metal. Her fingers brushed one of the stems lightly, soft and alive in a place that felt so dead. And for a moment, her chest ached in a way she didn't understand.

Powder's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. "Thanks, Vi," she said, still looking at the flowers on the workbench. "For bringing me here." She hesitated, then added, "Do you think... could I be alone for a bit?"

Vi turned toward her, studying her face carefully before nodding. "Yeah, of course," she said. She stepped closer, hesitating again, before opening her arms slightly. Powder didn't wait—she leaned into her sister, wrapping her arms around Vi tightly. It felt warm, grounding, and for a moment, she didn't feel so lost.

Vi squeezed her shoulder gently before letting go. "Take your time," she said quietly. Powder nodded, watching as Vi walked away, her figure disappearing around the corner of the wreckage.

When she was alone, the silence settled over her like a heavy blanket. Powder took a deep breath and began to walk through what was left of their Invention Station. She touched the charred beams and scorched metal as she moved, her steps slow and careful.

She stopped by the corner where Vander had told her they found the body. Or what was left of it. Powder's throat tightened at the memory, the way his voice had softened when he explained it to her. Mostly ashes, he'd said. She closed her eyes for a moment before crouching down, running her fingers through the blackened debris.

Her hand brushed against something solid. She froze, then gently dug it out. It was the head of the monkey bomb they'd built together, the paint blistered and peeling but Clive was still recognizable. She held it carefully, cradling it in her hands, and felt her chest ache as a wave of memories crashed over her.

She carried it with her as she crossed the room, sitting down on the floor where they used to sit together, side by side. This was where they tinkered, argued over silly ideas, ate stolen snacks, or just talked for hours about nothing at all. Powder hugged her knees to her chest, the monkey head resting beside her, and let herself remember.

She remembered how he always tried to cheer her up when Mylo's teasing went too far, pulling faces or making a fool of himself just to make her laugh. How he never hesitated to jump in front of her to protect her from anything and everything. How he never seemed to mind when she tugged at his sleeve or grabbed his hand, even when she did it over and over again. He never made her feel like a burden, no matter how much she worried about it she was.

And yet, he'd left. He'd broken his promise. Powder's chest tightened as tears welled up in her eyes. The ache she'd been holding back for months finally spilled over, and she cried quietly, her shoulders trembling as she whispered into the empty room.

"I hate you," she said, her voice cracking. "I hate you so much." She buried her face in her arms, her tears soaking into her sleeves. "But that's only because I miss you, Jax."

Her sobs grew softer, her breath hitching as the words kept spilling out. "You weren't supposed to leave. You promised. And it's not fair, because you... you were so lonely, and now... now you're gone." She gripped her knees tighter, her heart aching with sadness not just for herself, but for him too. "It's not fair."

The workshop was silent except for her quiet cries, and Powder clutched the monkey's head closer, letting her tears fall freely. The sunlight streaming through the gaps in the roof shifted slightly, warming the spot where she sat, but she barely noticed.

For the first time in months, she let herself feel everything—the pain, the loss, the love—and it broke her open.

And for the first time, she wondered if she'd ever be whole again.

END OF ARC I

Chapter End Notes

That's it for the first arc, I hope everyone liked it. I'd like to take this chance to thank everyone took their time to read this, and to thank the people who gave me their feedback of the story. I appreciate it a lot, and it means a world to me. :)

As for the second arc, I'm in the planning phase, so the update may not come out for a few days, but don't be surprised if it does. I can't wait to write it, and I'm very excited about what comes next in the story!

The Pole and the Pendant

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

ARC II - THE FLAME AND THE BLADE

Jax stirred awake to the rough feel of cobblestones pressing against his back and the faint chill of dawn creeping through the alley. The pale morning light filtered between the crooked buildings, casting long, uneven shadows over the ground. He stretched, his stiff limbs protesting as he pushed himself upright. Sleeping on the ground always left his body aching, but he'd grown used to it. Mostly.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around, his instincts taking over. First, the bag. It was tucked beside him, wedged against the wall for safety. Jax pulled it closer and inspected the straps, checking for any sign that it had been tampered with. The lock he'd rigged from scrap was still secure. Opening the bag just enough, he saw the contents were as he'd left them: a few tools, bits of wire, and the last of his food—a roll so stale it was practically a rock.

Next, his sword. It was hidden beneath a loose board nearby, its hilt wrapped tightly in cloth to keep it inconspicuous. He reached for it, pulling the board aside just enough to see the familiar glint of metal. Still there. He exhaled softly and covered it again, taking a moment to press the wood back into place. Finally, he patted his jacket, checking his inner pocket. The small pouch of coins he kept hidden was still tied securely. Not much, but it was all he had, and losing it wasn't an option.

Satisfied, Jax slung his bag over his shoulder and adjusted his coat, trying to shake off the lingering cold. The alley was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of life stirring awake. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the clatter of footsteps on stone, a cart creaking as it rolled past. It was the sound of the day beginning, and with it, the reminder that he needed to get moving.

He stood for a moment, staring down the empty alley, the morning light stretching longer by the second. Another day, another chance to survive. With a faint sigh, Jax pulled his hood up and stepped out into the waking world.

The streets were quiet, the faint scent of salt and brine growing stronger as he made his way toward the docks. The chill bit at his skin, but he ignored it, keeping his head down as he passed the first few fishermen setting up their gear. He avoided their glances, slipping into the less-traveled paths near the edge of the harbor where broken crates and discarded tools often found their way.

Jax crouched by the edge of the docks, his fingers working through the tangled mess of a discarded fishing net he spotted. The ropes were frayed, knotted beyond use, and caked in salt and grime. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. His stomach growled, a sharp reminder that he hadn't eaten since yesterday. He ignored it, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Kilgrove wasn't like Zaun. In Zaun, scrap was everywhere—piles of rusted metal, broken machinery, discarded gears. But here, resources were scarce, the town small and tightly knit. Everything had a purpose, even the broken things. The locals didn't throw away much, and what they did wasn't easy to come by. Jax had to be quick and quiet, combing through the docks at dawn before the fishermen started their day.

He pulled a piece of driftwood from the pile, studying it. The wood was warped from the time in the water, but it was solid enough. His hand brushed against something sharp, and he winced, drawing back to see the edge of a harpoon buried in the mess. It was broken—snapped in two and rusted—but the jagged tip still glinted faintly in the early morning light.

He sat back on his heels, turning the piece over in his hands. The shaft was beyond saving, but the metal tip... that could work. His mind began to tick, the familiar spark of an idea cutting through his exhaustion. With a bit of work, it could be reforged, repurposed. Not perfect, but functional enough.

By midday, Jax was hunched over in the shadow of an old shed near the outskirts of the docks. Using a hammer he'd scavenged days ago and a piece of metal pipe as an anvil, he tapped carefully at the harpoon tip, straightening its edges. He'd stripped a few usable ropes from the ruined net, weaving them together into a makeshift shaft. It wasn't pretty, but it held.

When he was done, he sat back, holding the finished harpoon up to the light. It wasn't Zaun craftsmanship, but it would do. A tool like this could be worth something here—if he found the right person to trade with.

The old fisherman at the market squinted at Jax as he held out the repaired harpoon. "Where'd you get this?" the man grunted, his tone suspicious.

Jax kept his voice steady. "Found it broken near the docks. Fixed it up. Works fine now."

The man snatched it from his hands, inspecting the tip and testing the tension of the rope. His bushy eyebrows lifted slightly, and Jax could see the faintest flicker of approval. "Not bad," the fisherman muttered, almost to himself. He gestured to a small crate near his feet. "Take a fish. Two, even. I don't like handing out charity, but I'll call this a fair trade."

Jax nodded, scooping two small fish from the crate. They were cold and slimy in his hands, but he didn't care. It was more food than he'd had in days.

As he walked away, the fish tucked securely in his bag, a faint sense of pride crept into his chest. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Maybe Kilgrove wasn't like Zaun, but surviving here wasn't impossible. He just had to keep moving, keep thinking, keep working.

The next few days passed in a blur of grit and survival, each one blending into the next as Jax scraped by on instinct and ingenuity. During the day, Jax roamed the alleys and docks, scavenging whatever scraps he could find. Broken tools, discarded fishing gear, even bits of metal from old crates – anything that could be mended or repurposed. His hands worked with quiet efficiency, turning useless junk into something functional, something that might be worth a meal or a few coins.

Sometimes, his work paid off. A repaired net might earn him a loaf of bread, or a fixed pulley could get him a spot to sleep in a half-empty shed for the night. But more often, people turned him away, their faces hard and their eyes suspicious. "We don't need your kind here," one dockworker had muttered, waving him off without even looking at what he'd brought. Another time, a merchant had shouted him away from his stall, accusing him of trying to steal.

It stung, but Jax had learned not to take it personally. In towns like this, trust was as scarce as food. The fear of outsiders ran deep, especially here on the Noxian coast, where pirate raids were common, and desperation was everywhere. People were wary of anyone they didn't know – especially a stranger with nothing but a bag of scavenged tools and a quiet demeanor that made him easy to overlook but impossible to trust. To them, Jax was just another drifter – one more mouth to feed, one more potential thief.

When he couldn't trade, Jax went hungry. He rationed what little he had, stretching a single piece of bread across two days or eating half a fish and saving the rest for later. Nights like those, when his stomach growled and the cold seeped through his coat, he reminded himself it was better this way. Better to endure than to stay in one place too long and attract the wrong kind of attention.

He was always looking over his shoulder. The memory of the figure in the black cloak was burned into his mind. Every time he felt a pair of eyes linger too long or noticed a figure moving just a little too deliberately, his heart would quicken. He'd duck into an alley or take the longer path along the docks, constantly changing his routine to make himself harder to track. He didn't trust the quiet of Kilgrove's streets, no matter how empty they seemed. The weight of his bag on his shoulder was a small comfort, a reminder that at least he still had his tools – and his sword.

Still, not everyone shut their doors to him. Once, an older fisherman had taken pity on him, offering a piece of dried fish in exchange for patching his boat. The man had grumbled the entire time, making it clear it wasn't charity, but Jax didn't mind. Even a grudging deal was better than no deal.

Yet the rejections outnumbered the kindnesses, and most days ended with Jax retreating to the fringes of the town, finding shelter whenever he would – under a broken dock, inside an abandoned boathouse, or against the lee of a crumbling wall. Every night was the same; the faint scent of salt in the air, the distant murmur of the sea, and the heavy weight of knowing that tomorrow, he'd have to do it all over again. In those quiet moments, when the scavenging was done, Jax's thoughts always drifted back to her.

Powder.

He wondered what she was doing. Was she still tinkering with her inventions, piecing together new gadgets from scrap like they always did together? Was she happy? Was she safe? The questions gnawed at him, unspoken but ever-present, swirling in the back of his mind.

Sometimes, he let himself imagine her sitting at their old workbench, her hands deftly assembling gears and springs, her face lit up with that bright, eager smile she wore when an idea came to life. Other times, the thought of her crushed him – alone in the workshop's ruins. He hated not knowing. It felt like a void, growing larger with each passing day.

Did she think about him? He wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no. If she did, he knew it would be with anger or hurt, wondering why he was gone or if he died in the fire. But if she didn't… that thought was worse. The idea that she might have moved on, forgotten him, burned sharper than any of the doubts that plagued him. In those moments, he often sat with the necklace in his hands, his thumb brushing over the surface. The outline of the gear once caught the light inside, which was gone now.

Often when Powder came to his mind, his thoughts would stray.

The visions had returned.

Jax didn't know when exactly they had started slipping into his dreams again, but it wasn't just sleep anymore – it was a descent into chaos, vivid and unrelenting.

Powder's face was the first thing he saw. Bright and joyful, just as he remembered, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she held up a half-finished invention. "Look, Jax! It'll work this time!" her voice rang out, filled with hope. He tried to call out to her, to explain, but the words caught in his throat, stuck. The scene shifted, dissolving into smoke and fire. The workshop appeared next, burning like it had that night, flames licking hungrily at the walls. But it wasn't just fire. Shadows writhed in the corners, formless and menacing, pulling at the edges of the room like they were alive.

And then came the vision – the same one that had haunted him the night he left Zaun.

It began with fire. It wasn't like workshop fire – wild and destructive. This fire was unnatural, a slow, crawling blaze that didn't consume but corrupted. It spread across the world in jagged tendrils, turning everything it touched into something twisted and wrong. Buildings bent and melted, their shapes warping into impossible forms. The air rippled with heat, yet it felt cold, suffocating, as if the fire wasn't just burning the world – it was undoing it.

In the middle of it all was Powder.

She stood with her back to him, her small frame dwarfed by the chaos. "You promised!" the voice accused, reverberating like a thunderclap in his mind. Jax tried to call out, but his voice was swallowed by the crackling void around them. His feet refused to move, the ground beneath him breaking apart like shards of glass, each step he tried to take crumbling into nothingness.

Powder turned.

Her face was streaked with soot, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. But it wasn't fear he saw – it was despair. She mouthed something, her lips trembling, but the fire roared louder, drowning her out. He could only watch as the flames behind her grew taller, darker, forming shapes. The flames didn't touch her at first, but then they began to shift, moving unnaturally, as if alive. They circled her feet, spiraling higher in jagged, chaotic bursts. Powder didn't scream—she just stood there, her eyes locked on Jax with a strange mixture of sorrow and blame. The fire coiled tighter, not burning her but consuming everything around her, warping the air itself.

Suddenly, the flames surged, collapsing inward as if the world were folding around her. Powder's form wavered, her outline breaking apart like ash scattered by the wind. She reached out toward Jax, her hand trembling, her lips forming silent words he couldn't hear. Then she was gone—dissolving into the void as the fire consumed her entirely.

Jax's legs finally moved, but it was too late. The flames exploded outward, filling the air with blinding red and black light, the roar deafening as the world around him cracked and splintered. Her absence hit harder than any sound, leaving behind only silence. And in that silence, a single echo remained.

"It begins with you," the whisper said, layered and fractured, her voice entwined with a thousand others. A figure loomed above, indistinct yet terrifying in its presence, its gaze heavy and all-knowing. "And it ends with everything."

He'd jolt awake every single time, and his hand would instinctively reach to his neck, clutching the pendant that hung there, still warm against his skin. The dreams had always left him disoriented, sweating, and witch an ache deep in his chest that felt heavier than bruises he carried. But now, with the vision creeping back in, they left something worse: fear. Not of what he didn't understand, but of what he did.

So many lonely nights did he try to piece it together. The ruins, the shadows, Powder's voice – none of it made sense, but it felt real. More real than anything he'd seen with his waking eyes. The accusation in her voice still echoed in his ears: You promised. He knew, deep down… that the visions weren't just dreams. He could feel it in his bones. They weren't warnings or echoes of his guilt – they were something more, something he didn't want to admit.

One day, the air in the town shifted. Jax noticed it before he even left his makeshift shelter – a low hum of unease rippling through the usual rhythm of Kilgrove. By the time he made his way toward the main street, keeping to the shadows as always, he understood why. The Noxian army had arrived.

Jax watched from the shadow of the alley, his back pressed against the rough stone wall. Kilgrove was already under Noxian rule – he knew that much. The banners bearing the empire's emblem hung above the docks, and the local officials answered to Noxian commands. But this was different. This wasn't the usual patrol of lazy enforcers or tax collectors sent to squeeze the town for resources.

The soldiers, clad in armor adorned with crimson accents, marched with purpose. Their steps were synchronized, their discipline unmistakable. These weren't conscripts or the low-ranking grunts that usually passed through Kilgrove. They were seasoned – hardened by battles and forged by the brutality of Noxian warfare.

Jax's attention stayed fixed on the man leading them. He was massive, his muscular frame wrapped in armor that seemed to strain under the sheer force of his presence. The massive axe strapped across his back gleamed in the sunlight, a weapon too large for most men to wield but looking almost natural in his hands.

The townsfolk watched from a distance, some peering cautiously from behind shutters or standing just far enough away to show respect without inviting notice. They weren't strangers to the authority of Noxus, but even they seemed uneasy. Jax could feel the tension in the air—the way the leader's presence weighed down the square, commanding silence and obedience without a single word.

The man issued an order, and the soldiers halted in perfect unison. Jax leaned slightly out of the alley, just enough to see better. The leader turned to address a group of locals who had gathered hesitantly at the edge of the square. His voice was deep and commanding, cutting through the murmur of the onlookers like a blade. Jax couldn't make out the words, but he could see the effect. The locals nodded nervously, a few shifting on their feet as if his words had pressed a burden onto their shoulders.

One of the fishermen stepped forward, his wiry frame betraying his unease. He gestured toward the docks, speaking quickly, his voice carrying desperation even if Jax couldn't hear the details. The leader didn't so much as flinch. Instead, he leaned in, speaking low and steady. Whatever he said was enough to send the fisherman stumbling back, pale-faced and trembling.

The soldiers began to fan out, moving through the streets with practiced precision. Some headed toward the docks, others to the market square, their movements deliberate and methodical. Jax shrank further into the shadows as two soldiers passed close to the alley, their armor clinking softly. He held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. They didn't look his way, continuing down the street without pause, but it didn't make him feel any safer.

His gaze returned to the man with the axe, now speaking with a few of his soldiers. He moved with an air of absolute confidence, as if the entire town were already in the palm of his hand. There was something about him that made Jax uneasy.

That night, Jax lingered near the tavern, the low murmur of conversation drifting out through the open door. The soldiers left a cloud of unease in the locals, and the usual buzz of the docks had been replaced with wary whispers, the kind that spread faster than any official decree.

Inside the tavern, voices rose and fell, carrying on the sea breeze that curled through the streets. Jax kept his hood low, leaning casually against the corner of a nearby building. He wasn't interested in drawing attention, but he couldn't help listening.

"They're heading north," one man said, his tone hushed but urgent. "The rebellion's gotten bolder, and the rebels have spread everywhere."

Another voice, rough and skeptical, chimed in. "And what's new about that? There's always a rebellion somewhere. Noxus sends the army, they crush it, and the world keeps turning."

"Not this time," the first man countered. "I heard the rebels took an entire garrison. Left it in ruins. And my brother-in-law told me that some of the rebels are in Kilgrove. That's why he's here."

"Who?" a third voice asked.

"You know who," the man said, lowering his voice. "The one with the axe. Darius."

At the mention of the name, Jax's fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. He didn't know much about Noxian generals, but the way the man said it—the weight behind the name—made his stomach turn.

"They say wherever Darius goes, the outcome's already written," the man continued, his voice dropping lower. "It's not a battle—it's a slaughter. The rebellion doesn't stand a chance."

The voices in the tavern dipped back into quieter tones, but Jax didn't need to hear the rest. He straightened, his gaze drifting down the empty street where the soldiers had passed hours earlier. Their crimson banners and gleaming armor had left a deep impression on the townsfolk, and now he understood why. They weren't just passing through aimlessly. They had a mission, and Kilgrove was just another stop on their way to something much larger.

Jax pushed away from the wall, keeping to the edge of the shadows as he made his way back toward his shelter. His mind churned with unease. The rebellion wasn't his concern, and neither were the soldiers. But the way people spoke about Darius, the way his name seemed to carry both fear and finality, made Jax certain of one thing: that he should get away as far as possible, and sooner he did, the better.

Jax kept to the edges of the streets, making sure to stay unseen. The soldiers hadn't been idle since their arrival. He'd seen them patrolling the alleys, their armor clinking softly as they moved with military precision. Every time he heard their measured footsteps echo against the stone, a chill ran down his spine. He didn't know why they unsettled him so much, but the tension in the air was undeniable. Jax turned toward the docks, keeping his head low and his hood pulled tight. The alleys, usually his refuge, felt too exposed tonight. The presence of the soldiers changed everything; their discipline and purpose made it clear that they wouldn't tolerate a drifter like him lurking in the shadows. He couldn't afford the risk.

The docks were quieter now, the last of the fishermen packing up their gear and heading home for the night. Jax slipped past them, his footsteps barely a whisper on the worn wooden planks. The scent of salt and rotting fish hung heavy in the air, but it was familiar, almost comforting in its own way. He scanned the area, his eyes settling on a cluster of abandoned crates stacked haphazardly near the edge of the pier. Beyond them, a small shed sat leaning against the remnants of an old boathouse. It was partially collapsed, one side open to the elements, but it would do.

Jax made his way over, careful to avoid the creaky boards that might draw attention. He slipped behind the crates, ducking into the narrow space between them and the shed. The walls were damp, the air cold, but it was sheltered enough to keep the wind at bay. He dropped his bag and sword beside him, leaning back against the rough wood as he exhaled quietly. All he could do now was get some sleep and leave town at first light. There would be other places to scrape by, just as there had been before Kilgrove. He'd move on, just like always—never staying long enough to belong, never letting himself get tied down. The next place would be no different, and he wouldn't let himself think otherwise. It wasn't the best plan, but it was better than no plan at all. At least it gave him something to focus on, a direction to move in. And for now, that was enough to keep him going.

He shifted slightly, pulling his coat tighter around him, when a low murmur of voices reached his ears. At first, he thought it was just a couple of dockhands lingering late, but as the voices grew clearer, the tone was strong – too hushed, too secretive. He froze, straining to listen.

"…supplies moved before dawn… no mistakes this time."

Jax shifted slightly, angling himself closer to the source of the voice. His boots barely made a sound as he crouched, his ear almost pressed against the wall.

"Marrek's got it covered," another voice grumbled, deep and familiar. "You just focus on keeping the soldiers off our backs. I won't have this operation falling apart because some fool slipped up."

Jax stiffened at the name. Marrek. The dock boss, the man who ruled Kilgrove's underbelly with fear and greed. Je was a name whispered with equal parts anger and caution, the kind of man Jax had wanted to avoid. For weeks, he'd stayed on the fringes of the docks, keeping his head down, trading and scavenging far enough from Marrek's reach.

"They're too close," a third voice hissed, sharper and more frantic. "Darius is here. Him. Do you know what it means? If he catches wind of this, we're all dead."

There was a tense pause, and Jax's heart thudded faster. He leaned closer to the shed wall without making a sound. His gut told him to leave, to slip away before he overheard something that would get him into even deeper trouble. But his curiosity held him in place.

"That's why we don't screw this up," the first voice said finally, his tone cold and commanding. "Darius might be here, but he's looking for rebels. Not smugglers."

"And if he decides we are rebels?" the anxious one shot back. "If Marrek's little operation looks too close to an uprising?"

Jax's heart sank as the pieces fell into place. This wasn't just a group of smugglers trying to sneak goods past the Noxian patrols. These were rebels—exactly the kind of people the army was hunting. And here he was, hiding less than a few feet from them. The voices continued, but Jax barely heard them over the pounding of his own heartbeat. He needed to leave. Now. But as he shifted his weight to stand, his foot brushed against a loose plank, sending it clattering against the crates.

The voices inside stopped instantly.

"What was that?" one of them barked.

Jax froze, his breath catching in his throat.

"Someone's out there," another said, and a moment later, the door to the shed creaked open. A figure stepped out, holding a lantern high, its flickering light casting long shadows across the dock.

"Hey!" the man shouted, spotting Jax huddled between the crates. "We've got company!"

Before Jax could run, rough hands grabbed him, yanking him out into the open. He struggled, but another man appeared, shoving him hard against the shed's wall.

"Who the hell are you?" the first man demanded, his face half-lit by the lantern. His eyes narrowed, taking in Jax's disheveled appearance. "Another drifter sniffing around where he doesn't belong?"

Jax swallowed hard, his mind racing for an explanation. "I wasn't—" he started, but the man cut him off with a sneer.

"Save it. Marrek's gonna want to see this one."

Jax's captors dragged him roughly through the cold night air, the docks creaking beneath their heavy boots. His mind raced, every step bringing him closer to the main building at the heart of the docks—the place Marrek used as his headquarters. The faint glow of lanterns illuminated the weathered structure, its sagging roof and crooked beams doing little to soften the ominous feeling it gave off.

The door slammed shut behind Jax as he was shoved into the main room of the building, the scent of damp wood and stale tobacco heavy in the air. Lanterns flickered dimly, casting shadows across a room cluttered with crates, maps, and weapons. At the center of it all stood Marrek, leaning casually against a large table covered in papers. The man didn't need armor to command the room; his scarred face and sharp, predatory gaze were enough.

"What now?" Marrek barked, his voice low and gravelly, with a hint of annoyance that promised danger if the answer wasn't to his liking. He turned his head just enough to glance at Jax, his narrowed eyes cold and calculating. "Who's this?"

"Caught him near the shed," one of the thugs growled, giving Jax a hard shove forward. "Snooping. Probably heard something he shouldn't."

Marrek straightened slowly, his full attention locking onto Jax like a predator sizing up its prey. He stepped closer, his boots thudding heavily on the wooden floor. The room seemed to shrink as his presence filled it, the air growing heavier with each step.

"Is that so?" Marek drawled, his voice soft but menacing, like the calm before a storm. "Another little drifter sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

Jax tried to stand tall, but his heart was hammering in his chest. "I wasn't snooping," he said quickly, forcing the words out. "I just needed a place to sleep."

Marrek tilted his head, his lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Oh, I'm sure you did," he said, his tone sarcastic. "Just happened to wander into the one place where my men were having a private conversation. Don't you think that's a little too convenient?"

The dock boss stepped closer, so close that Jax could smell the tang of liquor on his breath. "You look like trouble, kid. And I don't like trouble." His eyes scanned Jax from head to toe, lingering on the bag slung over his shoulder. He raised a hand, and one of his men stepped forward, grinning as he grabbed the bag.

"Let's see what our little rat's carrying," the man sneered, taking a knife from his belt. With a swift motion, he sliced the bag open, its contents spilling across the floor. Scraps of scavenged tools, bits of wire, and a tattered notebook scattered at their feet. The man rifled through it with disdain before tossing Jax's sword onto the pile with a clatter.

"Looks like a bunch of junk," the thug said, kicking the notebook across the floor.

Marrek crouched, picking up the sword. He inspected it lazily, turning it over in his hands as if it were a toy. "You're carrying a weapon like this, and you want me to believe you were just looking for a nap?" He glanced at Jax, his smirk widening. "Do I look stupid to you?"

Jax gritted his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides, but before he could say anything, Marrek's gaze landed on the thin cord around his neck. The faint glint of the pendant caught the light, and Marrek reached out, yanking it free before Jax could stop him.

"What's this?" Marrek said, holding the necklace up to inspect it. The small gear dangled between his fingers, spinning slightly in the dim light. "A keepsake?" His voice was mocking, cruel. "How touching."

"Give it back," Jax said, his voice trembling with barely contained anger.

Marrek's smirk twisted into something colder. "Oh, you care about this, don't you?" he said, his tone turning almost playful as he dangled the pendant just out of Jax's reach. He laughed, his men joining in. Jax lunged forward, but one of the thugs stepped in, driving a boot into his stomach. The air rushed out of Jax's lungs as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his ribs.

"Careful," Marrek said, his voice dripping with mock pity as he pocketed the necklace. "Wouldn't want to break it, would we?" He turned back to his men, his demeanor shifting from cruel amusement to cold authority. "We move at first light," he said sharply. "If anyone even thinks about slipping up, I'll handle you myself before the Noxians get the chance."

As he spoke, the door burst open, and one of his lackeys stumbled in, his face pale with urgency. "Marrek," he panted. "Darius is here. He's at the docks, and he wants to speak with you. Now."

The room fell silent. Marrek's smirk faded, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the news. He turned to his men, his expression hard. "Tie this rat up," he said, gesturing toward Jax without a second glance. "I'll deal with him after I handle this."

Jax was hauled to his feet, his hands bound tightly behind his back. As he was dragged toward the corner of the room, Marrek shot him one last look, his voice low and sharp.

"Don't get too comfortable, kid. I'm not done with you yet."

Jax sat against the rough wooden boards, his wrists bound tightly behind him, his ribs aching with every shallow breath. A single guard leaned lazily against the door, his arms crossed, the hilt of a knife glinting at his side. Jax's eyes stayed fixed on the floor, but his mind was far from the room. His thoughts circled endlessly around the pendant—the only thing that mattered to him in this entire town, now gone, dangling mockingly from Marrek's cruel fingers.

The memory of Powder's small hands pressing the necklace into his palm burned in his mind. "Since you never told when your birthday is, this is your present. For whenever it is," she said with a smile so nervous it could have made him laugh in any other situation. He could still feel the weight of her trust, the warmth of her hope. Now it was gone. Taken.

His fingers twitched behind his back, aching with the urge to hold it again, to feel the comforting weight against his chest. But there was nothing but the coarse rope biting into his skin and the suffocating realization that he'd failed her. Again. The pendant was all he had left of her—of the life he'd left behind. And now it was in the hands of a man who treated it like a trinket, a joke. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He couldn't afford to lose control, not with the guard watching. But inside, the storm raged. Marrek didn't know what it meant, what it was. He didn't care. To him, it was just another way to torment someone weaker.

The guard shifted, his boots scraping against the wooden floor, and Jax flinched involuntarily. He exhaled slowly, trying to bury the emotions clawing at his chest. Agonizing over the pendant wouldn't help him now. He had to think, to plan. If he made it through the night, he'd find a way to get it back.

He had to.

The distant sounds of shouting and the clattering of metal drifted into the room, faint at first but growing louder. Jax stiffened, his ears straining to make sense of the chaos outside. The guard at the door twitched, his lazy posture vanishing as he turned his head toward the noise.

"Stay put," the guard muttered, as if Jax had any choice in the matter.

Jax didn't move, his heart beginning to race. Something was happening. The commotion outside grew sharper – orders barked, boots pounding, and the unmistakable clash of steel against steel. The guard reached for the knife at his belt, his fingers tightening around the hilt.

Before he could react further, the door burst open with a violent crash, splinters flying into the room. Two Noxian soldiers stormed in, their crimson armor gleaming in the dim light, their sword drawn. The guard barely had time to run before one of them struck with brutal precision, the blade slicing cleanly through his midsection. The guard dropped to the floor, blood pooling beneath him as the other soldier stepped forward, blade still at the ready.

Jax pressed himself against the wall, his bound hands aching as he tried to make himself as small as possible. The soldiers' movements were cold, methodical, their discipline unmistakable. One of them glanced down at Jax, his sharp eyes narrowing through the helmet.

"This one's tied up," the soldier said, his voice clipped.

The second soldier sheathed his sword, stepping closer. "Get him up," he ordered. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Jax by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Jax stumbled, his ribs flaring with pain, but the soldier's grip was unyielding.

"Where are you taking me?" Jax managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

Neither soldier answered. They marched him out of the room, his feet barely able to keep pace with their brisk, no-nonsense strides. The cold night air hit him as they stepped outside, and Jax's eyes adjusted to the chaos around him. Soldiers were everywhere, Noxian banners fluttering in the wind as men moved with military determination.

And there, at the center of it all, stood Darius.

The general was unmistakable, his towering frame and crimson cloak cutting a striking figure against the flickering torchlight. His axe rested against the ground, its blade gleaming as if it had already tasted blood tonight. Marrek stood before him, his usual smug demeanor replaced with a nervous, almost desperate energy. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his hands twitched at his sides as he tried to maintain composure under Darius' piercing gaze.

"I don't know what you've heard," Marrek was saying, his voice cracking slightly. "But I've always been loyal to Noxus. My operations here – everything I do – it's all for the benefit of the Empire."

Darius didn't respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as he studied Marrek. His silence was more imposing than any words could have been. Jax was shoved forward, the soldiers flanking him as they brought him closer to the scene. He kept his head down, trying not to draw attention, but his heart pounded as he caught sight of Marrek's pocket – the faint glint of the pendant visible in the torchlight. Jax's jaw clenched, his anger boiling beneath his fear. Whatever was about to happen, he couldn't take his eyes off that pendant. It was the only thing that mattered.

"Loyalty," Darius finally said, his voice deep cutting through the night like a blade. "That's a word you should use carefully, Marrek. Because loyalty isn't about words. It's about actions."

Marrek opened his mouth to respond, but Darius raised a hand, silencing him instantly. The general's gaze flicked briefly to Jax, his expression unreadable. Under the flickering torchlight, Jax caught a clear view of the man towering over the scene. Darius's scar was clearly visible – a jagged line cutting vertically above his left eye, deep and brutal. It didn't mar his intensity; if anything, it added to it.

"What's this?" Darius asked, his voice calm but laced with authority. "Another one of your operations?"

Marerk hesitated, his eyes darting toward Jax. "No, he's… just a drifter," he said quickly. "Caught him snooping around where he shouldn't have been. Nothing to concern yourself with, my lord general."

Darius' eyes lingered on Jax for a moment, and Jax felt the weight of his scrutiny like a physical force. The soldiers beside him didn't loosen their grip, and Jax could do nothing but stand there, his breath shallow, as the tension between the two men thickened.

"Is that so?" Darius said, his tone as cold as the night air.

General's gaze flicked between Jax and the soldiers standing behind him. "Cut the bindings," he said, his scarred face portraying no emotion as he issues the command. "But keep him here. I'll have him questioned."

One of the soldiers stepped forward and sliced through the ropes binding Jax's wrists. His hands fell free, and he winced, rubbing at the raw skin as the soldiers stepped back to flank him. The tension in the air was thick, but Jax didn't move, his eyes darting to Marrek.

Darius turned his attention to the dock boss, who was trying to hide the twitch of his hands, his nerves all too obvious under the general's cold stare. Darius didn't let him squirm for long. "Bring this rebel to my tent," he said to the soldiers closest to Marrek. "We'll talk there. I have more questions for him." Marrek's face paled, and he stumbled back as the soldiers stepped forward to grab him by the arms.

"Wait – General, please," Marrek sputtered, his voice cracking. "This is all a misunderstanding! I'm loyal to Noxus – I've always been loyal!"

Darius didn't even glance at him. His attention remained on his men, his hand resting slightly on his axe. "Now," he ordered.

The soldiers began dragging Marrek toward the camp stationed outside the town walls, his protests growing louder and more desperate. But Jax wasn't listening to the words. His focus was entirely on the faint glint of the pendant still visible in Marrek's pocket, swinging with every jerking step. The sight of it burned into Jax's mind. The pounding in his chest grew louder, drowning out reason. He couldn't let Marrek walk away with it, not into Darius' tent, not anywhere. Something inside him snapped, and before he could think, he moved.

With a burst of speed born of desperation, Jax broke free from the soldiers flanking him. Pain shot through his ribs as he lunged forward, but he ignored it, his hand drawing toward Marrek. The dock boss let out a startled shout as Jax grabbed at his pocket, fingers closing around the cord of the pendant.

The blow came hard and fast. A soldier tackled Jax from behind, slamming him to the ground with brutal efficiency. His breath left him in a sharp gasp, but his hand refused to let go of the pendant. The soldiers pinned him down, wrenching his arms behind his back, but Jax fought, his grip unyielding.

"Enough," Darius said, his voice cutting through the commotion like a blade. The soldiers froze at once, hauling Jax to his knees in front of the general.

Jax's chest heaved as he looked up, his face battered, his lip bleeding, but his fingers still clutching the pendant. Darius' expression was cold as he stepped closer. The weight of his presence was suffocating, his scar catching the torchlight like a reminder of his power and ruthlessness.

"You just forfeited your life with this," Darius said, his voice low and deliberate, each word laced with finality. "So tell me – why?"

Jax's voice was raw, trembling with pain and anger, but his eyes burned with something fierce as he held up the pendant. "The pendant… it's not just a trinket," he said, his voice breaking but steady enough to carry his meaning.

Darius' piercing gaze shifted to the pendant in Jax's bloodied hand. For a moment, the general didn't speak, the torchlight casting shadows that danced over his face. Then, without warning, he reached out and plucked the pendant from Jax's grasp. Jax tried to resist, his fingers tightening instinctively, but a sharp twist of the general's hand forced him to let go. The soldiers holding him tightened their grip, their strength an overwhelming reminder of his helplessness.

Darius turned the pendant over in his hand, the small gear, hollow in the middle to hold the light that was long gone. His expression remained unreadable, his sharp eyes studying it with the same cold precision he gave everything. Jax's chest heaved as he watched, his heart twisting in his chest. But the general said nothing. No mocking remark, no harsh reprimand. Just silence.

Finally, Darius lowered his hand and slipped the pendant into his pockets. "Take him to the camp," he ordered, his voice calm but firm. "Tie him to a pole."

Jax's stomach sank as the soldiers dragged him to his feet. His ribs screamed in protest, but he forced himself to stand, his jaw clenched as they began to haul him away. He glanced back once, seeing Darius' broad silhouette in the torchlight, before being yanked into the dark streets of Kilgrove.

People were starting to stir, drawn from their beds by the commotion as soldiers marched through the town. Sleepy eyes widened in shock, and whispers rippled through the streets and open windows where people stood and watched. Jax kept his head down, refusing to meet their gazes, but he felt the weight of their stares – judgement, pity, fear – all pressing against him like an iron brand.

The Noxian camp loomed on the outskirts of the town, an imposing sight of tents arranged with precision. Crimson banners fluttered in the cool midnight breeze, and the faint sounds of steel being sharpened carried through the air. The camp was alive, even at night, and utterly overwhelming.

Jax was dragged to the center of it, where a thick wooden pole jutted up from the ground, its surface scarred from use. The soldiers forced him down, tying his hands tightly behind his back and securing him to the pole. The rough wood pressed against his skin as he slumped down, his legs bent awkwardly beneath him. For a moment, Jax allowed himself to breathe. He had the faintest flicker of satisfaction – he'd fought for the pendant, and that counted for something. But as the hours stretched on, the satisfaction faded, replaced by the cold reality of his situation.

His back began to ache, the strain on his shoulders growing unbearable as the knots around his wrists bit into his skin. The sentries patrolling the night with torches in their hands swirled around him, distant as though he didn't exist. His chest hurt, not just from the blows he'd taken, but from the emptiness that crept in now that the fight was over. The pendant was gone again, and this time, there was nothing he could do. The hours crawled by. The chill of the night crept back in, settling into his bones. He fought the discomfort, shifting slightly to ease the pain in his shoulders, but the ropes held him tight. He was exhausted, his body slumping against the pole.

It was just before dawn when he heard the heavy thud of boots approaching. Jax raised his head sluggishly, blinking against the flickering torchlight as the massive figure of Darius emerged from the shadows. The general's expression was as hard and unreadable as ever, the axe as long as him giving him an even more intimidating edge.

Jax let his head fall back against the pole with a soft thud, too tired to straighten up. His shoulders ached, his back screamed from hours in the same position, and his wrists were rubbed raw from the ropes. But his mouth still worked, and he couldn't resist the urge to use it.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" he muttered, his voice dry and hoarse but laced with a hint of sarcasm. He didn't know if he was even scared anymore. Could it be that he had accepted the end?

Darius didn't so much as blink, his eyes locking onto Jax like a predator sizing up its prey. The silence stretched, heavy and tense, until Jax finally gave up trying to meet his gaze and looked away.

"You caused a lot of trouble," Darius said at last, his voice low and commanding, each word carrying the weight of authority. He reached out into his pocket and pulled out the pendant, letting it dangle from his fingers. The gear caught the torchlight, its glimmer mocking in its simplicity. "For this."

Jax's eyes snapped back to the pendant, his body stiffening despite his exhaustion. "It's not just this," he said, his voice sharper now.

Darius tilted his head slightly, the motion slow and calculated. "Made of iron." His tone wasn't mocking – there was something almost curious about it. "Just a broken piece of glass and gear. Not even worth much in gold. Yet you risked your life for it. Why?"

Jax exhaled sharply, letting his head rest back against the pole again. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered.

Darius' gaze lingered on him, and his grip tightened on the pendant. "Try me."

For a moment, Jax didn't answer, the silence between them filled only by the faint crackle of the torches. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer but no less firm. "It's all I have left," he said. "It doesn't matter what it's made of or how much it's worth. To me, it's the most important thing I have.."

Darius studied Jax in silence for a long moment, the pendant dangling between his fingers. His sharp gaze flicked from the simple gear to Jax's battered face, as though weighing something in his mind. Then, to Jax's surprise, Darius crouched, his massive frame lowering to meet him at eye level. With a deliberate care, the general reached forward and looped the pendant back around Jax's neck. The familiar weight of it pressed against Jax's chest, and for a moment, his breath hitched, the ache in his ribs forgotten.

Jax blinked, "Why…?"

Darius' expression didn't soften, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. "Because I respect a man who knows what matters to him," he said simply. "Even if it's something small." He watched him for a moment longer before speaking again. "Don't mistake this for mercy." Then, Darius stood, towering over him again, and turned, his crimson cloak shifting with the motion. His steps were heavy as he walked away into the darkness. Jax sat there in silence, the familiar feeling of pendant both comforting and heavier than ever. The pain in his back and shoulders remained, but exhaustion won over, and his eyes drifted shut as he slumped against the pole.

The rough grip of a hand yanking him upright jolted Jax awake. A soldier loomed over him, his expression hard and unreadable as he worked to untie the ropes binding Jax's hands. Jax groaned as the blood rushed back to his arms, the soreness in his body flaring with every movement.

"Get up," the soldier barked, hauling him to his feet. "The general wants you."

Jax stumbled forward as the soldier guided him through the camp. The morning light was bright, and the air was sharp and cold, and as they passed through the center of the camp, Jax's stomach turned.

Marrek's head was mounted on a pole, his lifeless eyes staring out over the camp. Several other poles stood beside his, each adorned with the severed heads of other rebels. Blood had pooled beneath them, dark and frozen in the morning chill. Jax's legs faltered, and the soldier shoved him forward.

"Keep moving."

Jax swallowed hard, the bile rising in his throat. The gruesome display left little to the imagination. He knew what awaited men who crossed the general, and the weight of that reality pressed down on him like a stone. He barely noticed the soldier's hand on his arm as he was steered toward a large crimson tent at the edge of the camp, close to Kilgrove's main gate.

Inside, the air was warmer but just as heavy. The tent was simple but organized, with maps and weapons neatly arranged on a massive wooden table. Darius stood over the table, his back to Jax as he studied one of the maps. The soldier gave Jax a shove inside before stepping out, leaving the two alone. Jax hesitated, his throat dry, unsure whether to speak or wait. Darius didn't turn immediately, his deep voice breaking the silence.

"Do you know why you're still alive?" the general asked simply.

Jax wondered, searched for right words. But he could only swallow hard, his voice hoarse as he replied, "No."

Darius looked at the maps as he spoke, "Because a man who fights for something more than himself, even recklessly, has a value this world lacks. You caused chaos for a scrap of iron and glass – not for gold, not for power, but for something that mattered to you."

Jax blinked, his exhaustion dulling the edges of his confusion. "I don't understand."

The general straightened, turning to face him. His eyes cut through the distance between them. "In Noxus, we don't discard men with fire in their hearts. We shape them."

Jax was unsure of how to respond. "Fire?" he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "All I did was fight for something that mattered to me."

"And that," Darius said, his voice deep and resolute, "is why you're still breathing. Gold can buy loyalty. Fear can command obedience. But neither lasts. A man who knows what matters – who knows what he values beyond material things – that is a man who can change the world."

Jax hesitated, touching the pendant that hung by his neck. It felt heavier now.

"In Noxus," Darius continued, stepping closer, "a man is free to forge his destiny. It doesn't matter where you were born or who you were before. Strength, loyalty, and resolve – those are the only things that matter. If you have them, you rise. If you don't, you fall."

Jax let the words sink in, his mind racing to keep up. He didn't know what to make of Darius's perspective, of the idea that this brutal, unforgiving place could offer anything more than pain and survival.

"So, what?" Jax asked, forcing himself to meet Darius's gaze. "You think I can just… become someone else here? Forge some destiny out of thin air?"

Darius stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over Jax. "No one hands you a destiny," he said. "Not in Noxus. You take it. You earn it. You prove your worth with every step you take, every choice you make. If you're strong enough to endure, you can become more than you ever thought possible. But that choice is yours."

The weight of Darius's words pressed down on Jax, equal parts intimidating and… freeing. He thought of Zaun, of the life he'd left behind, of the aimless wandering that had led him here. For as long as he left his home, he had been a drifter, surviving but never truly living. The idea of taking control of his fate felt foreign, even impossible.

"And if I don't?" Jax asked, his voice quiet.

Darius's gaze didn't waver. "Then you die as you are—a man who fought for a pendant and nothing more."

Silence settled between them, the flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows across the tent. Jax tightened his grip on the pendant, his mind a storm of doubt, anger, and something he hadn't felt in so long; a possibility.

"Your life is your own, but here, you'll learn what it means to make it matter." Darius said, stepping back and turning to the table, reached down and picked something up. The motion was calculated, as if he'd been waiting for this moment. When he turned, Jax gasped. In the general's hand was his sword. "Yours, isn't it?"

Jax hesitated, his eyes darting between the blade and the general's face. Slowly, he stepped forward, his hand reaching out to take it. His fingers brushed the familiar grip, and for a moment, it felt foreign as if it no longer belonged to him. But then he gripped it tightly, grounding himself.

"You didn't earn it," Darius said bluntly. "Not yet. But you might."

Jax just stood there, his throat dry, and nodded slightly, unsure of what to say. Darius stepped back, crossing his arms as he studied Jax. "A weapon is only as strong as the hand that wields it. Prove yours is worth the steel."

The weight of the sword in Jax's hand felt more solid now – not just a tool, but a responsibility. He nodded again, this time with more resolve, thought the knot in his stomach remained. Darius said nothing more, turning his attention back to the table. With that, Jax stepped out of the tent, the cold night air hitting him like a slap. For the first time in years, he felt something stir within him—not hope, exactly, but a sense that perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't destined to wander forever.

Chapter End Notes

And so, Arc 2 officially begins! This arc delves into Jax's coming-of-age journey and his life during the years he spent away from Zaun. It's a time of survival, growth, and the choices that shape him into the person he's destined to become. Along the way, we'll uncover more about his struggles, the connections he forges, and the events that inevitably lead him back to Zaun… for a certain someone. ;)

Initially, I hadn't planned to include much of Powder's (or should I say, Jinx's?) perspective in this arc. As a result, she may appear only in limited capacity this time around. Because of this, Arc 2 will likely feature fewer but longer chapters, giving us time to really explore Jax's story.

Stay tuned—there's a lot more to come, and I can't wait to share it with you! :)

Bloodcliffs

The sharp blast of Rozek's whistle pierced the cold, pre-dawn air, ripping Jax from the shallow, restless sleep he'd managed to grab after another grueling day of training. The barracks erupted into a cacophony of groans and hurried movements as recruits scrambled to pull on their boots and gear. Rozek's voice followed the whistle, as sharp and unrelenting as the wind that swept through the Bloodcliffs.

"Up! If you're not out here in thirty seconds, you'll wish you never crawled into that cot!" His boots clanged against the iron steps outside, the rhythm a grim countdown.

Jax was already on his feet, adjusting the straps of his boots with practiced efficiency. Around him, the barracks was chaos. Torren, his brown hair sticking up in every direction, was still fumbling with his belt.

"Do you think Rozek ever sleeps?" Torren muttered under his breath. "Or does he just spend the night sharpening his insults?"

"Get moving," Jax said simply, grabbing his spear from where it leaned against the wall. "You don't want him finding you still in here."

Torren groaned but followed, pulling on his armor as they joined the other recruits streaming out into the biting cold. The camp was little more than a cluster of makeshift barracks and training grounds carved into the jagged cliffs, with the sea visible in the far distance, its waves glinting faintly under the gray morning light.

The recruits formed uneven rows in the center of the yard, their breaths visible in the freezing air. Jax fell into place, his spear gripped loosely in one hand. Torren shuffled in beside him, still fastening a strap on his arm. Riven stood a few spaces down, already perfectly in line, her posture as rigid as the cliffs themselves. Farther along, Kelan struggled to keep his shield from slipping as he fumbled into position, his pale face betraying his nerves.

Captain Rozek paced in front of them, his heavy boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. His eyes scanned the line, his expression a mask of disdain as he took in their disheveled state.

"Look at this," Rozek said, his voice loud enough to echo off the cliffs. "This is what Noxus sends me? A gaggle of half-asleep, unwashed excuses for soldiers?" He stopped abruptly, his glare fixed on a recruit whose boots were laced unevenly. "Do you think the enemy will wait for you to fix your boots, recruit?"

"N-no, sir," the recruit stammered, quickly crouching to fix the mistake.

Rozek snorted, moving on. His eyes landed on Kelan, whose shield had dipped slightly in his grip. Rozek strode forward, his shadow looming over the younger recruit.

"Straighten up, or I'll give you a real reason to be tired," Rozek growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Is that shield too heavy for you, or is it the thought of actually using it that scares you?"

Kelan stiffened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the shield tighter. "No, sir," he managed to choke out.

Rozek leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Good. Because if you drop that shield again, you'll carry every single one in the armory until your legs give out."

He stepped back, his sharp eyes sweeping over the rest of the recruits. When his gaze landed on Jax, Rozek's expression didn't change, but his pacing slowed for just a moment. Jax met his gaze briefly before looking straight ahead, his posture calm and deliberate. Rozek moved on without comment, leaving Jax to exhale silently in relief. Torren, however, wasn't so lucky. Rozek stopped in front of him, raising an eyebrow as he gestured toward the loose strap hanging from Torren's armor. "Did you forget how to dress yourself, recruit?"

"No, sir," Torren replied, his voice steady despite the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I was just leaving room for improvement."

Rozek's lips curled into a humorless smile. "Good. Because by the time I'm done with you, improvement will be the only thing keeping you alive." He turned sharply and continued down the line.

Torren glanced sideways at Jax. "At least he didn't threaten to kill me," he whispered.

"Yet," Jax replied, the faintest hint of a smirk breaking his usual stoic expression.

Rozek finally stopped at the front of the group, folding his arms as he surveyed the recruits. "Today, you'll learn what it means to survive in Noxus. You'll march, you'll fight, and you'll sweat until there's nothing left but what I make of you. If even one of you falters, the whole lot of you will pay. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Captain!" the recruits shouted, though the response varied in strength. Kelan's voice cracked, and Torren's was half a beat late, but Riven's was sharp and unwavering.

Rozek's smile returned, thin and cold. "Then move out. Your hell starts now."

The recruits obeyed, falling into formation as they prepared for whatever brutal task Rozek had in store this time. For Jax, it was just another day in the Bloodcliffs—a place where survival wasn't just taught, but demanded.

The recruits marched in silence, the only sounds the crunch of boots against the frost-covered ground and the steady rhythm of their labored breaths. The weighted shields strapped to their backs dug into their shoulders, each step over the jagged terrain of the Bloodcliffs a test of endurance. Rozek stalked alongside them, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of weakness.

"Keep moving!" he barked. "If the cliffs are too much for you, you might as well throw yourselves off now and save me the trouble!"

The incline grew steeper as the path twisted upward, the uneven rocks threatening to trip anyone who faltered. Jax kept his head down, focusing on his footing and the steady rhythm of his steps. He ignored the strain in his legs and the burning in his shoulders. Complaining wouldn't change anything—surviving was all that mattered.

Beside him, Torren was less composed. His steps were uneven, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "This isn't a march," Torren muttered between breaths. "It's Rozek's idea of a joke."

Jax didn't reply, his attention fixed on the trail ahead. When Torren stumbled, the edge of his shield catching on a loose rock, Jax glanced over but didn't reach out. Torren managed to right himself, shooting Jax a sheepish grin.

"Thought you were gonna let me fall there," Torren said, his voice low enough to avoid Rozek's notice.

"Didn't have time to think about it," Jax replied simply, his tone flat as he adjusted the strap on his shield.

Ahead of them, Riven moved with mechanical precision, her steps steady and her shield perfectly balanced despite the weight of the shield on her back. Her short, silver hair clung to her damp forehead, and her eyes remained fixed ahead. Her breathing was steady, controlled, in stark contrast to the labored gasps of some of the others. The tension in her jaw betrayed the strain she felt, but she didn't let it slow her down. If anything, she pushed herself harder, her disciplined stride a silent challenge to anyone who dared to keep up. She never once glanced back, but her voice carried over the line. "If you two keep slowing down, you'll bring Rozek's wrath on all of us."

Torren groaned but quickened his pace. "Remind me to thank her for the motivational speech later."

Jax tried to collect his breathing, his gaze flicking briefly to Riven before returning to the path. Near the rear of the group, Kelan was struggling. His breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and his shield wobbled with each step. Rozek's voice cut through the air like a whip.

"Straighten up, recruit! If you drop that shield, you'll carry every single one back to camp!"

Kelan visibly flinched, his steps faltering even more under Rozek's glare. Jax kept his pace steady but slowed just enough to fall back near Kelan. He didn't say a word, but as the younger recruit stumbled again, Jax shifted his body slightly to block the captain's view.

Kelan recovered quickly, gripping the straps of his shield with trembling hands. He glanced at Jax, his expression a mix of gratitude and fear. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Keep moving," Jax muttered, his tone as neutral as the icy wind that swept through the cliffs.

Rozek's shadow passed over them, his sharp gaze flicking between the recruits. "If one of you fails, you all fail!" he shouted. "Remember that! Your weakness isn't just your own—it's a threat to everyone around you." The words hung in the air like a challenge, pressing down on them as heavily as the shields strapped to their backs. Jax's steps never faltered, but his jaw tightened as Rozek moved ahead.

The climb grew steeper, the air thinner, but there was no reprieve. By the time Rozek finally called for a halt, the recruits were drenched in sweat, their legs trembling beneath them. Jax eased his shield to the ground, careful not to show the strain. Around him, the other recruits sagged against rocks or collapsed outright.

Torren flopped onto a nearby boulder, tilting his head back as he gasped for breath. "I'm officially allergic to cliffs," he said between gasps. "Someone write that down. Medical condition."

Riven stood nearby, her shield still strapped to her back, her posture as rigid as ever. She glanced at Torren, her lips curling into a faint sneer. "If you spent less time talking and more time working, maybe you wouldn't be so weak."

Torren raised an eyebrow at her but didn't have the energy to retort. "I'll take that under advisement," he muttered, slumping further against the rock.

Kelan sank to the ground, his face pale as he hugged his shield like a lifeline. Jax leaned against a nearby rock, his arms crossed as he scanned the horizon. He caught Kelan's gaze briefly, but the younger recruit quickly looked away, as if afraid to draw attention.

Rozek descended the path toward them, his expression as hard and unforgiving as the cliffs themselves. "This was just a warm-up," he said, his voice low but carrying enough weight to silence even Torren's murmurs. "You'll learn soon enough that pain is the only teacher worth listening to. Now, get up. There's more to do."

The recruits groaned inwardly but obeyed, their bodies protesting every movement as they prepared for the next trial. For Jax, it was just another day in the Bloodcliffs. The place was as unforgiving as the training itself. Jagged ridges carved by centuries of wind and salt loomed on all sides, their sharp edges silhouetted against the pale sky. The ground was a patchwork of loose gravel and cracked stone, each step a gamble of balance and stability. The cliffs didn't simply demand caution—they punished carelessness. More than one recruit had left this place with scars from falls, or worse, carried down the mountain in silence.

From their vantage point on the narrow path, the recruits could just make out the distant town of Bloodcliffs clinging to the base of the mountains like a defiant outpost. Its slate-gray rooftops and narrow streets were shrouded in the faint haze of morning mist, and the faint glint of distant fires hinted at early risers stoking hearths against the cold. It was a stark contrast to the jagged wilderness above, but even the town carried an air of harshness—its structures built to endure the battering winds and the weight of a nation's demands.

The air was thick with the faint tang of salt from the distant sea, mingling with the metallic taste of sweat as the recruits pushed forward. It was a place where the land itself seemed to conspire against you, and for Jax, every jagged edge and every distant shadow felt like a test designed to break the weak.

The midday sun blazed overhead, turning the already grueling exercise into an endurance trial. The recruits stood in formation, their heavy shields locked together in a rough phalanx. Rozek paced before them like a predator, his sharp eyes scanning for weakness.

"You think this is enough?" Rozek barked, slamming his fist against one of the shields. The recruit behind it flinched, but the line held. "One gap in this formation, and you're all corpses. Move forward. Shields tight."

The line began to shuffle forward, their boots scraping against the hardened dirt. The shields weighed heavily on their arms, each step a battle against exhaustion. Jax moved steadily, keeping his shield aligned with Riven's. Her movements were sharp and precise, her posture flawless as she led the group.

Beside Jax, Torren struggled to maintain the rhythm. His shield wobbled slightly with each step, and his muttering barely escaped the edge of Rozek's notice.

"This shield's trying to kill me," Torren whispered, his voice tight with strain. "I swear it's heavier than the others."

"Maybe because you're holding it wrong," Riven snapped without looking back. Her tone was clipped, her frustration evident.

Torren shot her a glare. "Thanks, General Riven. That really helps."

"Focus," Jax said quietly, his tone calm but firm. He didn't glance at either of them, his attention fixed on keeping his movements deliberate and in sync.

The line continued, their steps growing more unsteady as the terrain shifted. The uneven ground made every step a gamble, and it wasn't long before someone faltered. Near the rear of the group, Kelan tripped over a loose stone, his shield dropping just enough to break the formation. Rozek's whistle sliced through the air like a blade, bringing the line to an abrupt halt. He strode toward Kelan, his boots crunching against the dirt, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Out of line," Rozek said, his voice low and measured. He stared down at Kelan, who was already pale with exhaustion. "Drop your shield again, and you might as well hand it to the enemy. You'll save them the trouble of killing you."

Kelan stammered an apology, his hands trembling as he hefted the shield back into position.

Rozek's gaze swept over the group. "You think his failure doesn't affect you? Wrong. Weakness spreads. When one of you fails, you all fail. Drop the shields."

The recruits let their shields fall with audible thuds, the weight leaving their arms momentarily relieved but burning with fatigue.

"Pick up the logs," Rozek ordered, gesturing to a pile of thick, rough-hewn beams stacked near the training yard. "Carry them across the yard. No stopping until I say."

Groans rippled through the group as they moved to obey. Jax adjusted his grip on the log as he hoisted it onto his shoulder, the weight settling heavily against his back. Riven was already halfway across the yard, her pace steady and relentless. Torren stumbled as he lifted his log, muttering under his breath.

"This is Rozek's new hobby," Torren grumbled as he shuffled forward. "Make us miserable, then watch us suffer."

"Stop talking," Riven snapped, her voice cutting through the group like a whip. Her log sat perfectly balanced on her shoulders, her movements as precise as ever. "If you can't keep up, at least try not to slow the rest of us down." Torren scowled but didn't respond, his teeth gritted as he pushed forward.

Rozek's voice rang out from the other end of the yard. "Faster! If you're this slow in battle, you won't even see the blade that kills you!" The recruits turned at the far edge of the yard, their steps growing heavier with each lap. By the third pass, Torren's muttering grew louder.

"This log is cursed," Torren said, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "I'm sure of it."

"You'd complain about carrying a feather," Riven retorted, though even she was starting to show signs of strain.

"Maybe," Torren shot back, his voice strained but defiant. "But I'd carry it perfectly, just to make you mad."

Riven's sharp glare could have cut through stone, but she didn't reply, instead focusing on her next step. Jax stayed silent, his expression unreadable as he kept his movements deliberate, ensuring he didn't falter. When Rozek finally called for a halt, the recruits dropped their logs with heavy thuds. Torren collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving as he let out a long, exaggerated groan.

"I'm allergic to logs too," he muttered.

Riven set her log down carefully, her jaw tight as she crossed her arms. "If you focused this much during the formation, we wouldn't have been punished in the first place."

Torren smirked faintly, tilting his head toward her. "Always so quick to criticize. You ever say anything nice?"

"Not to you," Riven snapped, turning away.

Kelan sank to the ground beside his log, his face pale and his shoulders trembling. Jax let his log drop and leaned against it to gather himself. Rozek strode back into view, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust as he moved. "You'll do better tomorrow," he said simply, his tone cold and unyielding. "Or you'll break." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the recruits to recover in silence.

Torren let out a low chuckle, rubbing his shoulder as he glanced at Jax. "You ever wonder if Rozek has a hobby? Something he does for fun? Maybe he knits scarves or collects rocks."

"Probably both," Jax replied, his tone dry.

The sky had darkened to a deep indigo by the time the recruits staggered toward the mess hall, their bodies heavy with exhaustion. The chill of the Bloodcliffs bit through their damp uniforms, and every step felt like dragging an anchor. Inside, the mess hall was carved directly into the side of the cliffs, its rough stone walls flickering with the light of torches mounted in iron brackets. Long, uneven wooden tables stretched across the cavernous space, their surfaces scarred and worn from years of use. The air was thick with the lingering scent of food and damp rock.

Jax spotted an empty spot at the far end of a table, tucked into a corner where the torchlight barely reached. He crossed the hall quickly, setting his plate down with a soft thud. The hum of conversation continued around him, but here it felt distant. For a moment, he thought he might get the peace he was hoping for.

That was, until Torren appeared. "Fancy meeting you here," he said with a grin, dropping his plate onto the table as he slid into the seat across from Jax.

Jax exhaled silently and returned his focus to the bowl of stew on the table. He didn't mind Torren's company, not really, but he couldn't help wondering why Torren always seemed to gravitate toward him. There were plenty of other recruits Torren could joke with – ones who actually responded to his endless banter. Jax, on the other hand, was quiet, reserved. He doubted he was much of a friend, but for some reason, Torren always chose him.

Not that Jax minded.

"Wow," Torren said, stirring his bowl dramatically. "I've seen swamp water that looks more appetizing than this."

Jax smirked faintly, breaking a piece of bread. "It's not that bad."

Torren snorted. "Not that bad? It's gray. Stew shouldn't be gray." He poked at the contents with his spoon grimacing. "What even is this? Mystery meat and despair?"

"It's food," Jax replied, dipping his bread into the stew. "Eat it."

Torren leaned back, balancing his spoon on the edge of his bowl. "You sound like Rozek. Is this how it starts? One day you're normal, and the next you're yelling at people about shield formations and eating mystery stew like it's a delicacy."

Before Jax could respond, Riven approached. Her sharp gaze flicked over the crowded room before landing on their table. "There's no room anywhere else," she said simply, setting her bowl down beside Jax. Her tone made it clear she wasn't asking for permission.

"Welcome to the party, General Riven," Torren quipped, his grin unwavering. "It's a real privilege to have you join us."

Riven ignored him, adjusting the straps on her uniform before starting on her meal. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, as if she was still in the middle of drills. Jax shifted slightly to give her more room, but she barely seemed to notice. Kelan appeared a few moments later, his tray wobbling precariously as he tried to navigate the crowded room. He stopped when he saw their table, his expression hesitant as he hovered nearby.

"Sit," Riven said curtly, gesturing to the spot beside Torren.

Kelan nodded quickly and slid into the space, his movements awkward as he adjusted his tray. He mumbled a quiet "Thanks" before diving into his stew, his head low as if trying to disappear entirely. His face scrunched at the first bite, but Kelan forced himself to keep eating.

"See?" Torren said, gesturing to Kelan. "Even he knows this is terrible."

Riven set her spoon down with a sharp clatter against the table, her glare cutting through the noise. "Do you ever stop talking?" she snapped, her tone as sharp as her eyes.

"Nope," Torren replied, popping a piece of bread into his mouth with a flourish. "Talking's the only thing keeping me from thinking about what this is doing to my inside."

Jax hid a smirk behind his bowl, watching as Riven's eyes narrowed in exasperation. She rolled them with a sharp sigh before picking up her spoon and turning her attention back to her stew. It was clear she had decided it wasn't worth the effort to keep arguing—Torren had a way of wearing people down with his relentless chatter. Winning against him wasn't just difficult; it was impossible. He had an unshakable talent for making every conversation a game, one where only he seemed to know the rules.

He stirred his stew absently, letting the conversations in the mess hall wash over him. Torren's antics were as predictable as the drills, but they filled the silence in a way Jax didn't mind. He wondered again why Torren always seemed to stick with him. He wasn't exactly entertaining, and his quiet demeanor couldn't offer much of a reprieve from the grind of training. But for some reason, Torren always chose him. Jax broke another piece of bread, his thoughts drifting. Maybe he wasn't the best company, but Torren didn't seem to care. And truthfully, Jax didn't mind it either.

"Bet it's some kind of Noxian stew tradition," Torren said, breaking Jax's thoughts. "Like, make it as bland as possible to toughen us up. Builds character or something."

"Or maybe it's all they had," Jax replied, his tone neutral.

"Optimist," Torren said, grinning as he leaned back. "That's why I sit with you."

Jax gave a faint smirk, shaking his head as the sounds of the mess hall carried on around them. As the recruits began finishing their meals, the sound of boots echoed sharply through the cavern. Rozek entered, his imposing figure framed by the flickering torchlight. The casual hum of conversation died instantly as his sharp gaze swept over the room.

"Enjoy your meal?" he asked, his tone biting.

No one answered.

"Good," Rozek continued, gesturing toward the towering pile of dirty dishes at the end of the hall. "Because you're not done yet. Clean it all. And when I say clean, I mean spotless. If I find so much as a smudge, you'll be scrubbing latrines until you beg for drills."

The recruits groaned collectively, but Rozek's glare silenced any further protests. Without waiting for further instructions, Jax grabbed a bucket of water and a rag, his movements steady and resigned. He didn't look at anyone as he made his way to one of the tables, already soaking the cloth and wiping down the grime.

Torren, as usual, was slower to move. He leaned heavily against the nearest bench, his body language exuding exaggerated weariness as he let out a dramatic sigh. His hand drifted lazily toward a plate, lifting it just enough to inspect it with mock seriousness before setting it down with a theatrical shake of his head.

Riven didn't even pause in her work, her movements brisk and efficient as she grabbed a stack of dishes and carried them to the wash basin. Her jaw tightened, and she shot him a sharp glance.

Torren finally picked up a sponge, twirling it idly in his hand. When he did deign to start cleaning, it was with deliberate sluggishness, his movements slow and overly precise as if the weight of the task might crush him. Riven scrubbed at a pot with controlled intensity, her frustration evident in the force of her strokes. Her shoulders stiffened as she glanced at him again, her narrowed eyes promising consequences.

Torren noticed her glare but didn't speed up. Instead, he smirked faintly, dragging the sponge along the rim of a plate with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly thought this was beneath him. Riven slammed her cleaned pot onto the drying rack with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the cramped space. Torren flinched slightly but didn't lose his grin.

Her patience finally snapped. "Torren." Her voice was low and steady, a tone far more threatening than if she'd shouted.

He straightened slightly, holding up a plate as if to prove he was working. "Happy?"

"Not yet," she muttered, turning back to her work with the precision of someone far too used to carrying someone else's weight. Torren rolled his eyes but finally began scrubbing in earnest, though his sighs of exaggerated martyrdom continued to punctuate the quiet.

Jax kept his focus on the table in front of him, methodically scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn stain. He let their bickering wash over him like background noise, knowing it was only a matter of time before Torren's antics wore Riven down, again. Across the room, Kelan fumbled with a stack of bowls, his awkward movements sending one clattering loudly to the floor.

Riven turned sharply at the sound, her expression hard. "Careful."

"S-sorry," Kelan stammered, quickly bending to retrieve the bowl. His face was flushed as he placed it back on the pile, his hands trembling slightly as he worked.

Torren chuckled, tossing his rag onto the table. "Relax, Kelan. It's just a bowl. Riven's not going to bite you."

Riven muttered something, turning back to the pot in her hands.

Torren smirked, leaning closer to Jax. "See that? She's all bark. Deep down, she's a real sweetheart."

Jax didn't reply, dipping his rag into the bucket of water and wringing it out before moving to the next table. He wasn't about to get dragged into their exchange, though he couldn't hide the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Hey, Jax," Torren called, his tone playful. "Back me up here. You think Rozek's going to inspect the dishes with a magnifying glass?"

"Just clean," Jax said evenly, not bothering to look up.

Torren sighed dramatically but went back to work, scrubbing a plate with exaggerated vigor. The room gradually fell into a steady rhythm, the clinking of dishes and the scrape of rags against wood filling the air. Even Torren quieted after a while, though his muttered complaints still broke through the silence occasionally. By the time they finished, their hands were raw and their muscles ached even more than before. Jax placed the last clean plate back in its place, stepping back to inspect their work. The mess hall was spotless, the tables wiped down and the floor free of crumbs and grease.

Riven stepped back as well, her sharp eyes scanning the room one last time. Satisfied, she nodded. "Let's go."

Torren stretched, groaning as he slung his arm around Jax's shoulders. "Teamwork at its finest. Maybe Rozek will even thank us tomorrow."

Jax shrugged him off. "Don't count on it."

As they made their way toward the door, the cool night air beckoning them to their bunks, Rozek's voice rang out from the shadows.

"Not so fast."

The recruits froze, turning to see Rozek standing near the doorway, his arms crossed and his expression as hard as ever. His sharp gaze landed on Jax, Riven, Torren, and Kelan, and with a short gesture, he beckoned them forward.

"You four," he said. "Guard duty. Northern perimeter. Now."

Torren groaned audibly. "Guard duty? After this?"

"Did I stutter?" Rozek snapped, his glare silencing any further complaints. "Move."

Riven stepped forward without hesitation, her posture rigid as she headed to retrieve her gear. Jax followed, adjusting the strap of his belt as he walked. Kelan lingered nervously, glancing at Torren, who muttered something under his breath before trudging after the others.

The northern perimeter of the Bloodcliffs was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against the ears and made every sound feel louder than it was. The torches lining the narrow path flickered weakly, their light barely reaching the jagged rocks and uneven terrain. The wind cut through the cliffs, carrying with it the scent of salt and cold stone.

Jax adjusted his grip on his spear, the smooth wood familiar in his hands as he scanned the darkness. His breath came out in faint puffs of mist, the chill biting through his uniform. The Bloodcliffs always felt harsher at night, the shadows deeper and the cliffs looming larger than they did during the day.

Behind him, Torren let out a dramatic groan as he leaned against a nearby rock. "This is what they give us after scrubbing the entire mess hall spotless? Standing out here freezing our asses off while the rest of the camp gets to sleep? Unbelievable."

"Shut up," Riven snapped, her voice low but sharp as she adjusted the straps of her gauntlets. She stood rigidly, her eyes scanning the horizon with the same focus she brought to every task. "Guard duty isn't a break. Stay alert."

Torren rolled his eyes, tapping the butt of his spear against the ground. "I am alert. Alert to how miserable this is. Seriously, Jax, back me up. This can't be what they mean by 'Noxian excellence.'"

Jax glanced at him briefly but didn't respond. His gaze returned to the dark expanse ahead. The stillness around them felt heavy, the kind that didn't invite chatter, but Torren, as always, seemed unfazed by it.

He sighed, glancing at Kelan, who stood a few feet away gripping his spear tightly. The younger recruit's hands trembled slightly, his eyes darting nervously between the shadows. "And you," Torren said, grinning faintly. "Don't tell me you're scared of the dark."

Kelan swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his spear. "I… don't know. I'm scared of some things."

"Rozek, probably," Torren said, his grin widening. "The man's scarier than any monster out here."

"That's because he has a reason to be," Riven added quietly. Her tone wasn't as sharp as before, though, and for the first time, she sounded more thoughtful than commanding. "He's trying to prepare us. The Bloodcliffs don't leave room for mistakes. Focus on the task."

"Oh, come on," Torren muttered, tossing his spear into a more casual grip. "What's out here, anyway? A few rocks? Maybe a mountain goat with bad intentions?"

"That's the point of standing guard," Riven said coldly. "You don't know what's out here. So stop making jokes and do your job."

Torren raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never wavering. "Fine. But if a goat shows up, I'm letting it take you."

Jax's lips twitched faintly, though he didn't let the smirk fully form. He adjusted his stance, his spear steady as he scanned the darkness again. Torren's antics were predictable, but they kept the silence from feeling too heavy.

The wind shifted, carrying with it a faint rustle that cut through the stillness. Jax's ears pricked up at the sound, his grip on his spear tightening. He turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the jagged cliffs ahead.

"What was that?" Kelan whispered, his voice trembling just enough to give away his nerves.

Torren straightened, his usual grin faltering for a moment. "Probably nothing," he said, though his tone was less convincing than usual. "Just the wind—or some rocks settling. You know, cliffs do that."

Riven ignored them, her body tensing as she took a step forward. "Quiet. Stay where you are."

Jax's focus remained on the darkness, his muscles coiled as he listened for the sound again. It came moments later—a faint scraping, like stone against stone, followed by the crunch of gravel shifting underfoot. His eyes narrowed.

"Something's moving," Jax said quietly.

"Great," Torren muttered, spinning his spear into a ready position. "I knew we'd be the ones to find trouble. Rozek's probably watching us right now, laughing."

"Shut up," Riven hissed, her gaze fixed on the source of the noise. She motioned for the group to spread out slightly, her movements crisp and deliberate. "Torches up. Weapons ready."

Kelan fumbled with his torch, the flame flickering dangerously as he raised it higher. The shadows seemed to leap and twist with the movement, creating shapes that played tricks on the eyes. The noise came again, closer this time, echoing off the cliffs.

Jax moved ahead slightly, his steps silent against the uneven ground. He raised his spear, his eyes catching a glimmer of movement—a shape shifting against the rock. He motioned for the others to hold position as he crept forward, his movements deliberate and measured.

The shape shifted again, and then a loud bleat shattered the tension. A mountain goat bolted out from the shadows, its hooves clattering against the rocks as it disappeared into the distance. Jax exhaled slowly, lowering his spear as he turned back to the group.

Torren let out a bark of laughter, the sound breaking the silence. "It actually was a goat. What were the odds?"

Kelan slumped with relief, lowering his torch as he let out a shaky breath. "I thought it was something else."

"So did we," Jax said evenly, stepping back to rejoin them. "That's why you check."

"Well, at least we scared it off," Torren said, still grinning. "No more marauding goats tonight."

Riven glared at him, though her shoulders relaxed slightly. "If you don't take this seriously next time, you'll be the one explaining to Rozek why we failed our post."

"Meh," Torren said, slinging his spear across his shoulders. "If Rozek heard about this, he'd probably commend us for defending the perimeter from rogue livestock."

The wind howled softly through the cliffs, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and rock. The torches sputtered against the cold, their flames shrinking as the night stretched on. The Bloodcliffs seemed endless in the darkness, their jagged edges cutting into the faint glow of the stars. Torren sighed dramatically, breaking the quiet again. "You know, guard duty isn't so bad when you think about it. Just a bunch of rocks and stars. Could be worse."

"Like what?" Kelan asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Latrine duty," Torren replied with a grin. "Or Rozek breathing down our necks."

"Rozek wouldn't need to if you took things seriously," Riven said, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Torren chuckled. "Relax, General. We've got it under control."

Jax turned slightly, his eyes flicking to the horizon where the cliffs met the dark sky. The stars above were faint, their light barely cutting through the mist that clung to the peaks. He adjusted his grip on his spear, letting the silence settle again.

For a moment, the group stood together in quiet unity. The night was cold, the cliffs harsh, but the presence of the others made it bearable. Even Riven, with her sharp discipline, didn't seem entirely immune to the faint camaraderie that had formed between them. The Bloodcliffs demanded everything—strength, discipline, and endurance—but in this moment, he felt the weight of it lift slightly. They were a strange group, this squad, but they worked.

Torren's voice broke the silence once more, softer this time. "Think Rozek's gonna yell at us tomorrow?"

"Definitely," Jax replied, his tone dry but faintly amused.

"Great," Torren muttered. "Alright, serious question everyone. Why'd you join the army?"

Jax didn't react, but Riven gave Torren a sidelong glance, as if weighing whether or not to answer his question. "Does it matter?" she asked at the end.

"Of course it matters," Torren replied with a grin. "We're all out here freezing our asses off. Migh as well know why."

Riven didn't answer immediately, her jaw tightening as she stared out into the distance. Torren waited a beat, then turned to Kelan instead. "What about you, Kelan? Why are you here?"

Kelan shifted awkwardly, gripping his spear tightly. "My family," he said softly. "They thought it'd be good for me. Give me discipline. A future."

"And do you think it's working?" Torren asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kelan hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know. It's… hard. But I'm still here, so maybe."

"Good answer," Torren said, nodding approvingly. "Riven?"

She glanced at him briefly, before returning her attention to horizon. "Because it's necessary."

"That's not an answer," Torren said, grinning. "Come on, General. You're the one who's always harping on about duty. What made you sign up?"

Riven's grip on her spear tightened, and for a moment, Jax thought she wouldn't answer. Then, she said quietly "Because I believe in it."

"In Noxus?" Torren asked.

"Yes," Riven replied. "In strength. In unity. In the idea that a single soldier can contribute to something greater than themselves. Back home in Trevale, I saw a warband pass through one day. They carried themselves with purpose, with discipline, called themselves the Fury Company. I left farmwork behind that same day and traveled with them for a time. Picked up a few lessons on handling a weapon along the way. Eventually, I decided to make it official and signed up here."

Torren blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's intense."

"It's honest," Riven said, her voice sharp again. "You should try it."

Torren laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Alright, Jax. Your turn. Why are you here?"

Jax's eyes remained fixed on the horizon. "I'm here because I have to be."

"That's vague," Torren replied, frowning. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I made a choice," Jax said evenly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And now I'm here."

Torren looked like he wanted to press further, but Riven spoke before he could. "Let it go," she said firmly. "Not everyone's reason is something they want to share."

Torren sighed, leaning back against the rock. "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But for the record, I joined because I needed a way out of my boring little village. Best decision I ever made."

The faintest trace of a smirk crossed Riven's lips, though she quickly hid it. Kelan let out a quiet laugh, his posture relaxing slightly. For the first time that night, the tension felt distant, the cold less biting. The silence stretched between them, the faint whistle of the wind and the crackle of distant torches the only sounds. Torren, never one to let it settle for too long, shifted his stance and turned to Jax. He studied him with exaggerated intensity, his head tilting slightly as if trying to solve a puzzle.

"You know," Torren began, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "I've been thinking."

"That's rare," Riven muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. Her voice lacked its usual bite, though.

Torren ignored her. "Jax here – he's got this whole quiet, stoic thing going on. Always calm, always composed. It's impressive, really."

Jax's silence only encouraged Torren further.

"But," Torren continued, leaning toward Riven, "I can't imagine him ever doing anything fun. Like, ever. No pranks, no skipping drills, no sneaking extra rations. Nothing."

Jax glanced at Torren.

"You've got to have a story," Torren pressed, his grin widening. "Come on, Jax. Tell us something. Anything."

"He's not wrong," Riven said, her voice cutting into the exchange. Jax turned his head slightly, surprised by her sudden participation. "You don't talk much. Why is that?"

Jax hesitated, his gaze shifting back to the dark cliffs. "I don't see the point."

"There's always a point," Torren said. "Like, I'm trying to figure out if you've ever done anything remotely mischievous. I bet you haven't."

"Not everyone likes to talk." Kelan said quietly, fidgeting with his spear.

"Oh, come on," Torren said, waving a hand dismissively. "Everyone's got a story. Even Jax. We just have to dig it out of him."

"Maybe he doesn't want to share," Riven said, though there was a faint edge of curiosity in her tone. She turned toward Jax, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But Torren's got a point. You must've done something."

Jax sighed softly. He wasn't used to this kind of attention – not after leaving Zaun. But the way they were all looking at him now, even Riven with her usual hard-edged focus, made it clear they weren't going to let it drop.

"Fine," Jax said at last, his voice calm but reluctant. "There was one thing."

Torren's grin widened, and even Riven tilted her head slightly, her interest piqued. Kelan glanced between them nervously but said nothing.

"I did something at this festival back home," Jax began, his tone measured. "I was maybe ten. Decided I wanted to make the fireworks a little more… interesting."

"What do you mean by 'interesting'?" Torren asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

"It means I swapped out half the fireworks for ones I made myself," he said, his eyes flicking up briefly to gauge their reactions.

There was a brief pause before Torren burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the cliffs. "You? You sabotaged fireworks? I don't believe it."

"It wasn't supposed to be a big deal," Jax continued, ignoring the interruption. "I just thought it'd be cool if I made them brighter or bigger. But the rockets tipped over, and things got… out of hand."

"How out of hand?" Riven asked, her tone curious.

"They hit a couple of food carts," Jax admitted, his lips twitching faintly into a smirk. "Set a few stalls on fire. The foam started raining down. Nothing major."

Riven raised an eyebrow. "Nothing major? Sounds like chaos."

"It was," Jax said, his voice quiet but amused. "But no one got hurt."

"Did they catch you?" Torren asked, leaning forward eagerly.

"Almost," Jax said, his grin growing slightly. "I didn't exactly stick around to see what happened. I found a corner to duck into while the crowd tried to figure out what was happening. A few guys started yelling about how someone messed up the fireworks, but they didn't figure out it was me."

"I can't believe it," Torren said, shaking his head. "Jax the troublemaker. I never would've guessed."

"That was a long time ago," Jax said, his tone softening.

The quiet settled again, but not for long. Torren tapped his spear against the ground, his grin still lingering from Jax's story. He studied him for a moment, as though working through a puzzle.

"So," Torren said, doing what he does best, breaking the silence, "you never talk about where you're from. That's got to be a story too."

Jax's expression shifted slightly, "Not much of a story."

"Oh, come on," Torren pressed, leaning in. "You sabotage fireworks and cause festival chaos, and you're telling me your hometown is boring? I don't buy it."

Riven crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded Jax. "He's right. You're quiet about your past. Too quiet."

Jax exhaled softly, his hand hovering for a moment before he stopped himself from instinctively reaching for the pendant beneath his shirt. "Zaun," he said after a pause. "I'm from Zaun."

"Zaun?" Kelan asked, his brow furrowing. "I've never heard of it."

"It's under Piltover," Jax replied, his tone neutral. "A city built into the canyons. Most people don't know the name unless they've been there."

"Piltover," Riven repeated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she pieced it together. "The place with the scientists, right? All the trade and inventions?"

"Yeah," Jax said. "Zaun's what's underneath. The part they don't put on the maps."

"Underneath?" Kelan repeated, looking confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means Piltover gets the sunlight," Jax explained. "Zaun gets the runoff."

Torren tilted his head, his grin fading slightly. "That sounds… rough."

"It is," Jax admitted simply.

"Is that why you're so serious all the time?" Torren asked, his tone light but not mocking. "Growing up there?"

Jax didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Who knows?"

"What's Zaun like?" Riven asked, her voice curious but steady, as if she were trying to piece him together. "I mean, beyond what you already told us."

Jaax hesitated, his expression softening slightly as the question hung in the air. "It's… different," he said finally. "Chaotic. Noisy. It's loud, and it never stops. Machines always running, people always shouting."

"Sounds exhausting," Kelan muttered.

"It can be," Jax admitted. "But it's not all bad. The festivals are wild, and the food… well, if you don't ask too many questions, it's great."

"What kind of food?" Torren asked. "You mean stew like the one from today or something better?"

Jax's smirk widened slightly, remembering. "Way better. Ever heard of explosion burgers?"

Kelan's eyes lit up. "Explosion burgers? What's that?"

"They're huge," Jax said, spreading his hands. "Stuffed with spiced meat, gooey cheese, and this sauce that's so hot it feels like your mouth's on fire. But they're addictive. Once you take a bite, you don't care how much it burns. And the sauce spills all over, but it's so delicious. I guess that's why they're called explosion burgers."

"That sounds incredible," Torren said, practically salivating.

"Or terrible," Riven muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Explosions in food don't sound like a selling point."

"Trust me, they're worth it," Jax said with a faint grin.

Torren was basically salivating. "Why didn't you bring any with you?"

"They don't exactly travel well," Jax said dryly. "Then there's the Sparkling Skewers – grilled meat on sticks with this glaze that pops on your tongue like tiny fireworks."

"Fireworks in food?" Torren laughed. "Now you're just making this up."

"No, I'm not," Jax replied evenly. "The Festival of Sparks is the best time of the year. Everyone's out, and the streets are full of inventions and vendors competing to outdo one another."

Riven smirked faintly, shaking her head. "I can't imagine you at a festival."

For a moment, the group was quiet, and Jax thought of the bustling streets of Zaun lit up by the glow of the Festival of Sparks. The distant hum of machines, the shouts of vendors, the smells of food that Jax described so vividly – it all seemed so far removed from the cold cliffs and hard discipline of the Bloodcliffs.

"You talk about it like you miss it," Torren said finally, his tone more subdued than usual. Jax's smirk faded slightly replaced by a thoughtful expression. "I… don't know. I left a long time ago, I don't know how to feel about it."

"Did you leave anyone behind?" Riven said, studying him.

Jax didn't answer right away, his fingers brushing over the pendant beneath his shirt. "Yeah, I… I guess I did," he said at last, his tone softer now. "I had some friends."

"Well," Torren said, breaking the tension with a grin, "remind me to stay on your good side, Jax. If you can handle all that and still look this calm, you're better than me."

"I don't think calm is the word," Riven added, glancing at Jax. "Focused. Determind."

"Boring," Torren teased, nudging Jax lightly with the tip of his spear. "But there's hope for you yet."

Jax's smirk lingered, but he didn't say anything. The pendant beneath his shirt felt cool against his skin as he brushed his fingers over it again, grounding himself. Torren's teasing, Riven's sharp curiosity, and even Kelan's hesitant questions didn't feel intrusive—not tonight.

"You're a mystery, Jax," Torren said after a while, his tone thoughtful. "But I like it. Keeps things interesting."

Jax glanced at him. "That's one way to look at it."

"I guess you should get used to it," Riven said, her voice quieter now but still firm. "You're stuck with this squad. For better or worse."

"Better," Torren chimed in quickly, his grin returning. "Definitely better."

Kelan chuckled softly, and even Riven allowed herself a faint smile. Jax stayed quiet, his gaze shifting back to the horizon. As the night stretched on, Jax's thoughts wandered. He found himself reflecting on Torren's earlier words – the teasing assumption that Jax had never done anything fun or reckless. It was almost ironic, considering how much of his life in Zaun had been spent surrounded by chaos: roof climbing, sabotaging the fireworks, the crude inventions that rarely worked as intended. He'd been anything but quiet back then.

But things change easily, he thought. It had been over three years since he left Zaun, and the person he was then felt distant – like someone else entirely. Now here on the Bloodcliffs, with the sharp wind against his skin and the weight of a spear in his hand, he wasn't sure how much of that old self remained. Maybe it was better this way.

The stars above were faint, barely piercing through the mist that clung to the cliffs, but Jax kept his eyes on them as he stood guard. Tomorrow would be another trial, but for now, the quiet was enough.

Those Who Play and Those Who Watch

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Training at the Bloodcliffs wasn't just brutal—it was unrelenting. The days bled into nights filled with aching muscles and raw hands, the weight of their shields biting into their shoulders long after the drills were over. Every step on the jagged paths felt like a test, the harsh wind whipping against their faces as if the cliffs themselves were trying to break them. There was no mercy here, no room for weakness. Rozek made sure of that. He barked commands like a war drum, driving them harder, faster, until their bodies gave out or their minds willed them to keep moving.

Over two years, the Bloodcliffs claimed its share of recruits. Some crumbled under the weight of the training—collapsed during a march and never stood up again. Others fell victim to the terrain, a misstep on the cliffs sending them tumbling into the jagged rocks below. A few simply disappeared, their absence noted only by a brief silence at roll call. There were no ceremonies for them, no moments of remembrance. They were just gone, their deaths absorbed into the harsh reality of Noxian discipline.

For those who survived, the pain became part of their existence. Blisters turned to callouses, bruises faded into scars, and the constant ache in their muscles dulled into a familiar throb. They learned to eat fast, sleep when they could, and follow orders without question. The Bloodcliffs didn't allow for softness—it stripped them down to their core and rebuilt them into something harder, something unyielding.

It wasn't just their bodies that changed. Over time, their laughter grew quieter, their conversations shorter. The jokes they once shared were replaced with sharp, knowing glances and the unspoken understanding that they were all being forged into something new. It broke them, piece by piece, but in the breaking, it rebuilt them into something harder, sharper. They didn't laugh as often, and they spoke even less, but they stood taller, their stares unflinching. The cliffs didn't make soldiers—it forged weapons. And those who survived carried that sharpness in their eyes, in the way they moved, and in the way they stood. As the old Noxian saying goes, only the sharpest blades stand a chance of enduring.

The sun hung low over the cliffs, casting the sparring grounds in long, jagged shadows. Recruits paired off across the field, their shouts mixing with the clash of dull-edged weapons. The cold wind howled through the jagged passes, but the recruits didn't feel it anymore—not after years of enduring the Bloodcliffs' unrelenting grip.

At nearly fifteen, Jax was taller than most of the recruits around him as he stood at one end of the ring. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of the practice sword in his hand. Across from him, Torren twirled a spear lazily, his grin as wide as ever.

"You ready for this, Jax?" Torren called, spinning the spear so fast the blunt tip blurred. "I've been waiting all morning to show you a thing or two."

"Or three," Jax replied evenly, his grip firm as he took his stance.

Torren laughed, taking a few steps forward. "Come on, show some excitement!"

Jax didn't rise to the bait. His eyes tracked Torren's movements, studying the slight shifts in his stance, the way his hands adjusted on the spear. Torren always joked and played the fool, but the moment he fought, something changed. It was subtle—barely noticeable to anyone who hadn't been paying attention—but Jax saw it. The playful gleam in Torren's eyes dimmed, replaced by a sharp focus that didn't belong to the grinning recruit who never took anything seriously.

Rozek's voice boomed over the grounds. "Keep moving, you useless worms! Don't think for a second this is a game!" But his usual yelling faltered as his sharp eyes turned toward the area where Jax and Torren squared off. He didn't speak again, his focus fixed on them.

Riven leaned against a nearby post, arms crossed, her piercing gaze following their every move. She never let her guard down, even when she wasn't sparring herself. Jax knew she was studying them, as much a judge as Rozek.

Torren lunged first, his spear thrusting forward like a serpent. Jax sidestepped smoothly, his sword arcing in a tight, controlled motion to parry the strike. The force of the spear against the blade sent a jarring vibration up his arm, but he didn't falter. He flowed with the movement, pivoting on his heel to bring his sword around in a counterstrike.

Torren spun the spear, catching Jax's blade with the shaft and deflecting it harmlessly to the side. "Not bad," Torren said, grinning. "But I'm just getting started."

He came at Jax again, his spear a blur of quick jabs and sweeping arcs. Jax moved like water, each step and turn deliberate, his sword weaving through the strikes like it was part of him. He didn't block so much as guide the spear away, deflecting its momentum with subtle shifts of his wrist. His movements were smooth, economical, with none of the wasted flourishes of a less experienced fighter. Every parry, every step, was part of a greater flow—a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.

But Torren wasn't making it easy. His strikes came faster, his footwork sharp and aggressive. For all his goofing outside the ring, with a spear in his hands, Torren was relentless. Jax could feel the strength behind each blow, the precision of someone who had truly found his weapon.

The watching recruits murmured among themselves as the spar dragged on, the clash of weapons drawing their attention away from their own matches. Even Riven's usual stoic mask cracked slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched Jax and Torren dance around the ring.

Jax saw his opening when Torren overextended on a lunge. He stepped inside the spear's reach, his sword flashing in a quick arc to tap Torren's ribs. The blow wasn't hard, but it was decisive.

Torren stumbled back, breathing hard, his grin faltering before it returned. "All right, all right. You win this one. But don't get cocky."

Jax lowered his sword, his breathing steady as he studied Torren. "You're better than you let on," he said quietly.

Torren laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to protect."

Rozek stepped forward then, his sharp voice cutting through the murmurs. "Pathetic," he barked. "I've seen drunk villagers fight better than that! Torren, your footwork's a mess—you're leaving yourself wide open every time you strike. And Jax…" Rozek's cold gaze landed on him, making Jax stand a little straighter. "You may have won, but you hesitate. You think too much. In a real fight, that'll get you killed."

Jax didn't respond. He simply nodded, his face impassive as Rozek's words washed over him.

Rozek sneered, turning away. "Both of you—back in the line. Maybe one of you will actually learn something today."

The recruits dispersed, the sounds of clashing weapons resuming across the grounds. Jax and Torren walked off together, Torren still grinning despite Rozek's harsh critique.

"Think we impressed him?" Torren asked, nudging Jax with his elbow.

Jax gave him a faint smirk. "Not likely."

Torren laughed, slinging his arm over Jax's shoulders. "Well, I'm impressed. You fight like a damn blade dancer. I might actually have to train harder to keep up with you."

"You should," Jax said simply, shrugging Torren's arm off as they made their way to the edge of the grounds. His grip on the practice sword loosened, but the tension from the fight lingered. Rozek's words didn't sting—they never did—but they hung in his mind, a reminder that, even in victory, there was always more to prove.

As Jax and Torren stepped off the sparring ring, Riven approached them, her steady gaze sharp as always. Her silver hair was cropped close, the short strands damp with sweat from her own training. She moved with the confidence of someone who had nothing to prove—her strides precise, her posture strong. Though she was tall, with a broad frame and muscular arms, she still had to look up slightly to meet Jax's eyes.

"Not bad," she said, nodding toward Jax. "You're improving. Your movement's more controlled now."

Jax blinked, caught off guard by the rare compliment. He wasn't used to praise from Riven, even when deserved. "Thanks," he said simply.

Torren, standing beside him, let out a low whistle. "Wow, Jax. You should write this down—it might not happen again."

Riven rolled her eyes but didn't bother responding to Torren's teasing. She turned her gaze back to Jax. "You still hesitate, though. Rozek's right about that. Don't overthink—just act. Trust your instincts."

Jax nodded, her words sinking in. He appreciated her straightforwardness; Riven didn't waste time sugarcoating things.

"Torren," she added, glancing at him, "you've got skill with that spear, but you're too reckless. You'll trip over your own ego if you're not careful."

Torren grinned, twirling the spear idly. "Hey, ego's all I've got. Gotta use what I have."

"Use your brain instead," Riven shot back, though there was a faint smirk on her lips.

Before Torren could respond, Kelan jogged up to them, his spear clutched tightly in one hand. He looked much younger than the rest of the squad, with dark hair that fell into his pale, sharp-featured face. Slim almost to the point of being wiry, he resembled a boy still growing into himself—like a teenage version of a character out of a storybook. His clothes hung loosely on his thin frame, and his wide eyes held a mix of nervousness and determination.

"Did I miss it?" Kelan asked, his breathing uneven as he stopped in front of them. "I was on the other side of the grounds."

"You missed a masterpiece," Torren said, slinging an arm around Kelan's shoulders. "Jax fought like he was born with a sword in his hand. And I, naturally, gave him the fight of his life."

"You mean he wiped the floor with you," Riven said, arching an eyebrow.

"Shush," Torren said, grinning. He tilted his head back, the sun catching his messy brown hair and casting light across his sharp, mischievous features. With his rakish grin and lean build, he looked like one of those charming rogues who always got themselves into trouble.

"I wouldn't say that," Jax muttered, brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. It stuck out in every direction, messy from the sparring match. Taller than the others, he stood with an understated confidence, his broad shoulders relaxed but his posture ready. The years of training had begun to shape his lean frame into something stronger, though his unassuming demeanor still made him seem less imposing than he was.

"Doesn't matter," Riven said, cutting through the banter. "What does matter is that you all need to do better. The drills are only going to get harder from here." Her eyes flicked back to Jax. "And you? Stop holding back."

Jax tilted his head slightly. "I wasn't holding back."

"Yes, you were," Riven said firmly. "You always do. Figure out why and fix it. You'll need every edge you can get."

Kelan looked between them, his expression hesitant. "You really think we're ready for harder drills?"

Riven turned her sharp gaze on him. "You're not, but you don't get a choice. Bloodcliffs doesn't care if you're ready. You either survive or you don't."

Kelan swallowed hard, his grip on his spear tightening.

Torren broke the tension with a pat on Kelan's back. "Don't worry, kid. We've got your back. Well, I do, at least. Jax and Riven might be too busy brooding." Jax smirked faintly but didn't reply, while Riven shot Torren a glare that didn't entirely lack amusement.

The group stood together for a moment, their differences striking in the light of the late morning sun. Jax, tall and quiet with his messy blonde hair and sharp, calculating gaze. Riven, strong and tanned, her muscular frame radiating discipline. Torren, lanky but confident, his grin never fading as his brown hair caught the wind. And Kelan, slim and awkward, looking more like a boy than a soldier, but with a determination in his eyes that belied his age. The Bloodcliffs had thrown them together—different personalities, different strengths—and forced them to find common ground. As they stood there, the sparring grounds bustling around them, it wasn't hard to see the beginnings of something solid. Even if they didn't always agree, they were learning to stand together.

The usual clamor of sparring and Rozek's sharp commands dwindled to a low murmur. Every recruit's attention turned to the distant path leading to the training grounds as the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed against the cliffs.

A rider appeared first, his imposing figure giving off a dangerous look. He rode a massive black warhorse, the beast's polished armor catching the faint sunlight. The man atop it was no less striking – a high-ranking officer of the Noxian empire, by the look of his gleaming breastplate and crimson cape that trailed behind him. His stern expression was framed by a short, graying beard, and his cold eyes swept across the camp. His graying hair peaked out beneath his helmet, lending him an air of calculated authority.

Behind him rode a handful of elite guards, their crimson cloaks rippling in the wind. Their armor shone, and their weapons gleamed with an edge that looked ready for war. These weren't Bloodcliffs garrison – they were professionals, the kind who had seen and survived battles most recruits couldn't imagine. It reminded Jax of that day in Kilgrove.

"Who's that?" Kelan asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he gripped his spear tightly.

"I don't know," Riven muttered, her eyes fixed on the officer. "Definitely someone important. You don't send guards like that just for anyone."

"What's he doing here?" Torren added, leaning on his spear. "Inspecting the camp? Or maybe Rozek's finally getting promoted. Imagine that—he'd make someone else miserable for a change."

"Rozek? Promoted?" Riven gave him a flat look. "Unlikely. Men like him stay where they are, useful for breaking recruits but not much else. If someone this important is here, it's for a bigger reason."

Captain Rozek strode forward, his usual harsh demeanor replaced with an air of stiff formality. As the officer dismounted from his imposing black warhorse, Rozek offered a deep, ceremonial bow. The man acknowledged it with a curt nod, his expression unreadable, before the two exchanged brief, hushed words. Rozek gestured toward his office, his movements uncharacteristically restrained, and the officer followed without hesitation. All eyes were on them as they disappeared into the small stone structure at the edge of the grounds. The tension in the air was palpable, recruits pausing mid-drill to steal glances. Outside the office, two of the officer's elite guards took their positions by the door, their stoic presence discouraging even the boldest from lingering too close. Whatever this meeting was, it wasn't meant for anyone else to hear. The four of them lingered on the grounds, their eyes flicking toward it as if willing it to open and reveal its secrets. But the door stayed firmly shut, offering no hints of what was happening inside. When it became clear that neither Rozek nor the mysterious officer would be appearing anytime soon, they reluctantly turned away. The bell for lunch echoed across the grounds, and with little choice, they headed toward the mess hall, their curiosity simmering just beneath the surface.

The mess hall hummed with subdued tension, the kind that clung to the cavern walls like the damp chill in the air. Recruits filed in, their footsteps muted on the uneven stone floor, bowls in hand as they joined their groups at the long wooden tables. Jax saw with Torren, Riven, and Kelan near the edge of the hall, where the torchlight flickered unevenly against the rough-hewn rock. His stew sat untouched, its dull gray surface as unappealing as the mood hanging over the room.

"He's not just some regular officer," Torren was the first one to break the silence, leaning back on the bench with a casual air that didn't match the sharpness in his eyes. "Did you see Rozek? Practically bowing and scraping like he was meeting royalty."

Riven gave a short nod, her dark eyes scanning the room as she absently picked at her bread. "Whoever he is, he outranks Rozek by a long shot. That much is clear."

"Maybe he's here to clean house," Kelan suggested, his tone half-joking but carrying an edge of unease. "I heard stories about officers like that—show up out of nowhere, evaluate the troops, and then…" He made a slicing motion across his throat for effect, earning a few nervous chuckles from those nearby.

"That's just stories," Torren scoffed. "Besides, if they were looking to axe someone, Rozek would be the last man standing. Probably whip the executioner into shape while he's at it."

The recruits at the next table burst out laughing, their volume carrying above the low murmur of the hall. Torren flashed a quick grin, pleased with himself, but the laughter quickly subsided as if everyone remembered the tension hanging over them. Jax stayed quiet, hunched over his tray and stirring the grayish stew with his spoon. He wasn't sure why the officer's arrival had left such a knot in his stomach, but the air had shifted, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't for the better. He glanced at the others around the table, trying to gauge if anyone else felt it too.

"I'm telling you," one recruit said, his voice loud enough to draw attention. "High command doesn't send someone like that unless there's trouble."

"Trouble where?" another recruit cut in. "Out there or in here? Maybe they think we're not ready, and they're bringing in someone to fix that."

"Fix what? Rozek's been running us ragged here. What else do they want – us to fight with our bare hands?" someone quipped, earning scattered chuckles.

"Could be something bigger," another voice offered, quieter but intense enough to hush the nearby group. "What if there's a campaign coming? Some kind of a push. Maybe they're gearing up for war."

"War? Against who?" someone scoffed. "We'd know if that was coming."

"Would we?" the recruit countered. "They don't tell us anything. For all we know, the officer's here to hand us a new directive and march us out tomorrow."

Torren leaned back in his chair, grinning as he joined in. "March us out? Nah. Probably just here to remind Rozek how to smile. Maybe give us a lesson or two while he's at it."

The louder group laughed again, their boisterous reaction rippling outward as more recruits tuned in. Even those not part of the conversation leaned closer, pretending to focus on their meals while clearly listening.

"He could be here for someone specific," another recruit said, his voice cutting through the noise. "You know—looking for someone with potential. Maybe to bring into his personal unit."

"That's what I'm saying!" Torren jumped in. "Obviously, it's me. I've got all the potential he needs. Might even let him carry my gear on the way out."

"Sure, Torren," Kelan said, rolling his eyes. "They're definitely here for your sparkling wit."

As laughter rippled around them, Jax remained quiet. The weight of the situation pressed against him, the room's growing noise doing little to drown it out. He stirred his stew absently, his appetite long gone. "What if it's not about us at all?" Jax said softly, more to himself than the others. "What if he's here for something else entirely?"

Riven glanced at him, brow furrowed. "Like what?"

Jax hesitated, his thoughts swirling. "I don't know. But it doesn't feel... normal."

The table fell quiet, his words echoing faintly in their minds. Across the mess hall, the louder group continued their animated discussion, drawing more attention, but the unease was palpable now, settling over everyone like a shadow. Riven leaned back slightly, her gaze cutting through the rising tide of speculation at their table. She let the others chatter for a moment longer before her voice, low but firm, sliced through the noise.

"Enough," she said, her tone carrying a quiet authority that made the group pause. "You're not going to figure anything out by sitting here and guessing. Eat. Whatever happens, we'll deal with it when it comes."

There was a brief silence as the recruits glanced at one another, reluctant to drop the conversation but unable to argue with her logic. Gradually, they returned to their bowls, though the air remained charged with unspoken questions. The louder recruits at the other table carried on, their theories continuing to echo across the hall, but at Riven's insistence, their own table fell into a quieter rhythm of eating.

Jax, still lost in thought, picked up his drink but barely sipped it. Across from him, Torren smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he finished the last bite of his bread. He wiped his hands on his tunic, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"You know," Torren began, drawing out the words in a way that instantly caught everyone's attention.

Jax froze mid-sip, his instincts kicking in. Torren's "you know" was never casual—it was always the prelude to something. It might be a cutting observation, a biting joke, or an unexpected question, but it was always a bomb waiting to go off.

"What now?" Riven muttered, shooting Torren a warning glance, though the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Torren ignored her, keeping his eyes locked on Jax. "I've been meaning to ask you something," he said, his voice deceptively casual as he leaned in closer. "For weeks, actually."

Kelan perked up, sensing trouble. "Oh, this should be good."

Jax's shoulders stiffened, and he lowered his cup slowly, dread pooling in his stomach. "What?" he asked warily, glancing between Torren and the others. Torren simply grinned, the kind of grin that said he was savoring the moment. He let the tension build, dragging it out just long enough to have everyone at the table leaning forward in anticipation.

"Who's Powder?" he asked at last.

Jax's eyes widened as he choked on his drink, coughing violently as he set the cup down with a clatter. His face turned a deep shade of red, both from the coughing fit and the sudden attention that now zeroed in on him.

"Whoa, easy there," Kelan said, half-laughing as he patted Jax on the back. "Breathe, man."

Even Riven looked caught off guard, her sharp gaze flicking between Jax and Torren. "Powder?" she repeated, her tone curious but cautious. Torren's grin only widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the chaos he'd unleashed. "I mean, you muttered it in your sleep once… or ten times." he said, feigning innocence. "Thought I'd ask."

Jax finally managed to catch his breath, though his chest felt tight, and his heart was still pounding as if he'd just sprinted the length of the cavern. "It's... nothing," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He avoided their gazes, his spoon stirring his untouched stew as if it held the answers he needed. "Just... a name. Doesn't mean anything."

Torren arched an eyebrow, his grin sharpening. "Hmm. Is it a girl?"

"Who knows?" Jax shrugged, his tone forced and dismissive. He kept his eyes on his tray, feigning nonchalance. "I was probably just mumbling nonsense."

Torren leaned in, propping his chin on his hand as his grin widened. "What's she like?"

"What's who like?" Jax asked, his voice a touch too defensive as he glanced up briefly before going back to his stew.

"This Powder," Torren teased, drawing the name out slowly, clearly savoring the reaction. He glanced at Kelan and Riven, raising his eyebrows as if inviting them to join in. "Cute name, right? I bet she's very pretty. Probably why you can't stop dreaming about her. Sounds like someone special."

Jax shrugged again, his ears burning as he desperately searched for something to distract himself. The wooden grain of his bowl suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. He traced the uneven rings with his eyes, hoping they might swallow him whole.

"Nothing?" Torren repeated, his grin turning downright devilish. He tapped his fingers on the table, his teasing tone unwavering. "Well, my friend, I'll get it out of you sooner or later. Doesn't matter how long it takes." He turned to Kelan and Riven, gesturing toward Jax with an exaggerated flourish. "See? Our Jax is capable of human emotions after all. Look at him—flustered, embarrassed, probably wishing he could disappear right now."

Kelan chuckled, his broad grin matching the spark of mischief in his eyes. "I didn't think it was possible, but Torren might actually be onto something." Riven didn't laugh, but her sharp gaze lingered on Jax, studying him like she was piecing together a puzzle. She didn't need to say anything; the intensity of her silence was enough to make Jax shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"I'm not flustered," Jax muttered, finally looking up with a half-hearted glare. His face was red, and he knew it wasn't helping his case. "You're all making something out of nothing."

"Sure, sure," Torren said with a wink, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Keep telling yourself that, Jax. But the more you deny it, the more I want to know."

Jax grumbled under his breath, shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth to avoid responding. The table fell quiet for a moment, though the teasing smirks and glances between Torren and Kelan made it clear the subject wasn't forgotten. Even Riven, her expression neutral but her eyes as observant as always, seemed to be filing the exchange away for later. Torren's attention shifted, now teasing Riven about her stew-stirring technique, when the sharp sound of boots echoed through the cavern. The room fell into silence as Captain Rozek entered, his usual commanding presence making every recruit straighten instinctively.

Rozek's expression was as stern as ever, his sharp eyes scanning the room with the intensity of someone used to getting immediate results. For a moment, it seemed as though he was about to bark an order, the usual drill or reprimand that would send the recruits scrambling to their feet.

Insetad, he surprised them all.

"You've got the rest of the day off," he said, his voice clipped but carrying easily through the cavern. He folded his arms across his chest, "No drills, no duties. Rest up."

The mess hall froze for a heartbeat before a wave of disbelief swept through the room. Whispers broke out, incredulous and excited.

"Did he just say–?"

"A day off?"

"Did I hear that right?"

Rozek's eyes narrowed at the growing murmur and the recruits quickly quieted again. "Don't make me regret it," he added firmly, his tone carrying an unspoken warning. With that, he turned on his heel and strode out, his boots echoing against the stone floor. As soon as he disappeared, the mess hall erupted into excited chatter.

"A day off?" Torren said, his voice filled with disbelief. "Someone pinch me. Jax, you do it – you're good at inflicting pain." Jax rolled his eyes, though even he couldn't hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

"I'm not wasting a second," Kelan said, already pushing his bowl aside and standing up. "Back to the bunks. If we've got a day off, I'm using it to catch up on sleep."

Torren let out a groan, leaning back in his seat as if Kelan's words physically pained him. "Sleep?" he said, "Kelan, my man, you can sleep when you're dead. Tonight is the night."

Kelan paused, turning to give Torren a skeptical look. "The night for what? Listening to you run your mouth until we all regret it?"

Torren grinned, unbothered by the jab. He stood and threw an arm around Kelan's shoulders with a theatrical flair. "No, my unimaginative friend, tonight is the night for adventure. For sneaking out, finding a tavern, and drinking until we forget we have Rozek breathing down our necks tomorrow. Seriously, when's the last time any of us went into town and weren't stuck peeling potatoes in the kitchen as punishment?"

Riven's eyes widened, her tone serious as she cut it. "You're insane, Torren. You know what happens to recruits who get caught sneaking out. Rozek doesn't forget, and he doesn't forgive. You're asking for trouble."

Torren pointed at her with a grin. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're too disciplined, Riven. Too perfect. Always following the rules, always doing what you're told. Just this once, don't be the ideal recruit. Live a little."

Riven rolled her eyes but didn't immediately reply, her jaw tightening as she walked in silence.

"And you," Torren continued, turning to Kelan. "You're so scared of breaking a rule you wouldn't even step out of line if the barracks were on fire. Come on, Kelan. Where's your sense of adventure?"

Kelan hesitated, glancing between Torren and Riven. "Adventure's not worth Rozek chewing me out for a week," he muttered, though there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Torren wasn't about to let up. "Oh, please. Rozek's not even here. He's too busy with that officer to notice what we're doing. We slip out, have some fun, and get back before anyone's the wiser. No harm, no foul."

Kelan opened his mouth to argue but then closed it again, his hesitation growing.

Torren grinned, sensing the crack in his resolve, and turned his attention to Jax, walking a little slower beside them. "And you, Jax," he said, his tone dripping with mock disappointment. "You're the worst of them all. You never do anything. Always quiet, always boring. Come on, tell me I'm wrong."

His arms shoved in his pockets, Jax suddenly straightened. "Fine," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I'll go."

The entire group froze, turning to stare at him like he'd just declared he was joining the elite guard.

"You'll what?" Torren asked, blinking in surprise.

"I'll go," Jax repeated, standing a little taller. "Why not? It's not like we get chances like this often."

Kelan gawked at him, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn't quite process the words. "You're serious? You, Jax? You're actually agreeing with Torren?"

Riven raised an eyebrow, "You're the last person I'd expect to go along with something like this."

Jax shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "You all keep saying I never do anything. Maybe it's time I did."

Torren recovered quickly, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Now this is what I'm talking about!" he said, clapping Jax on the back. "I knew there was a rebel in you somewhere."

He turned to the others, his grin turning smug. "So, Riven? Kelan? What's it going to be? Even Jax is in, and he's practically allergic to fun. What's your excuse?"

Kelan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "This is such a bad idea."

"Maybe," Torren said with a shrug. "But are you really going to let Jax outdo you? Think about that."

Kelan muttered something under his breath but finally sighed. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you."

Torren smirked and turned to Riven, who was still watching Jax like he'd grown a second head. "What about you, oh fearless, rule-following leader? You in, or are you going to sit this one out while the rest of us actually enjoy life?"

Riven hesitated, her jaw tightening as she glanced between them. Finally, she exhaled sharply. "If we do this," she said, her voice firm, "we do it smart. No stupid risks."

"Deal!" Torren said, clapping his hands together. "Let's get moving. We've got a town to visit and a night to remember."

Back at the sleeping quarters, the recruits moved quickly, stripping out of their uniforms and digging through their meager belongings for plain clothes. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and nervous energy, the occasional shuffle of boots and rustle of fabric breaking the otherwise quiet cavern.

Jax tugged on a dark, worn coat that hung just below his waist. The material was rough but sturdy, its edges fraying slightly from use. Beneath it, he wore a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, the fabric slightly wrinkled but clean. He adjusted the collar absentmindedly, his movements steady and deliberate, as if trying not to draw attention to himself. The muted colors suited him—practical and unassuming—but the coat gave him a faintly dashing look that he didn't seem to notice.

Riven, true to form, went for practicality, though her choices turned a few heads. She slipped into snug, dark pants tucked neatly into tall, polished boots that reached just below her knees. The boots had clearly seen their share of wear, scuffed at the edges but still sturdy. What surprised everyone was her shirt—a fitted, cream-colored blouse with delicate lacing along the neckline and cuffs. It was nicer than anything anyone had seen her wear before, and it struck a contrast to her usual no-nonsense demeanor. As she pulled her hair back into a loose knot, the light caught the faint shimmer of the fabric, making her look unexpectedly refined.

Torren, as always, was a walking mess of thrown-together charm. His loose, dark trousers looked like they'd been stolen off a merchant's apprentice, and his shirt—a faded green with a fraying hem—was only half-tucked into his belt. A dark scarf hung loosely around his neck, more for show than practicality, and his long, weathered coat flared slightly at the edges, adding to his roguish appearance. He shoved a battered leather hat onto his head with a flourish, grinning at himself in the polished metal of a lantern as if admiring his own brilliance.

Kelan, on the other hand, looked like he was about to flee back to his bunk. He had settled on plain brown trousers and a loose, navy-blue shirt that hung a bit awkwardly on his lanky frame. His belt, though functional, was tied too tightly, and he kept fidgeting with it nervously as if he expected it to snap at any moment. Over it, he wore a patched gray jacket that looked a size too big, the sleeves nearly covering his hands. The outfit wasn't bad—just uninspired and clearly thrown together without much thought.

Torren noticed and rolled his eyes. "Kelan, you look like you're on your way to sell fish in the market," he teased, giving him a once-over. "At least try to look like you belong in a tavern."

Kelan scowled, tugging at his jacket. "At least I'm not dressed like a highwayman who got kicked out of every inn in town."

"Highwaymen are cool," Torren shot back with a grin, striking a heroic pose. "Besides, I wear it better than you ever could."

"Focus," Riven said sharply, snapping her boots into place with a decisive tug. "If we're doing this, we do it right. That means no drawing attention to ourselves."

"Speak for yourself," Torren quipped, gesturing to her shirt with a playful smirk. "Didn't know you owned anything that nice, Riven. Trying to impress someone?"

Her glare silenced him instantly. "Don't push your luck, Torren."

Jax, meanwhile, finished adjusting his coat and glanced at the group. "Are we going or what?"

Torren clapped his hands together, his grin returning full force. "That's the spirit, Jax! All right, let's move out. Quiet, quick, and—"

"Smart," Riven interrupted, her tone firm. "No unnecessary risks. Stick together."

"Yes, yes, stick together," Torren said with a dismissive wave. "Now, come on! The night's not going to carouse itself."

With that, the four recruits slipped out the sleeping quarters, and into the hallway, hearts pounding in unison as they kept to the edges of walls for cover. Torren led the way, his movements surprisingly nimble for someone so prone to loud declarations, his hand rising briefly to signal when they needed to stop or duck as a pair of guards passed nearby. Riven was close behind, her sharp gaze cutting through the gloom, her ears tuned to every distant shuffle or murmured word.

Jax paused to adjust a creaky gate, carefully opening it just enough to avoid its groan, earning him a quick nod of approval from Riven. Kelan, despite his nerves, managed to keep up, clutching his jacket tightly as if it might keep him from being noticed.

They reached the academy's perimeter—a tall stone wall with an old maintenance ladder hidden by overgrown vines. Torren climbed first, testing each rung before waving the others up. Jax followed with surprising speed, while Kelan hesitated for a moment before Riven nudged him forward.

Dropping down on the other side, they crouched low, taking a moment to listen. The faint murmur of guards at the front gate was far enough away, and the shadowed path toward the hidden exit was clear. They slipped through the narrow gap in the outer wall, a small, forgotten maintenance door barely wide enough for one person at a time. The cool night air greeted them as they emerged, and from there, it was a short trek downhill, the faint hum of the town growing louder with each step.

The town of Bloodcliffs – named after the area itself – sprawled out before them, clinging to the jagged edge of the cliffs like a crooked crown. They paused for a moment, their earlier tension easing into a shared sense of awe. The town was a chaotic patchwork of narrow streets, thin but tall buildings, and rusted lanterns swaying in the sea breeze. The cliffs loomed high above, their sharp crimson-streaked faces reflecting faintly in the moonlight, giving the town its name. Wooden shacks leaned against brick structures, and stone pathways wove like veins through the heart of the settlement. The faint hum of music, laughter, and shouting filtered through the streets, mingling with the smell of salt, smoke, and something faintly metallic from the cliffs. Above it all, the faint glow of torches lit the higher paths, casting flickering light onto the rooftops like stars scattered across the town. It was wild, unruly, and alive—and for a group of recruits used to the strict order of the barracks, it was something else entirely.

Torren led the group through the bustling streets of Bloodcliffs, his enthusiasm practically infectious. The streets were alive with movement—vendors hawking skewers of roasted meat, gamblers shouting over dice games, and sailors exchanging exaggerated tales of their exploits – even at this point of night. Riven kept a sharp eye on their surroundings, her boots clicking softly against the stone, while Kelan stuck close, his gaze darting nervously toward every alley. Jax followed at the back, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, his face unreadable.

"We're going to The Red Gull," Torren announced with the kind of confidence only he could muster. "Cheapest ale, prettiest girls. What more could you want?"

"Less risk of getting stabbed," Riven muttered, adjusting her pace to keep up with him.

Kelan frowned. "Cheapest ale sounds like watered-down swill to me."

"Swill tastes better when it's practically free, my friend," Torren replied with a grin, ignoring the glare Riven shot him. "Trust me, this place is a gem."

Kelan squinted at him, still unconvinced. "Where did you hear about this place? I don't recall you exploring the town before."

Torren paused for a moment "A guy I met at the academy," he said with a casual shrug. "He mentioned it once or twice before."

"Who, exactly? One of the recruits Rozek kicked out for being an idiot?" Riven asked, skeptical.

Torren waved her off with a sigh. "So many questions, you two. Trust me, the place is great. We go, we drink, we laugh, and we're back before anyone knows we're gone. You'll thank me later when you're having the time of your life."

"Or cursing you while we're scrubbing latrines for the next month," Riven muttered, though she didn't stop walking.

Jax, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke. "Doesn't matter where he heard it. We're already halfway there, we might as well go see what the place is about."

Torren grinned, "See? At least someone here knows how to live a little."

They rounded a corner and spotted the tavern—a large, weathered building with faded red paint peeling from its wooden siding. A sign depicting a swooping seagull hung crookedly above the door, swaying slightly in the wind. Laughter and music spilled out into the street, along with the warm, yeasty smell of beer and a hint of something fried.

Torren pushed open the door, stepping inside like he owned the place. The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scents of sweat, spilled ale, and wood smoke. A lively tune played from a corner where a trio of musicians strummed and drummed, their beat nearly drowned out by the chatter of patrons crowded around tables and leaning against the bar.

"Now this is a proper tavern," Torren said, spreading his arms wide. "Smell that? That's freedom."

"Smells like desperation," Riven muttered under her breath, though her eyes scanned the room, cataloging every face and exit.They found a small, rickety table near the back, wedged between a pillar and a rowdy group of sailors. Jax leaned back in his chair, taking in the room with quiet curiosity, while Kelan eyed the closest group warily, his hand hovering near his belt pouch.

"All right," Torren said, pulling a few coins from his pocket and slapping them onto the table. "Let's see what we've got." The others followed suit, placing their meager savings on the table. Between the four of them, it wasn't much—barely enough for a round of drinks and maybe a plate of food to share.

"This is pathetic," Riven said, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. "You really didn't plan this, did you?"

"Planning's overrated," Torren replied, scooping up the coins, grinning as he turned to Jax. "Besides, I have something in mind."

Jax, who had been silently watching the room, blinked in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes, you." Torren clapped him on the shoulder, leaning closer. "You've got the perfect look—quiet, trustworthy, harmless. Bartenders eat that up. You sit there, play the part of the earnest, likable guy, and let me do the talking."

To everyone's surprise, Jax didn't argue. He shrugged, standing up without complaint. "Fine."

Torren hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by Jax's lack of protest, before recovering with a wide grin. "See? That's what I'm talking about. Let's go, partner."

As the two made their way to the bar, Riven raised an eyebrow. "That was… unexpected."

"Maybe Jax is finally catching on to how reckless this all is," Kelan muttered, but even he couldn't hide his curiosity as he watched them go.

At the bar, Torren sidled up confidently, Jax standing just behind him. A young woman stood at the counter, her dark braid hanging loosely over her shoulder. She sipped from a mug, her expression calm and distant. Torren wasted no time.

"Evening," he greeted, leaning casually on the counter. "What's a lovely lady like you doing in a place like this?"

The woman glanced at him briefly, then at Jax, before giving a faint, polite smile. She said nothing.

Torren pressed on. "My friends and I just got into town. Long day, lots of hard work—you know how it is. Thought we'd unwind with a drink or two. Trouble is, we're a little light on coin. But I'm sure someone as kind and generous as you could help us out."

Her smile didn't falter, but her eyes flicked to something behind him. Torren's confidence wavered as a heavy shadow fell over the counter. Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of the bartender.

The man was massive, with arms thick as tree trunks and a beard that bristled like a storm cloud. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the kind of forearms that could snap a barrel in half. He crossed his arms, his glare aimed squarely at Torren.

Torren's grin faltered as he instinctively grabbed Jax's sleeve, pulling him slightly closer, as if proximity might offer some form of protection. "Oh, uh… evening," he said, his voice a little less steady. "We are just… you know… talking. Complimenting your fine establishment."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "You bothering my niece?"

Jax, to his credit, didn't flinch. "Just making a friendly conversation," he said, his tone calm and even.

The bartender didn't look convinced. He tilted his head toward the far side of the room, his expression leaving no room for argument. "Friendly yourselves back to your table."

Torren didn't need to be told twice. "Of course. No problem at all. Great place you've got here. Really welcoming," he babbled, dragging Jax by the sleeve as they backed away. By the time they returned to the table, Torren dropped into his chair with a heavy sigh, slapping the coins onto the wood.

"How'd it go?" Riven asked, the corners of her mouth twitching with suppressed amusement.

Torren groaned as he slouched back in his chair, tossing the coins onto the table with a defeated sigh. "Well, so much for Plan A. Guess the good folks here aren't fans of charm."

Kelan chuckled nervously. "Considering the size of that bartender, I'd say you're lucky to still be in one piece."

Jax, seated across from him, leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "Could've been worse."

Torren pointed a finger at him. "That's the problem with you, Jax. No faith. If you'd backed me up a little better—"

"Shut up for a second," Jax interrupted, his gaze shifting toward the far side of the room. The rest followed his line of sight to a corner where a group of patrons leaned over a small table. The clatter of dice echoed faintly above the din of the tavern, followed by cheers and groans as coins exchanged hands.

"Dice game," Jax said simply. "We could try it."

Torren blinked, momentarily stunned. "You're suggesting we gamble?"

Jax shrugged. "Why not? We don't have enough for drinks, but if we play smart, we might walk away with something."

Riven raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Smart gambling? Sounds like a bad idea."

"Not necessarily," Jax countered, his tone calm and measured. "It's better odds than sweet-talking the bartender's niece."

Kelan frowned, glancing nervously toward the corner. "I don't know… gamblers in places like this don't play fair."

"That's true," Riven added, though there was a faint note of approval in her voice as she studied Jax. "But if we're careful, it's a better shot than waiting around for Torren to get us thrown out."

Torren placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. "Riven, that's harsh. Accurate, but harsh."

Jax stood, adjusting his coat. "So? Are we trying, or are we just sitting here all night?"

Torren grinned, his energy returning. "Look at you, Jax. Taking charge. I love this. Let's do it. Don't worry—I'll handle the charm. You just stand there and look like a winner."

Riven pushed her chair back, standing with a sigh. "Fine. Just don't bet everything at once."

"I'm with Riven," Kelan muttered, rising reluctantly. "We're going to regret this."

The group made their way toward the back of the tavern, the air growing thicker with smoke and the noise louder as they approached the dice game. A group of rough-looking patrons crowded the table, shouting and laughing as coins clinked and dice clattered across the worn wood.

"Liar's dice," Torren murmured under his breath as he watched the players toss their cups. "Perfect. A game of skill, wit, and charm."

"And luck," Jax added, his voice low. He scanned the players, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the way they threw the dice, the subtle movements of their hands, the gleam in their eyes. "They're good," he said quietly. "But not unbeatable."

Torren grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Then let's show them what we've got."

The recruits exchanged wary glances, but it was too late now. Torren stepped forward, confidence radiating off him, while Jax stayed close, his calm demeanor balancing out his friend's bravado. Riven and Kelan hung back slightly, watching the scene unfold, their nerves palpable.

"Gentlemen," Torren said, flashing his most charming grin as he placed a coin on the table. "Mind if we join the fun?"

The man looked up, eyeing them with suspicion. "Depends. Got coin to lose?"

Torren dropped a few of their precious coins onto the table with a flourish. "Not for long," he said with a wink.

The crowd around the table chuckled, and the man waved them in. "Suit yourself."

Torren and Jax slipped into the last two empty seats at the table, the rough wood creaking slightly under Torren's careless sprawl. The dealer, a wiry man with sharp eyes and an equally sharp smile, slid a pair of tin cups and five dice toward each of them. His hands moved with practiced speed, his fingers a blur as he shuffled a small pile of coins between rounds. He gave them a brief nod before turning back to the rest of the players, his grin widening.

Torren immediately leaned back in his chair, lounging as if he owned the place. He shook his cup lazily, the dice rattling against the metal as he tossed it onto the table with a theatrical flair. "Gentlemen," he said, his grin wide and easy, "let's make this interesting."

Jax, in stark contrast, sat upright and still, his hand hovering over the dice without moving to roll just yet. His eyes scanned the table, flicking between the other players. He noted the slight tap of a man's fingers against the cup, the quick glance another shot at his dice before making a bid, the faint smirk of the dealer who clearly knew more than he let on. His focus lingered on one man in particular: seated to his right, his plain cloak and average build made him blend into the room, but his gaze stood out. The man was watching him. Not Torren, not the other players – him. Jax felt the weight of it as he studied the stranger out of the corner of his eye. The man's expression was calm, his posture unassuming, but there was something in the way his eyes moved, tracking every small adjustment Jax made, as though cataloging him. Sizing me up for the game, Jax thought, brushing it off as another player trying to gauge his confidence. Still, the intensity of the gaze left a faint prickling at the back of his neck.

The first few rounds were a disaster.

Torren, bursting with confidence, wasted no time trying to make a statement. His bids were bold—too bold—and his charm wasn't enough to keep the other players from calling him out. "Five fours," he declared in the second round, leaning forward with a grin that dared anyone to doubt him.

The man across from him—a gruff sailor with arms as thick as anchor ropes—raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Call."

The cups lifted. The table erupted in laughter as Torren's bid fell apart, revealing only two fours across the entire table. The sailor let out a bark of laughter, slapping the table hard enough to make the dice bounce. "Nice try, kid."

The coins they'd wagered clinked across the table to the winners, leaving their already small pile noticeably thinner. Torren shrugged, still smiling as he leaned back again. "Early losses," he said, loud enough for the crowd around them to hear. "Keeps the rest of you feeling comfortable."

The laughter around the table grew louder at that, the other players clearly enjoying his audacity. Even the dealer chuckled as he slid the dice back into Torren's cup. "Comfortable's not the word I'd use," he said with a sly grin.

Jax said nothing, his gaze still darting between the players, studying every shift and twitch. But even he couldn't help a faint sigh as Torren leaned forward for the next roll, clearly unbothered by their dwindling pile of coins.

Torren rattled the dice in his cup again, leaning forward with his ever-present grin as he tossed it onto the table. The tin clattered loudly, drawing the attention of the other players. He peeked under the rim of the cup, his eyes flicking over the dice.

"Three threes," Torren declared confidently, sitting back and folding his arms as if daring the others to challenge him.

Jax didn't even look under his cup. He kept his focus on the table. The dealer, quick and calculating, raised the bid without hesitation. "Four threes," he said smoothly, his voice calm, his cup resting lightly under his fingers. The sailor, still grinning from his earlier win, tapped the edge of his tankard thoughtfully before raising it further. "Five threes."

Torren raised an eyebrow at that, his grin faltering for a split second. He glanced at Jax, but Jax said nothing, his eyes locked on the sailor. "Six threes," Torren said, lifting his cup just slightly to glance again at his dice before setting it back down. His voice was steady, but Jax could tell from the angle of his shoulders that he wasn't sure.

The sailor didn't hesitate. "Call."

The table went quiet as the players lifted their cups, the crowd leaning in eagerly. The dice revealed only four threes across the table. The sailor laughed heartily, leaning forward as he swept the coins from the center of the table into his pile.

"Still feeling confident, kid?" the sailor asked, his grin widening as Torren rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Jax stayed silent, his expression unreadable, but his focus sharpened as the coins in front of him and Torren dwindled. They needed to play smarter. When the next round began, Jax gently placed a hand on Torren's arm.

"Let me call this one," he said quietly.

Torren hesitated, then nodded, leaning back and letting Jax take the lead. The dice rattled sharply as Jax shook his cup and let it fall onto the table with a crisp clatter. He didn't lift the rim, didn't even glance at his own roll. His eyes stayed locked on the players. "Three fives," he said evenly, his voice cutting through the hum of the tavern. The sailor across from him hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed his options. "Call," the man finally growled. One by one, the cups were lifted, revealing exactly three fives across the table. The crowd murmured with approval, and Torren let out a low whistle as the coins clinked toward their side of the table. The next few rounds were slow and careful. Jax stayed conservative, only raising the bid when he was certain, relying more on his ability to read the players than the dice beneath his cup. His calm demeanor began to chip away at the confidence of the other players. Their pile of coins had stabilized, though it was still a shadow of what they needed.

By the time the final round came, the tension around the table was thick. Their pile of coins had grown enough to give them a chance, but the stakes were higher than ever. The sailor leaned back, his eyes narrowing at Jax and Torren. Jax noticed the cloaked man glance his way again. This time, the man wasn't looking at the dice or the coins – he was studying Jax directly. His gaze felt different, sharper. Jax shifted in his seat, brushing off the unease. He's just trying to throw me off.

"Last round," the dealer announced, his sly smile betraying his amusement at the growing intensity.

Torren leaned closer to Jax, speaking under his breath. "Think we can pull this off?"

Jax gave a small shrug, his eyes darting between the sailor, the dealer, and the other players. "Only one way to find out."

The dice rattled as each player rolled their hand, cups clattering onto the table. The dealer started the bidding. "Three sixes," he said smoothly. The cloaked man looked under his cup, sighed, and said nothing. The sailor raised it. "Four sixes."

Torren leaned in slightly, catching Jax's attention. "What do you think?"

Jax didn't answer immediately. He watched the sailor's hand tapping against his cup, the slight tension in his jaw. He leaned forward, his voice low but confident. "Five sixes."

The sailor stared at Jax for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw tightening. The crowd held its breath as the sailor finally slammed his hand onto the table. "Call."

The cups lifted one by one, revealing the dice beneath. The first few players revealed none, or one of the sixes. When it came to Jax's cup, he lifted it carefully, revealing three sixes. The crowd erupted as the total came to exactly five. Jax sat back, his expression calm, though there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Torren laughed loudly, sweeping their winnings into his pouch.

"You beautiful, boring genius," Torren said, clapping Jax on the back as the crowd around them murmured in approval.

The sailor grumbled something under his breath, shoving his chair back and stalking off. The cloaked man stood up, his movements smooth. He gave Jax a nod, his lips curving into a faint, unreadable smile before he turned and melted into the crowd, his dark cloak swallowed by the noise and shadows of the tavern. The dealer chuckled, "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."

Jax stood, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. "Luck," he said simply.

Torren and Jax made their way back to the table, the pouch of coins jingling with every step. Torren walked with his usual swagger, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "I told you we'd make it happen," he said loudly, slapping the pouch onto the table with a flourish. "And what did I say? Drinks, food—tonight's on us!"

Riven raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the bulging pouch. "You actually pulled it off?"

"Of course we did," Torren replied, dropping into his chair with exaggerated flair. "Jax here is a secret weapon. Quiet as a mouse, sharp as a blade."

Kelan leaned forward, his eyes wide as he peered at the pouch. "How much did you win?"

"Enough," Jax said simply, sliding into his seat with far less fanfare. His calm demeanor was a sharp contrast to Torren's boundless energy, but there was a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

Riven smirked faintly, crossing her arms as she leaned back. "You're lucky. That kind of gambling can turn south fast."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Torren said, wagging a finger at her. "It was all charm, strategy, and a little bit of brilliance." He leaned toward Jax and added in a stage whisper, "Mostly my charm, though."

Jax gave him a sidelong glance. "Your charm almost got us thrown out in the first round."

Torren waved his hand dismissively. "The important thing is we won. Now let's make the most of it before someone challenges us for it."

The group leaned closer as Torren untied the pouch and spilled a handful of coins onto the table. The sight of the glinting silver and copper pieces drew a few envious glances from the surrounding patrons, but Torren quickly scooped them back into the pouch and tightened the drawstring.

"What now?" Kelan asked, his nervous energy clear as he drummed his fingers on the table. "We've got the coins, but we're still in a tavern full of people who don't look too happy about losing."

Torren grinned, sitting back with his hands behind his head. "Now, my dear Kelan, we celebrate. Food, drinks, and maybe a song or two." He glanced toward the bar, his eyes lighting up. "Let's start with a round. I'll get the first one."

"No," Riven said sharply, holding up a hand. "I'll go. You're too loud, and you've already caused enough attention."

Torren gasped in mock offense. "Riven, I'm hurt. But fine, if it means you'll stop scowling, you can go."

Riven stood, her boots clicking softly against the floor as she made her way to the bar, her usual air of authority intact. Kelan watched her go, then leaned toward Torren. "Do you think she's actually going to get drinks, or just come back with a lecture?"

Torren laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Relax, Kelan. Riven might be strict, but even she knows when it's time to loosen up. Tonight's a victory, and we're going to enjoy it."

Jax leaned back, his hands resting in his lap as he watched the others quietly. The tension in his shoulders crept up almost unbidden, a quiet warning at the edge of his thoughts. They'd won the dice game, but something told him they needed to tread carefully now. Kelan had a point – the other palyers didn't look too pleased. Maybe it was time to watch how much they drank or spent.

The tavern erupted into cheers as the musicians struck up a lively, foot-stomping tune. The air buzzed with energy as patrons rose from their seats, joining the growing crowd on the makeshift dance floor. Laughter and clapping rang out above the stomping of boots, the lively rhythm infectious as people twirled, spun, and swayed in chaotic but joyous motion.

At their table, Torren leaned back in his chair, grinning at the spectacle. He tapped his mug against the table in time with the beat, the corners of his mouth lifting with excitement. "Now this," he declared, "is what a proper night looks like. Good music, good vibes—doesn't get better than this!"

Before he could launch into a longer proclamation, Riven stood abruptly, brushing off her sleeves as she pushed her chair back with purpose.

Torren blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—you're actually going to dance?"

She shot him a flat look, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "What's the point of sneaking into town if we're just going to sit here all night?"

Without waiting for a reply, Riven strode toward the dance floor. Torren and the others watched in stunned silence as she stepped into the throng, weaving through the crowd with confidence. The lively tune picked up pace, but Riven didn't miss a beat. Her movements were sharp and precise, each spin and step falling perfectly in line with the rhythm. In contrast to the wild, chaotic stomping of the other dancers, her grace made her stand out. Even the most seasoned tavern regulars glanced her way, some cheering in approval.

"Well, I'll be damned," Torren said, his grin widening as he crossed his arms. "Our fearless leader is actually dancing. Didn't see that coming." He clapped his hands and gestured toward Kelan. "Come on, you two. If Riven can do it, so can you. Don't let her show us up like this!"

Kelan gave an exasperated sigh, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you really think I can pull off anything close to that?" He gestured toward Riven, who spun effortlessly, her sharp footwork earning nods of approval from some of the more skilled dancers nearby.

Torren barked out a laugh, tossing back the last of his drink. "Who cares if you can't? It's not about skill; it's about not looking like you're glued to the seat. Now get up before I drag you out there myself."

Kelan muttered something under his breath but reluctantly stood, his movements stiff as he pushed back his chair. "I already regret this," he said, trailing behind Torren as they made their way to the dance floor.

Jax stayed behind, leaning back in his seat with as he watched the two join the fray. Kelan, predictably, stumbled on his first few steps, his face flushing red as he tried to mimic the clapping and stomping around him. Torren, by contrast, launched himself into the chaos with reckless enthusiasm, his arms flailing as he twirled wildly, nearly colliding with a nearby couple.

"Jax!" Torren called over the music, waving him over with exaggerated gestures. "Don't just sit there—get in here! Even Kelan's dancing!"

Jax shook his head as he waved his hand dismissively, the gesture clearly saying, Not a chance.

"Your loss!" Torren shouted with a shrug, spinning back toward the music with gleeful abandon.

Jax stood, stretching briefly before making his way to the bar. The noise of the tavern dulled slightly as he leaned against the counter, gesturing to the barkeep. "Water," he said simply, sliding his empty mug aside.

The cool drink was a sharp contrast to the heat of the room, and as Jax sipped it, his gaze drifted back to the dance floor. Riven moved with practiced ease, each motion sharp yet fluid, her expression focused but with a faint hint of enjoyment. Kelan, still red-faced, stumbled into a clumsy spin orchestrated by Torren, drawing laughter from nearby patrons.

Torren, as usual, was the center of attention, his wild, uncoordinated movements earning cheers and jeers alike. Yet none of it seemed to matter to him—his grin was unwavering as he pulled Kelan back into the rhythm. At some point, a bold, laughing girl joined him, matching his chaotic steps with surprising enthusiasm. Torren twirled her dramatically, nearly losing his balance but recovering with a laugh that only made the crowd roar louder.

"Quite the observer, aren't you?" a voice said beside him.

Jax turned his head, spotting a man standing just a few feet away. The figure was unremarkable, the kind of person who could disappear into any crowd without drawing attention. He was of average height, his travel-worn cloak hanging loosely over a lean frame, the hood pushed back to reveal a face as plain as the rest of him. The only thing that stood out was his darker skin, a shade uncommon in this part of the world, though not striking enough to seem out of place. Recognition flickered in Jax's mind—it was the same man from the dice game earlier, the one who had been watching him a little too closely.

"Maybe," Jax replied, taking another sip of water.

The man nodded slowly, his expression calm but faintly amused. "There's a value in watching from the sidelines. You see things others miss. The way the pieces move, the patterns forming… sometimes that's more important than taking part yourself."

Jax didn't respond, his eyes flicking briefly toward the dance floor where Torren and Kelan were causing a scene.

"You showed that earlier," the man continued, his voice low enough to be heard only by Jax. "At the dice game. The way you read the table, the players."

Jax shrugged, setting his mug on the bar. "I was just paying attention."

The man's faint smile didn't falter. "Attention is a rare gift," he said, his tone carrying a quiet weight. "Most people stumble through life, blind to forces at play. But a few… a rare few… can see the patterns, the connections."

Jax glanced at him, his brow furrowing slightly. "I just wanted to win a few rounds. You're making it sound like I uncovered some big secret."

"Perhaps you did," the man replied with a faint smile. "Even small games reflect larger truths. Every roll of the dice, every bid, every call—it's all part of something greater. Few realize how their actions echo beyond the moment. But those who see... they're different."

Jax shifted, growing wary of the man's cryptic tone but unwilling to engage further. "You talk a lot for someone who lost every throw."

The man chuckled softly. "Fair enough. But games like that—like life itself—are always more interesting when you watch the ones who know how to play." His gaze lingered on Jax for a moment, not probing, but weighted enough to feel intentional.

Jax turned back to his drink, brushing the conversation off. "Guess you picked the wrong guy to watch. I'm nobody."

"Perhaps," the man said, his tone neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "But even nobodies can become... pivotal." He adjusted his cloak. "Enjoy your night, Jax."

Jax froze briefly, his name catching him off guard. "I didn't tell you my name."

The man smiled faintly, as if Jax had said something amusing. "You didn't need to," he said, stepping back into the crowd. Jax stared after him, frowning as the man disappeared into the swirling mass of tavern patrons. For a moment, the noise of the room seemed distant, his mind lingering on the man's strange words. Considering how loud Torren had been all night, it wasn't a stretch to assume the man had overheard his name. Just another oddity in an already unusual evening. He was still nursing his mug of water when the others joined him at the bar. Torren arrived first, slapping a hand on the counter with a wide grin as Kelan stumbled up behind him, red-faced and slightly out of breath. Riven trailed after them, brushing back a strand of hair that had come loose during the dance.

"Well, wasn't that something!" Torren declared, motioning to the barkeep for another round.

"Speak for yourself," Kelan muttered, collapsing onto a stool. "I think I stepped on someone's foot at least five times. My legs are killing me."

"Dancing's supposed to hurt a little," Torren explained, patting him on the back. "Means you're doing it right. Look at Riven – she didn't complain once, did she?"

Riven grinned, leaning casually against the bar. "That's because I actually know how to move without flailing like a drunken fool."

"You sound like you actually enjoyed the dance," Torren gasped.

Riven rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "It wasn't terrible," she admitted, her tone measured. "The music was decent, the rhythm was easy to follow… and it was good to cut lose a bit."

Torren gawked at her, then leaned toward Jax. "Did you hear that? 'Good to cut lose' she says!"

Jax gave a small shrug, sipping his water. "Everyone needs a break sometimes."

"Even Jax gets it," Torren said with enthusiasm, throwing his hands in the air. "Next time, maybe we'll even get him to join us out there. What do you say, Jax? Ready to show us some moves?"

Jax's response was as dry as ever. "Nope."

The group laughed, even Riven cracking a small smile. The group laughed, even Riven cracking a small smile. Torren grabbed his freshly filled mug, raising it in mock salute. "Well, here's to progress! Who knows? Next time, we might just turn this whole crew into dance floor legends."

"Unlikely," Riven said, but the corner of her mouth twitched as if she was holding back a laugh.

The group lingered at the bar for a while longer, Torren regaling them with exaggerated tales of his "legendary" dance moves while Kelan groaned in embarrassment. Riven sipped her drink quietly, her rare smiles still lingering from earlier, while Jax stayed on the edge of the conversation, his usual silence unbroken. As the tavern began to wind down, the laughter and music fading into the hum of quieter conversations, Riven gave a curt nod.

"Time to go," she said, her tone firm but lacking its usual edge.

Torren stretched with an exaggerated yawn. "Fine, fine. Back to the grind tomorrow, anyway."

The four slipped out into the cool night air, the noise of the tavern replaced by the distant rustle of trees and the steady rhythm of their boots on the stone path. Shadows stretched long under the faint moonlight as they navigated the hidden route back to the barracks, their earlier laughter fading into quiet contentment. By the time they slipped through the narrow maintenance door, the night felt like a fleeting dream, already fading into the past.

The next morning, the recruits were woken not by the usual bell for practice but by a sharp order to report to the training grounds immediately. The barracks buzzed with murmured questions and groggy complaints as the recruits shuffled into their uniforms. Cloaks were hastily thrown over shoulders to ward off the worsening chill, boots pulled on with urgency as the steady drumming of rain grew louder outside.

The sky was heavy and dark, the thick clouds turning the early morning into something that felt more like dusk. The sun was hidden entirely, its light reduced to a muted, cold gray that barely illuminated the camp. By the time Jax and the others stepped out into the open, the air was damp and biting, the scent of wet earth mingling with the faint tang of rain. Droplets fell in an uneven rhythm at first but quickly swelled into a steady patter, soaking cloaks and splashing into the churned mud beneath their boots.

As they reached the training grounds, the recruits formed practiced rows, their movements stiff in the cold. Breath misted in the chill air, rising like smoke into the low-hanging gloom. The familiar hum of early chatter was absent; the dark, oppressive sky and the relentless rain had quieted even the loudest among them. Only the sound of rain hitting wet cloaks and splattering against the mud broke the silence.

Torren stood beside Jax, pulling his hood lower to shield his face from the downpour. "Well, this is cozy," he muttered, his usual humor dulled by the weather.

Jax didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the center of the training grounds, where their commanders stood waiting. The high-ranking officer they had glimpsed the day before was there again, his presence radiating a quiet authority that weighed heavily on the gathering.

Beside him stood Rozek, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of recruits. He was unusually silent, his posture stiff and watchful, as if awaiting a cue to speak. The rain continued to drum against the grounds, the darkened sky pressing low overhead, making the day feel as heavy and uncertain as the gathering itself. Then Rozek stepped forward, his sharp gaze cutting through the rows of recruits as the rain continued to fall in steady rhythm. His voice, as cold and unyielding as the weather, carried easily across the grounds.

"Attention!" Rozek barked, his voice cutting through the rain. "You are standing before Commander Ulric, one of the most esteemed leaders in the Noxian ranks. He has a matter of great importance to address, and you would do well to heed his words."

The recruits straightened, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as all eyes shifted to the man beside Rozek.

Commander Ulric stepped forward, his presence commanding yet calm. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, his dark cloak soaked from the rain but still managing to look imposing. His hair was neatly cropped, his face framed by a short, sharp beard that matched the steel in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deep and steady, cutting through the rain with ease.

"I've only heard the highest praises about the recruits from Bloodcliffs Academy," Ulric began, his words slow and deliberate. "Your discipline. Your resilience. Your potential. They tell me this group has what it takes to become more than just soldiers—Noxians in every sense of the word."

The recruits stood taller, their postures stiffening with pride. Even the rain seemed quieter under the weight of his words.

Ulric's gaze swept over the rows of recruits, pausing ever so slightly as his eyes landed on Jax for the briefest moment. It wasn't a glare or a challenge—just a fleeting glance, almost imperceptible, before his focus returned to the group as a whole.

"Let me be perfectly clear," Ulric continued, his tone taking on a sharper edge. "The training you have undergone thus far has merely prepared you for what lies ahead. The true test begins now."

A murmur rippled through the rows, quickly silenced as Ulric raised a gloved hand.

"Noxus is at war," he said firmly, his words striking like thunder. "And your training will continue not here in the safety of these grounds, but in the east—on the front lines of Ionia. There, you'll learn what it truly means to fight for the Empire. You'll face enemies who will stop at nothing to see us fail. And you will prove that they are no match for Noxian strength and unity."

The weight of his words settled over the recruits like the rain, cold and heavy. Jax's fingers flexed at his sides as he kept his face neutral, his mind racing. Ulric let the silence stretch for a moment, his piercing gaze scanning the recruits once more before he spoke again.

"This is your opportunity to demonstrate your worth to the Empire. To rise above, to distinguish yourselves, and to claim your rightful place as warriors of Noxus. The true battle begins now. Do not falter."

He stepped back, signaling that his speech was done. Rozek immediately stepped forward again, his sharp voice snapping the recruits back to attention. "You heard the Commander! Gather your gear and be ready to move out by nightfall. Dismissed!"

The recruits dispersed in tense silence, their boots squelching against the muddy ground as they made their way back to the barracks. By the time they reached the sleeping quarters, most had retreated into their own thoughts, the weight of the commander's words settling heavily on them. Ulric's words echoed in his mind. He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. War. It had always been an abstract concept – stories told by grizzled veterans, whispered rumors that drifted through the barracks, or distant commands barked by Rozek during training. But now, it was real.

The thought of being sent to the front lines felt like a stone lodged in his chest. Jax wasn't afraid, not exactly – fear wasn't a luxury afforded to recruits. But this wasn't just another grueling test or training exercise. This was life and death, the kind of test you couldn't retake if you failed.

Jax sat on the edge of his cot, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers idly clasping and unclasping as his thoughts churned. The visions came to mind again—the dreams that haunted him almost every night. He had grown used to them by now, the fragmented images and whispers that faded with the morning light, but they remained an enigma. No closer to understanding their meaning, he felt, for a brief moment, as though he were walking a path that led nowhere. The questions they stirred only deepened the hollow truth he couldn't escape: he still knew almost nothing about himself.

Around him, the barracks were quieter than usual. Torren sat nearby, fidgeting with his gear in an attempt to mask his unease, while Kelan stared blankly at the wall, his shoulders slumped. Even Riven, ever composed, seemed more withdrawn, checking her boots in silence over and over. Jax leaned back, letting his head rest against the cold wall behind him. The room felt smaller somehow, the air heavier. He closed his eyes for a moment, not to sleep, but to steady himself. War was coming, and there was no turning back.

Chapter End Notes

This is the longest chapter I've written so far, so let me know if it feels too long! Just a quick heads-up — I've got a few surprises coming up, and I haven't forgotten about Piltover and Zaun in this arc :)

The Cost of Steel

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The ship groaned as it cut through the choppy waves, the salty tang of the sea mingling with the faint hint of distant land. Days at sea had worn on the recruits, the endless expanse of water gradually giving way to the shadowed outline of Ionia's western coast. The sharp peaks and verdant forests of Navori loomed ahead, their serene beauty undercut by the tension gripping the soldiers on board. The rhythmic crash of waves against the hull blended with the creaking wood and the low murmur of soldiers making their final preparations for the landing.

Jax stood at the ship's railing, the wind tugging at his cloak as he gazed at the dark silhouette of the approaching coast. At his side, in a worn scabbard, rested the sword he had found at the docks in Zaun—an artifact of another life, one that now felt distant and almost unreal. The blade had been sharpened, its edge ready for battle, though the weight he carried was more than just steel. Around him, the recruits moved with quiet purpose, checking their weapons and whispering amongst themselves. The western coast of Navori, with its dense forests and rugged cliffs, was rumored to be an ideal staging ground for Ionian ambushes. The coastline grew nearer, details emerging through the mist that clung to the jagged rocks and towering trees. Each passing moment brought the soldiers closer to the unknown, the tension thickening like the fog that blanketed their destination.

Jax exhaled slowly, his breath forming pale mist before it vanished into the cold air. With one last glance at the distant cliffs, he turned from the railing, his eyes sweeping briefly to the side. The Noxian fleet stretched out across the water, its dark, formidable ships cutting through the waves in a disciplined line. Their blackened sails stood stark against the muted gray sky, each vessel trailing plumes of smoke from its chimneys. It was a fleet built for war, brimming with soldiers and supplies. He watched the closest ship for a moment, noting the faint movements of soldiers and sailors going through the same preparations as on his own vessel. The sight was both imposing and oddly repetitive, each ship a piece of the larger machine driving them toward an uncertain future.

With a soft grunt, Jax pulled his gaze away and moved to join the activity on the deck. The recruits were scattered, helping the sailors secure gear and prepare for landing. Without hesitation, Jax slipped into the rhythm, grabbing a coil of rope and hauling it toward a stack of crates near the bow. The hemp fibers were rough against his hands, and the weight of the rope bit into his shoulders as he worked.

Setting the coil down, he crouched beside a row of supply crates and began lashing them down, pulling the knots tight. Each movement was methodical, his focus sharp. The ropes needed to hold when the ship hit the shallows—one loose crate could crush a soldier or be lost to the waves. The other recruits worked nearby, their faces drawn and tense, murmuring occasionally but mostly silent under the weight of the embarkation.

As the ship tilted slightly on a larger wave, Jax stood and moved to the next task. A sailor gestured for help with the cargo netting near the midship, and Jax joined without hesitation. Together, they secured barrels of rations and water, the heavy wood creaking as it shifted into place. The wind whipped through the deck, carrying shouts from the officers above, their voices sharp and commanding as they barked orders to keep everything on schedule.

Jax moved briskly across the deck, this time assisting two recruits as they secured the boarding planks. The ropes were stiff from the cold, but his hands worked deftly, knotting and pulling until the lines were taut. His muscles burned from the effort, but he kept moving, the repetitive work serving as a welcome distraction from the uncertainty ahead.

Activity on the deck swelled to a chaotic rhythm, and before long, Jax found himself at the railing again, drawn back to the sight of the approaching land. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the ache from his work, though the knot in his chest refused to loosen. The wind carried the faint scent of earth now, blending with the ever-present salt of the sea. Glancing toward the other ships in the fleet, he watched their crews moving in synchronized preparation—a stark reminder of the massive war machine he was now a part of, bearing down on enemy shores.

At the bow, Jax stood among the recruits as the deck trembled faintly underfoot, the anchor chains rattling as they plunged into the sea. The soldiers around him were silent, their breaths visible in the crisp air. They had been drilled endlessly for this moment, but the difference between a drill and war hung heavy in the air.

The coastline drew nearer, the cliffs looming like jagged sentinels against the gray sky. Below, a faint mist curled along the water, blending into the restless waves. Jax's hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, his gaze steady as he watched the cliffs grow larger. His thoughts flitted between the task ahead and the creeping unease clawing at the edges of his mind.

"Hey," Torren's voice broke through the tension, casual and light as he approached. He leaned lazily on the railing beside Jax, his tone dripping with his usual irreverence. "You're quieter than usual. And that's saying something."

Jax didn't immediately respond, his eyes still fixed on the shore. He took a deep breath, the chill air biting his lungs. "Just thinking," he said quietly, his tone low and distant.

"Thinking, huh?" Torren tilted his head, his faint grin betraying his amusement. "That's dangerous business. Bad for morale." When Jax didn't respond, Torren nudged him lightly with an elbow. "Come on. Don't tell me the big, brooding guy is scared of a little sand and trees."

Jax turned slightly, meeting Torren's gaze for a fleeting moment. His lips curved into a subtle, ambiguous smirk—neither a confirmation nor a denial. It was just enough to keep Torren going.

"Ah, I see," Torren said with mock understanding. "It's the sea, isn't it? All those days of rocking waves finally got to you. Seasick and too proud to admit it. Don't worry, I won't tell the others. Gotta preserve your whole stoic mystique, right?"

Jax let out a soft breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh. His smirk lingered as he turned his eyes back to the horizon. "Something like that," he muttered, his voice laced with dry humor.

Torren grinned wider, leaning a little closer as if to press further, but stopped himself. There was a strange weight to Jax's silence today, heavier than usual, and even Torren's relentless teasing couldn't crack it. "Fine," he said, straightening up. "Keep your secrets, mysterious swordsman."

Jax's thoughts turned inward, dwelling on the army filling the fleet behind him. Most were recruits—young, inexperienced, and far from ready for the realities of war. Their training had been relentless, their formations drilled into precision, but it didn't take a seasoned eye to see their shortcomings. Discipline could be taught, but the hardened edge forged only in battle was something they lacked. And they were so young.

Some were barely older than Jax himself, though many seemed far younger. Noxus, in its boundless hunger for conquest, had no qualms about sending children to war. The empire prized strength and utility above all else, and if you could hold a weapon, you were a soldier—age and innocence be damned. Jax's stomach churned as he caught sight of a boy nearby, his armor ill-fitting and his hands trembling as he checked his gear. It wasn't the first time Jax had seen the empire's ruthless pragmatism, but that didn't make it easier to stomach.

Over the past days, Jax had overheard the recruits' fragmented whispers—snatches of speculation about their mission and the Ionian resistance they might face. The officers kept their plans tightly guarded, leaving the soldiers to piece together half-truths and wild guesses. One theory, repeated so often it almost felt like fact, was that they were to clear the way for the main host.

It made a certain kind of sense. The main Noxian force had already secured Fae'Lor and was pressing further south. Perhaps this northern contingent was meant to act as a feint, drawing Ionian attention away from the larger push. Another rumor suggested something bolder: a coordinated strike deep into Navori from both north and south, a pincer movement designed to crush Ionian resistance in one decisive campaign.

But Jax doubted it. The fleet lacked the numbers and resources for such a bold offensive. There were no siege engines, no significant cavalry, no mages, and their supplies were meager at best. The recruits were barely blooded; they weren't capable of spearheading an assault into Ionia's heartland. If this operation was truly meant to deliver a decisive blow, the planners in Noxtorra had gravely overestimated the odds. More likely, this force was a diversion—or worse, expendable fodder sent to hold the line and absorb Ionian retaliation while more seasoned troops advanced elsewhere.

The thought sat heavily in Jax's chest, but he didn't let it linger. Speculation wouldn't change anything. In Noxus, orders weren't questioned, and soldiers weren't spared for sentiment. He shifted his weight, his hand brushing against the scabbard at his side. The blade he carried, a relic of his old life, had served him well before. But this was different.

This wasn't just a skirmish or a street fight. This was war, vast and merciless, where the plans of generals often boiled down to lives spent like coins. Whatever the empire intended for this fleet, Jax knew one thing: when the time came, it wouldn't be strategy or grand designs that decided survival. It would be raw instinct and unyielding resolve.

And Jax had no intention of being caught unprepared.

The ship's ramp slammed into the shallow water with a heavy thud, sending a reverberation through the air as soldiers began to disembark. The beach stretched wide and desolate before them, a bleak expanse of gray sand framed by jagged cliffs and sparse patches of vegetation. The only sounds were the rhythmic crash of waves and the distant cries of seabirds, an eerie quiet that hung heavy over the scene. The recruits moved cautiously, their boots splashing in the surf and sinking slightly into the damp sand as they spread out into the emptiness.

Jax stepped off the ramp, the cold water biting through his boots as he set foot on the beach. His gaze swept across the coastline, taking in the stark, barren landscape. No sign of resistance—no Ionian warriors emerging from the cliffs, no traps hidden in the terrain. The absence of any threat was almost unnerving. After days of bracing for the worst, the silence felt unnatural, a calm before a storm they couldn't yet see.

"Keep moving!" an officer barked, his voice slicing through the stillness. "Form up along the ridgeline! Secure the perimeter and hold your positions until the supplies are unloaded."

The recruits shuffled into lines, their movements stiff and uneasy. Jax joined his group, falling into step beside Riven and Torren. A few paces behind, Kelan clutched his shield tightly, his eyes darting nervously to the cliffs as if expecting shadows to spring to life. The officers strode among the soldiers, their commands sharp and urgent, directing them to fortify the beachhead.

"Spread out! I want those supply wagons on solid ground in ten minutes!" another officer shouted, motioning toward the ships where sailors labored to haul crates and barrels ashore.

Jax kept his head down, his hands resting lightly on the hilt of his sword as he moved with the group. Yet his attention was drawn to a solitary figure further down the beach. Commander Ulric stood atop a rise near the cliffs, his crimson cloak vivid against the drab gray of the landscape. Even at a distance, his presence was magnetic, an aura of command rippling outward like an invisible tide.

Ulric was deep in conversation with a cluster of officers, his gestures deliberate and measured. The officers stood rigid, nodding with the deference of soldiers who knew better than to question. Even without hearing the exchange, Jax could sense it: the way Ulric carried himself, the calm authority in his movements. It was as if the commander already saw the battle ahead, each piece of the campaign fitting perfectly into a plan only he fully understood.

For a moment, Jax lingered, his eyes fixed on the crimson cloak fluttering faintly in the breeze. Ulric wasn't like other commanders Jax had seen. There was an air of inevitability about him, as though war bent itself to his will. This wasn't just a man leading an army; this was a man whose reputation preceded him, built on brutal efficiency and unflinching resolve.

The stories had reached even the greenest recruits—tales of entire uprisings crushed with cold precision. Villages burned, dissidents silenced, and order imposed, all under Ulric's watchful command. He was the type of leader who turned chaos into submission, and his presence alone seemed to still the unease of the soldiers, even as it fed their fear.

"Jax!" Torren's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and laced with impatience. "Are you planning to stand there gawking all day, or are you going to help? This isn't a sightseeing tour."

Jax blinked, pulled from his reverie. He glanced at Torren, whose usual smirk was replaced by a look of mild exasperation. "Right," Jax muttered, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword as he turned back toward the group. But even as he moved to rejoin them, the image of Ulric on the rise lingered in his mind.

As he hauled a crate from the wagon, his eyes drifted toward the treeline beyond the beach. The woods loomed too close for comfort, a shadowy boundary where the dense canopy of Ionian trees seemed to swallow the dim light of the overcast sky. The shifting mist that clung to the forest floor made it feel alive, as if the shadows themselves might step forward at any moment. He returned his focus to the crate, setting it down with a dull thud among the growing pile of supplies. The others worked in silence, their breaths puffing visibly in the cold air as they moved and worked. Yet Jax's attention kept wandering back to the woods, his gaze flicking over the tangled mass of branches and undergrowth.

It was too close—too perfect for an ambush. If there were Ionian resistance fighters hiding in the depths, the Noxian forces would never see them coming. The advance scouts had supposedly cleared the area, but Jax knew how easily plans could falter. A missed signal, a delayed report, or even a single Ionian archer slipping through the lines could turn their beachhead into chaos.

He adjusted his grip on the next crate, his knuckles tightening against the rough wood. The officers barked orders nearby, their voices sharp and commanding, but Jax barely registered the words. His thoughts were on the treeline, on how thin their defenses felt despite the precision of the landing. The cliffs provided a natural barrier on one side, but the woods... they were another story entirely.

"Something interesting out there?" Torren approached. He straightened from the crate he'd just dropped, following Jax's gaze toward the forest.

Jax didn't respond immediately, setting his crate down and brushing his hands off on his cloak. "We're too close to the treeline," he said quietly, his voice low enough that only Torren could hear.

Torren scoffed, though his tone lacked its usual bravado. "Come on, we have more than enough scouts to warn us of the attack, if there even is one." He gave a dismissive wave. "Besides, the Ionians are probably still licking their wounds from Fae'Lor."

Jax didn't argue, but his frown deepened. He glanced at Riven who worked nearby, wondering if she felt it too. Her movements were calm, her expression neutral as she directed Kelan to stack the crates properly. If she was worried, she didn't show it. The officers shouted again, this time ordering the recruits to double their pace. Jax tightened his grip on the crate and focused on his task, forcing himself to ignore the treeline for the moment.

The beach was bustling with activity for another few hours, but the initial tension of disembarking had begun to fade. The wind whipped across the beach, carrying sharp, salty air that bit at exposed skin and made every movement heavier. It tugged at the cloaks of soldiers and sent loose strands of hair flying into faces. The recruits worked against the blustery gusts, hauling crates and hammering stakes into the stubborn ground as their cloaks flapped violently behind them.

Jax knelt by a stack of crates, fingers stiff from the cold as he tightened the ropes securing them. Each knot felt harder to tie as the wind pulled at his hands, threatening to undo his progress. Around him, soldiers moved briskly, heads ducked low against the gale, their voices barely audible over the howling gusts.

Torren leaned against a barrel a few paces away, his dagger twirling lazily in his gloved fingers. The wind didn't seem to bother him much—or maybe he was just better at ignoring it. "You know," he started, his voice raised just enough to cut through the noise, "this isn't so bad. I was expecting more chaos. Screaming, arrows flying past, that sort of thing. But nope—just crates and a lot of wind."

Kelan, crouched nearby and muttering under his breath as he wiped mud from his boots, gave Torren a sharp look. "Don't say that. You'll jinx us."

"Jinx us?" Torren repeated with an exaggerated laugh, raising his hands theatrically as the wind nearly knocked his dagger from his grip. "Come on, Kel. This isn't some spooky Ionian fairytale. A little breeze isn't going to summon their spirit warriors to chop us into pieces."

Kelan muttered something under his breath, but his grip on his shield relaxed slightly. "Still doesn't mean you should tempt fate."

Riven walked over, carrying a heavy bundle of stakes over her shoulder. She dropped them with a solid thud and shot Torren a pointed look. "If you have enough energy to run your mouth, you have enough energy to actually help."

"Ah, Riven," Torren said, mock bowing. "Our fearless leader, always keeping us in line." He straightened with a grin and grabbed a stake, twirling it like a sword. "Fine. I'll work. But if I'm impaled by some mystical Ionian warrior while doing this, I'm haunting you."

"Good," Riven replied dryly, picking up another stake. "At least then you'll be useful."

Jax smirked faintly at their exchange, adjusting the scabbard at his side as he bent to secure another crate. The biting wind stung his cheeks and made the task twice as exhausting, but the rhythm of work kept his mind occupied. Around him, the recruits grumbled quietly as they pushed against the elements, their voices barely carrying over the steady howl.

Not far from them, a group of soldiers gathered around a small, flickering fire they'd managed to light despite the wind's best efforts. Their laughter rose briefly above the gusts, mingling with the clanging of armor and the shouted orders of the officers. For a moment, the camaraderie lightened the mood, and even the officers seemed less sharp, their commands losing the edge of urgency now that the camp was slowly taking shape.

"See?" Torren said, gesturing to the laughing soldiers as he drove a stake into the ground. "Nothing to worry about. We're practically on vacation."

Riven shot him a sharp look but said nothing, while Kelan sighed and muttered, "You really need to stop saying things like that."

Kelan, still wiping mud from his boots, muttered, "I wish you'd stop tempting fate."

Jax stood, brushing the dirt from his hands and glancing toward the forest once more. The treeline was still and quiet, the mist curling lazily around the base of the trees. For a moment, he let himself relax. Maybe Torren was right. Maybe the Ionians had retreated too far inland to bother with a beachhead this close to the cliffs.

"You okay there, Jax?" Torren's voice pulled him back to the present. He turned to see his comrade watching him with a raised eyebrow, leaning casually against a stake. "You've been staring at the woods like they owe you money."

Jax shrugged, brushing his hands against his cloak. "Just keeping an eye out." Then he drove the last stake into the ground with a final push, the sharp crack of wood splitting dirt swallowed quickly by the howling wind. The cold air tore at his cloak, and he straightened, adjusting the scabbard at his side as he glanced toward the camp. Fires flickered dimly in the distance, their light barely visible through the thickening mist that clung to the ground.

Kelan, standing a few paces away, wiped his hands on his cloak and let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Finally," he muttered, stepping back to survey their work. He glanced toward the treeline, where the fog seemed to drift closer, weaving between the swaying branches. "Is it just me, or is this fog getting worse?"

Torren groaned loudly, stretching his arms with exaggerated flair. "It's not just you, Kelan. The fog's trying to freeze us to death or confuse us—or both. I swear, this weather has a personal grudge against me. Can't see a thing, can't feel my hands, and now we've got mist sneaking up on us like some Ionian ghost story."

Riven shot him a sharp look, her expression taut with irritation. "You could try working without complaining for five minutes. Just once."

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" Torren replied, grinning as he leaned on the hammer he'd been using. "Besides, complaining keeps the blood pumping. Important survival tactic, you know."

"Important survival tactic is keeping quiet so you don't attract attention," Riven snapped, clearly fed up. She pulled her cloak tighter against the wind and motioned toward the camp. "We're done here. Let's head back."

The group started moving, their boots crunching over the damp ground as the wind whipped around them. The camp's fires flickered like faint beacons in the distance, and the sounds of soldiers working echoed faintly through the haze. Kelan stuck close to Riven, his shield slung over his back, while Torren trailed just a step behind, still muttering under his breath about the miserable weather.

But Jax lingered, his pace slower as his eyes flicked to the treeline one last time. He stopped in his tracks, frowning at the fog, when the realization struck. The weather didn't make sense – wind like this should tear the mist apart, not let it gather and settle. He glanced up at the trees that swayed violently, their branches creaking under the force of the gale, but there was something unnerving about the way the fog seemed untouched by the chaos. It was too thick, too still, as if it had its own purpose.

"Jax!" Riven's voice cut through the wind, pulling him from his thoughts. She stood several steps ahead, her arms crossed and her expression impatient. "Let's go."

Jax followed Riven's voice, his boots crunching against the dump ground as he moved to catch up with the group. The others were just ahead, but their forms blurred by the thickening mist. Something wasn't right. His eyes scanned the perimeter, watching intently. For a moment, nothing moved, only the shifting shadows of the swaying branches. But then – there. Flickers of movement, subtle but deliberate, like the faint ripple of water disturbed by a stone. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

Jax squinted, his breath low as he tried to make out the shapes. Figures, maybe, darting between the trees. They were quick, their movements fluid, blending seamlessly with the mist. He opened his mouth to call out to others but hesitated, unsure if what he was seeing was real or just his nerves playing tricks on him.

A sharp gasp broke the silence. Jax turned his head sharply as a figure stumbled into view, staggering toward the camp from the direction of the woods. It was a scout, his armor bloodied and his face pale as he clutched his side. The man's breaths were ragged, each step faltering as if he barely had the strength to stay upright.

The scout rasped, his voice choked with pain. "They're–"

He never finished.

An arrow tore through the fog, striking the scout clean in the throat. His words turned into a wet, gurgling sound as his hands flew to the shaft protruding from his neck. He collapsed to his knees, then fell face-first into the mud, his blood pooling beneath him.

For a heartbeat, everything froze. Jax stared at the fallen scout, the reality of what had just happened crashing down like a physical weight. The world around him seemed eerily still, the only sound the mournful howl of the wind.

Jax's eyes snapped upward, scanning the treeline again. His breath caught in his throat as he spotted faint glimmers of movement high among the branches. The dark shapes were barely visible through the mist, but there was no mistaking them now. They were coming.

"Get down!" Jax shouted, his voice cutting through the fog just as the first volley of arrows rained down.

The projectiles sliced through the mist with deadly precision, their sharp tips glinting faintly in the dim light. Jax dove for cover, his shoulder slamming into the dirt as arrows thudded into the ground around him. He heard the cries of soldiers, the clash of metal, and the sickening sound of arrows finding their marks.

Kelan hit the ground behind him, his shield raised over his back as arrows clattered against it. "What the hell is going on?!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Torren scrambled toward the nearest supply crate, his usual bravado gone as he ducked low, swearing loudly. Riven, already on one knee with her sword drawn, barked orders to the recruits nearby. "Find cover and hold your positions! Don't scatter!"

Jax rolled onto his side, his heart pounding as he examined the fog for their attackers. The arrows kept coming, streaking down from above like sharp rain, but the Ionian fighters were still hidden, their positions masked by the mist and the trees.

The volley of arrows ceased as suddenly as it had started, leaving a tense, uneasy silence in its wake. Jax pushed himself up from the dirt, his boots slipping slightly in the damp ground. Around him, recruits and soldiers began to stir, some cautiously rising from cover, others staying low, their eyes scanning the fog for any sign of movement.

In the distance, Jax heard the faint, muffled murmurs of commands. Officers were shouting orders as they tried to rally the scattered forces. He couldn't see them clearly through the haze, but it was obvious the camp was mobilizing. Soldiers poured toward the perimeter.

But Jax's focus was on the treeline. The fog swirled unnaturally as shadows began to emerge, shifting and solidifying into figures. The Ionians were coming. He gritted his teeth, his heart pounding as the shapes moved closer, taking form.

The first wave of Ionian warriors broke through the mist. They wore leathers that blended seamlessly with the colors of the forest, dark greens and browns that seemed to ripple like water. Some carried curved swords, their blades glinting faintly in the dim light, while others wielded bows, their quivers slung across their backs. A few bore polearms. Their faces were far from calm, twisted with fury that burned in their eyes—a smoldering intensity that sent a chill down Jax's spine.

Behind Jax, the Noxians, already shaken but unyielding, surged forward to meet the threat. Their heavy boots thundered against the ground as they moved into defensive positions along the perimeter. Shields locked with a metallic clang, swords gleamed in readiness, and spears jutted forward like a wall of death. They formed a solid line of steel and muscle, bracing to hold back the advancing Ionians. The clash was imminent, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

Jax's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. He drew it with a sharp, metallic ring, the familiar weight grounding him in the chaos. For a brief moment, his other hand brushed against his chest, where the pendant rested beneath his armor—a fleeting comfort, a reminder of the innocence he was about to leave behind.

To his left, Kelan stood with his sword and shield, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip. His breathing was audible even over the wind, quick and shallow as his eyes darted between the advancing Ionians. To his right, Riven's stance was steady, her longsword gleaming in the faint light as she raised it with practiced precision. She said nothing, but her sharp gaze was locked on the charging enemy, her determination unwavering.

Torren, a step behind, twirled his spear with surprising ease, his usual grin absent but a spark of excitement flashing in his eyes. "Well," he muttered, his voice carrying just enough to be heard. "I guess they didn't come for tea."

Jax exhaled deeply, steadying himself as the Ionians closed the distance. The sharp clash of metal echoed across the perimeter as the first lines met, but Jax's focus remained on the enemy ahead.

"Stay close!" Riven's voice rang out, clear and commanding amidst the chaos. She raised her longsword, its edge catching the dim light as she stepped into position. "Hold the line, and don't let them break through!"

Jax nodded silently and stepped forward as the first Ionian fighters reached their perimeter. The air vibrated with the crackle of energy and the raw tension of battle, each movement electric with anticipation. As the Ionian warriors surged toward them, Jax raised his blade, its weight steady in his hands.

The first Ionian came fast, his curved sword a blur slicing through the mist. Jax barely had time to react, parrying the blow with a sharp clang of steel that jolted up his arm. He shifted his stance instinctively, mirroring the rhythm of his opponent's movements. The Ionian's face was taut with fury and determination, his strikes swift and precise, each arc calculated to kill.

For a moment, they were evenly matched, their blades clashing in a furious dance of sparks and ringing steel. Jax could see the man's breaths coming in sharp bursts, his chest heaving with exertion. The fog swirled around them, cloaking the world beyond their clash, making it feel as though they were the only two on the battlefield. Jax caught the flicker of something in the man's eyes—resolve, yes, but also the unmistakable shadow of doubt beneath the rage.

When the warrior lunged, his blade thrusting in desperation, Jax sidestepped and brought his sword around in a decisive arc. The blade found its mark, cutting cleanly across the man's abdomen. The Ionian staggered, clutching his wound, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he crumpled to the ground. His sword fell from his grasp, landing with a muted thud in the wet sand. Jax stood over him, his chest heaving from the exertion, as the man's glassy eyes flickered up at him for the briefest moment before closing forever.

Jax's gaze dropped to his blade, the dark blood smeared along its edge catching the faint light. For a second, the noise of the battle seemed distant, muffled by the pounding of his heart. His grip tightened, and his thoughts threatened to linger—but only for a moment.

The clang of metal nearby snapped him back into the chaos. As the battle intensified, other recruits began to gravitate toward Jax, Riven, and their group. Scattered and disoriented by the sudden assault, they instinctively sought the steadiness of a familiar face or a commanding presence. A young soldier stumbled toward them, his shield raised awkwardly as he deflected a wild swing from an Ionian fighter. Another recruit, blood streaking down the side of her face, fell into step beside Kelan, her sword trembling in her hand as she adjusted her footing.

"Stick together!" Riven ordered, her voice cutting through the din as she parried a blow and drove her attacker back. "Form up—don't let them pick you off!"

The recruits moved closer, their movements halting but determined. One of them, a wiry boy barely old enough to hold a sword, stood beside Jax, his breath coming in quick, panicked gasps. Jax spared him a brief glance, his tone steady but firm. "Keep your blade up. Watch their movements, not just their weapon."

The boy nodded quickly, adjusting his grip and stepping in line with the others. Jax kept a watchful eye on him, ready to intervene if needed. Another soldier joined Torren's side, her spear held tightly as she mirrored his wide, sweeping strikes to keep the Ionians at bay. Kelan braced his shield, glancing nervously at the growing group. "We're going to need more than this," he muttered, his voice tight with fear.

Riven intercepted an Ionian swordsman with a brutal, calculated swing, her blade slicing through the fog like a silver arc. "We hold," she said, her voice hard with resolve. "No matter what."

Jax didn't respond, his focus locked on the Ionians pressing forward. He adjusted his stance as another attacker lunged at him, their curved blade slashing toward his chest. Jax stepped to the side, deflecting the strike with his own sword. The man recovered quickly, pressing forward with a series of rapid blows, attempting to overpower him. Jax parried each strike just how Rozek taught him at Bloodcliffs. Seizing a brief pause in the flurry of attacks, Jax stepped inside the attack and drove his blade into the man's chest. The Ionian froze, his eyes wide with shock as he staggered, blood spilling down the front of his leather armor. Jax pulled his sword free and turned back to the fight, his attention immediately returning to the boy at his side.

The boy was fighting a taller Ionian wielding twin blades, his movements frantic but surprisingly quick. The Ionian's strikes came fast, his blades weaving an intricate pattern of death. Jax saw the boy falter, his footing slipping on the blood-slick sand. Acting on instinct, Jax stepped forward, intercepting a strike meant for the boy with his own blade. The impact jarred his arm, but he held firm, shoving the Ionian back with a powerful swing.

"Stay behind me!" Jax barked, glancing back at the boy. The boy hesitated, fear and determination warring on his face, but he nodded and adjusted his footing. Jax turned back to the Ionian, who came at him with renewed aggression. Their blades met in a clash of sparks, and Jax pressed forward, forcing the attacker to give ground.

But the boy didn't stay behind him.

Jax caught movement from the corner of his eye—another Ionian, emerging from the fog, his blade raised high. The boy saw him too and reacted, darting forward to block the strike. "No!" Jax shouted, his voice raw, but it was too late. The Ionian's sword plunged past the boy's hasty defense, piercing his chest.

The boy's eyes went wide, a choked gasp escaping his lips as the blade struck true. He staggered, his sword slipping from his grasp, and fell to his knees. Jax turned with a roar, his blade flashing in a furious arc that ended the attacker before he could pull his weapon free. The Ionian fell, lifeless, but the damage was done.

Jax dropped to the boy's side, his heart pounding as he reached out to steady him. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the boy's armor and pooling in the sand beneath him. "Hold on," Jax said, his voice unsteady, though he knew the truth. The boy's breaths were shallow, his gaze unfocused as it flickered to meet Jax's.

"I tried to…" the boy whispered, his voice barely audible. His lips twitched, as if he wanted to say more, but the light in his eyes faded before he could. His body slumped forward, lifeless, the sword he had fought so desperately to wield lying useless in the dirt.

Jax's chest tightened as he stared down at the boy's still form. Around him, the battle raged on, but the sounds felt distant, muffled by the rush of blood in his ears. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to his feet. There was no time to grieve, no time to linger. Another Ionian charged at him, and Jax raised his blade, meeting the next threat with a ferocity fueled by loss.

As the fight pressed on, Jax moved with a burning rage. The weight of his failure bore down on him, but it only sharpened his fury, turning each clash of steel into an outlet for the storm churning within him. Every step through the chaos was a reminder of the cost of this battle, of those who weren't coming back. The recruits around him fought with desperate resolve, but their inexperience was painfully evident. Torren's spear slashed through another Ionian, and Riven's orders rang out sharply over the din, but the cracks in their line widened with every surge of the enemy.

The Ionians pressed harder, sensing the weakness. Somewhere deeper in the fog, a shout rose, and reinforcements poured in, threatening to overwhelm the Noxian perimeter.

And then, the tide shifted.

The sound of heavy boots pounding against the earth rose above the chaos, accompanied by the rhythmic clank of armor. Emerging through the mist came Commander Ulric and his elite guard, their crimson cloaks vivid against the gray backdrop. Unlike the recruits, these soldiers moved with precision honed by years of battle. Their shields were larger, their weapons heavier, and their every step exuded discipline and confidence.

"Hold!" Ulric's voice boomed, cutting through the cacophony like a blade. He raised his sword high, the polished steel gleaming even in the dim light. "Rally to me! Show these Ionians the strength of Noxus!"

The recruits nearest the commander responded immediately, their scattered movements falling into line as they regrouped around him. The elite guard charged forward without hesitation, their shields forming an impenetrable wall as they collided with the Ionian vanguard. The sound was thunderous—metal slamming into metal, grunts of exertion mingling with the cries of the wounded.

Jax fought his way closer to the elites, instinct pulling him toward their unyielding formation. He found himself stepping into their rhythm, matching their relentless pace. The recruits, disorganized and faltering, filled the gaps behind the shield wall, their blows growing steadier as they mirrored the confidence of the veterans.

Ulric himself was a force of nature, his sword cutting through Ionian lines with the weight of inevitability. Every swing was precise, every strike deliberate. The air around him seemed to hum with his presence, his commands rippling outward and transforming chaos into cohesion.

Jax deflected the Ionian's blade, his sword ringing sharply as he stepped inside his opponent's guard. The man pressed forward, his strikes precise and relentless, forcing Jax to match him blow for blow. Just as Jax prepared to counter, a blur of movement cut between them. Riven's longsword arced cleanly through the air, slicing across the Ionian's torso. The man staggered and fell, and Jax stepped back, his grip tightening on his sword as his focus shifted to the next threat. For a moment, he glanced at Riven, her sharp gaze already locked on another enemy.

"Push them back! Drive them into the trees!" Ulric's voice rang out over the battlefield, commanding and unwavering.

The elite guard advanced like a tide, their shield wall pressing the Ionians back step by step. Jax moved with them, his strikes sharper, his footing surer. The Ionians, once fluid and aggressive, began to falter, their retreat growing chaotic as they fell back toward the treeline. Within moments, the fog swallowed them, their war cries fading into the distance.

As the last echoes of battle faded, the Noxians held their position, battered but victorious. Ulric strode through the ranks, his expression hard but satisfied as he surveyed the aftermath. "Secure the perimeter," he ordered, his tone calm but firm. "Tend to the wounded and prepare for another assault. We do not leave this position vulnerable."

Jax leaned on his sword for a moment, his breath misting in the chill air as the adrenaline drained from his veins. The recruits around him moved mechanically, some tending to the injured, others staring blankly at the blood-soaked sand. The gap between the elites and the recruits was clearer than ever—the elite guard had turned the tide, their discipline and strength an unreachable standard.

Jax's gaze wandered to a figure nearby—a fallen Ionian warrior, still breathing but barely. The man clutched at his side, blood pooling beneath him as he struggled weakly to sit up. His face was pale, his eyes defiant even as death loomed.

A member of the elite guard approached, his armor pristine despite the carnage, his crimson cape fluttering lightly in the breeze. Without hesitation, the soldier raised his sword and drove it downward. The blade pierced the Ionian's chest with a sickening crunch. The man gasped sharply, his body convulsing once before falling still, his defiance extinguished in an instant.

Jax froze, his gaze locked on the scene. The elite soldier withdrew his blade, his expression unchanged. To him, it seemed, killing was just another task—a necessary duty, performed without hesitation or remorse. Jax's grip on his sword tightened as his thoughts churned. Is this the nature of war? he wondered. To kill, to survive, to harden oneself to the point where life and death felt like numbers on a ledger?

His eyes dropped to the crimson stain spreading in the dirt. For the first time, he truly noticed the blood on his own hands—smeared across his gloves, streaked along the hilt of his sword. He had done the same, hadn't he? Was there any difference between him and the soldier who had delivered the final blow?

A presence nearby broke his thoughts. Jax turned and found himself locking eyes with Commander Ulric. The commander's piercing gaze was heavy, a mix of scrutiny and something darker—something Jax couldn't quite name. It wasn't approval or disdain; it was as though Ulric was measuring him, assessing whether he understood what it meant to fight under the banner of Noxus.

The moment stretched unbearably long before Ulric broke the stare, his attention shifting back to the soldiers around him. "Secure the area," Ulric barked, his voice cutting through the silence. "I want the wounded treated and the dead cleared. This ground is ours."

The soldiers moved to obey, their movements precise and unyielding. Jax exhaled shakily as he wiped the blood from his blade. Torren's voice pulled him back to the present. "You alright?" Torren asked, his usual humor absent, his tone subdued.

Jax nodded but didn't speak. He glanced at the recruits—those who had survived—and saw the weight of the battle etched into their faces. Kelan sat hunched against a crate, his shield clutched tightly in his hands, his glassy eyes staring at nothing. Riven moved among the survivors, steady and deliberate as she worked to reorganize them.

As Jax scanned the battlefield, his eyes caught on a figure lying motionless in the dirt. His chest tightened as he recognized the wiry frame, the ill-fitting armor, and the sword lying loosely at his side. It was the boy he had tried to protect.

Jax's steps faltered as he approached, his breath catching in his throat. The boy's name came to him suddenly—Arden. He hadn't thought about it before, but now it rang clear in his mind. Arden had been quiet, reserved, one of the many faces in the academy's sea of recruits. Yet Jax remembered him clearly. He was only twelve.

The training grounds came back to him in a rush – Arden had been there, quiet, and unsure, his grip on the practice sword awkward and his stance all wrong. Rozek had barked at him mercilessly, the drillmaster's voice ringing out across the yard. Jax had stepped in, more out of instinct than anything else. He'd taken the boy's hands, adjusted his grip, and shown him a simple sequence, how to angle his strikes – enough to get Rozek off his back for the day. It had been a small thing, barely a moment in the relentless grind of drills, but Arden didn't say much, only nodding with an embarrassed smile.

The faint memory twisted in his chest. He'd taught the boy to hold a sword, and now here he was, that same sword lying useless in the dirt beside him. Jax reached out and closed the boy's eyes with a trembling hand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, barely audible over the distant sounds of the surviving soldiers.

He stood, his gaze lingering on the boy for a moment longer. The bloodstained sand stretched out around him, the bodies of the fallen scattered like broken pieces of a story that would never be finished.

Jax sheathed his sword, his hands shaking faintly. As he turned back toward the others, the hollow weight in his chest remained, heavier now than before. The faces of the recruits blurred together, but the boy's remained sharp, etched into his mind.

Chapter End Notes

I made a slight adjustment in the previous chapter: I've de-aged Jax from sixteen to fifteen. While reviewing the arc 2 storyline outlines, I realized this change was necessary for narrative purposes to better align with the plot and Jax's character development.

A Tale of Blood

Jax's heart pounded as he ran, and he stared in dismay at the barren hills surrounding him. This was not just a place where spring was late in coming; spring had never come here, and never would come. Nothing grew in the cold soil that crunched under his boots, not so much as a bit of lichen. He scrumbled past boulders, twice as tall as he was; dust coated the stone as if never a drop of rain had touched it. The sky overhead was a void – a yawning, inky blackness broke only by a faint, swirling streaks of violet and sale green, as though the stars had been smeared by some invisible hand.

Jax looked over his shoulder often as he ran, but he could not see his pursuers. Only desolate hills and jagged black mountains. If he could not see his hunters, though, he could hear them, the distant sound of whispers – layered, incomprehensible – filled his ears, gnawing at his sanity. The apparations loomed just behind him, their presence a chilling weight that pressed against his back.

With desperate haste he scrambled to the top of a knife-edged ridge, then dropped to his knees with a groan. Below him a sheer rock wall fell away, a thousand-foot cliff plummeting into a vast canyon. Its depths were shrouded in swirling shadows that shimmered with faint, unnatural hues, like oil on water. The air rising from the chasm carried a strange hum, low and pulsing, as though the canyon itself was alive, breathing something unknown into the stillness around him.

It was not the canyon itself that sapped his strength, nor the shadows that swirled within its depths, but something far more profound – a presence that defied comprehension. At the heart of the churning darkness lay an opening, a void so vast and hollow it seemed to drain all hope. It pulled at him, unseen and unstoppable. He had never seen it before, but he knew it. It felt achingly familiar, as if it etched into his soul. The memory of it flashed away like quicksilver – impossible to grasp, but the memory was there. He knew it was there.

Unseen fingers touched him, pulled at his arms and legs, urging him toward the edge of the canyon. His body twitched, instinctively ready to comply. His arms and legs stiffened as if he thought he could dig his fingers and toes into the stone. A suffocating force, like ghostly strings, entwined around his heart, pulling him, beckoning him closer to the rift. He felt his will draining away like water out of a cracked vessel. The pull was relentless, a silent command whispering of surrender, of succumbing to the nothingness beyond. He could feel it – the inevitability of obedience, the call to vanish into the void. But then, amidst the despair, he discovered another emotion: anger. The thought of being dragged like a lifeless puppet stoked something deep within him. Push him, pull him, he was no sheep to be herded, no pawn to be moved by unseen hands. The anger squeezed itself into one hard knot, and he found a lifeline, a fragile raft against the flood of emptiness threatening to consume him.

Unmade, undone, a voice whispered in the stillness of his mind. A familiar voice. If he listened hard enough he was sure he would know it. It watches, unseen. He shook his head to try to get it out of his head. Inevitable!

A figure loomed over him, in a cloak the color of a twilight sky, a figure with a face… He did not want to see the face that looked down at him. He did not want to think of that face. It hurt to think of it, turned his mind to embers. A hand reached toward him. Not caring if he fell over the edge, he threw himself away. He had to get away. Far away. He fell, flailing at the air, wanting to scream, finding no breath for screaming, no breath at all.

Jax fell to his knees again, clutching his head as a sharp, throbbing pain wracked his skull. His vision blurred, and when he opened his eyes, the world around him had changed. It was no longer the jagged ridge or the yawning canyon – it had become something else entirely.

Impossible towers rose and fell in the distance, their edges shimmering like mirages, as though they existed only partially in this reality. Some seemed like towering spires, clawing at the emptiness above, while others were jagged arches bent at unnatural angles. The ground – or what might have been the ground – was now visible, an endless plane of glass-like darkness, reflecting the endless swirl of black and indigo from above. It felt like the world was unraveling in front of him, and yet somehow, still held him in place.

He stood, legs trembling as he gazed out into the vastness of this impossible place and made a step forward. His boots made no sound against the glassy surface. As he walked, the silence pressed in, so thick and stifling that even the faint hum beneath his feet began to feel distant. He looked at the moving silhouettes ahead, unsure if they were distant or impossibly close.

The first shape he came to was massive, a broken archway that rose from the ground like the ruins of an ancient gate. Its edges shimmered faintly with indigo light, and strange carving etched into the surface seemed to ripple when he tried to focus on them. They weren't letters or symbols he recognized, just twisting patterns that made his head ache the longer he looked.

Lost. Forgotten. Claimed, the whispers came again, echoing in his mind, and leaving a hollow ache. He stumbled back from the archway, shaking his head, and turned away, only to find more structures rising around him, each one impossibly large and fractured. Towering monoliths stretched into the swirling sky, their surfaces uneven, yet impossibly precise, as though they had been carved by hands far more advanced than any he'd ever known. Some seemed to defy gravity, leaning at impossible angles or floating slightly above the ground. Shadows danced around them, but there was no clear source of light, only the faint, eerie glow of the violet.

To fade. To consume. The words seemed to come from the very air around him, spoken by a thousand unseen voices. He turned, searching for the source, but there was nothing. He moved forward, his steps quickening as unease settled deeper into his chest. The silhouettes seemed to grow taller, more imposing, as though they were watching him, their broken forms reaching out like claws.

One structure caught his attention – a massive, shattered dome, its edges splintered into shards that pointed outward like the petals of the monstrous flower. Within, faint lights pulsed and swirled, forming patterns unknown to him. He stepped closer, drawn to it despite the cold knot of dread tightening in his stomach. The hum of grew louder, vibrating through his bones, and the whispers overlapped, their words becoming harder to distinguish. The end begins. It claims. It unmakes.

He stumbled back from the dome, shaking his head as the voices filled his mind, pressing in from all sides. His vision blurred, the landscape around him warping. The towers, the arches, the impossible structures all seemed to shift and twist, their forms folding in on themselves like they were collapsing under the weight of their own existence.

And then he saw them—the silhouettes.

At first, they were just faint shapes at the edge of his vision, like shadows cast by something he couldn't see. But as he turned toward them, they became clearer. Dozens of figures stood scattered across the ruins, their forms still and silent. Some were humanoid, others were strange and angular, their shapes jagged and incomplete. They didn't move, but Jax could feel their presence, heavy and suffocating. One figure seemed closer than the rest, taller and more defined. Its edges glowed faintly with violet light, and though it had no face, he felt its gaze on him.

He froze, unable to look away, his heart pounding as the hum grew into a deafening roar. The ground beneath him began to crack, violet light spilling through the fractures and crawling toward him like living tendrils. The silhouettes flickered and twisted, their forms shifting as though struggling to remain whole. You walk in the shadows.

The light from the cracks beneath him flared, blinding him. Jax stumbled backward, shielding his eyes, but the ground gave way beneath him, and he fell. He tumbled through the violet-lit void, the whispers growing louder and louder until they became one deafening voice that echoed in his skull.

"You will return."

Jax woke with a start, shivering as he jolted upright. The faint light of dawn filtered through the canvas walls of his tent, casting muted shadows across the cluttered interior. His belongings – scarred armor, travel-worn boots, and a mess of scattered tools – were piled in one corner. The muffled sounds of the camp filtered through the fabric: distant voices, the occasional clatter of steel, and the ever-present rustle of the Noxian banners snapping in the wind.

He groaned and shifted in his cot, feeling a sharp pain stab at his side. His hand instinctively pressed against the sore spot, and his fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword. He sighed, realizing that he rarely went to sleep without his sword in his hand. And with the weapon digging in his ribs the whole time, it was no wonder he had nightmares.

"Damn it," he muttered, pulling the sword free and setting it on a table with a dull thud. He rubbed his side, wincing at the ender spot. The tent felt colder than usual, the winter chill seeping through the cracks and folds of the tent walls. For a moment, the nightmare clung to him. It's been a while, months, maybe longer, since he'd had one of those nightmares. When the campaign started, the nightmares stopped and he dared thought he'd left them behind.

But now, here they were again.

The war, the battles, the endless march – it was tearing him down. Maybe that's all it was, he thought. Just stress catching up to him, twisting his dreams into something darker. He wanted to believe that. He needed to.

Jax stepped out of the tent and into the biting winter air, the chill cutting through his cloak like a blade. The camp stretched before him, rows of tents pitched on uneven, frozen ground. Smoke curled lazily from scattered cookfires, mixing with the scent of iron and leather that seemed to cling to every corner of the war camp. The land around them was desolate – snow-dusted fields interrupted by cliffs and sparse, skeletal trees. The terrain seemed as unforgiving as the campaign itself.

The soldiers moved in grim motions, their faces set like stone. Even in the icy cold, their discipline held firm. Armor clinked faintly as men and women worked to repair their gear, sharpen their weapons, or shovel trenches deeper to keep the frost at bay. The Noxian banners, their deep crimson dull against the dawn sky, flapped weakly in the wind. For all their struggles, there was no sign of rebellion or sloth. This was what it meant to be Noxian – unyielding in the face of adversity, pressing forward no matter the cost.

And the cost had been steep. Jax's eyes flicked across the camp, noting the gaps where tents once stood and the thinner formations during drills. Less than half of the soldiers who had landed in Navori remained. The rest had been swallowed by the war – cut down in ambushes, killed in skirmishes, or fallen to exposure and illness during the relentless march deeper into the Ionian territory.

When they sailed across the ocean, all they knew was that they were going to war. But as time passed and many battles were fought, the purpose of the northern campaign became apparent; to sever the supply lines that fed the southern Ionian forces locked in battle with the main Noxian host. What wasn't spoken about, though it had become clear in the months since, was that this campaign was also a crucible. Every day was a trial, every skirmish a test meant to harden the recruits into true Noxians. The weak were weeded out, either through death or disgrace, leaving only the sharpest blades in the arsenal. And that was exactly how Commander Ulric had treated them.

Jax trudged through the snow-packed paths that wove between the tents, his boots crunching loudly in the battle frost. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, his breath misting in the cold air. The winter had arrived early and harsh, and the freezing conditions had made even the mundane chores become a matter of effort. Yet still, the war machine moved. It always moved.

At the edge of the camp, Jax passed a group preparing for a raid. Their commander barked orders, his voice cutting through the morning air with the precision of a whip. The soldiers moved quickly, securing supplies, checking their armor, and fastening the manacles they carried for captives. These raids had become the lifeblood of the campaign, striking at scattered Ionian resistance groups and taking what was needed to sustain their advance. They weren't just attacking warriors – they were targeting anyone who could aid the Ionian efforts. Farmers, messengers, even children if they were old enough to carry supplies – none were spared.

Jax's stomach twisted, though he kept his expression neutral. Sure, he had killed. But never civilians—at least not yet. He doubted it would stay that way forever. The war didn't leave room for such luxuries as choice. So far, he'd only been part of raids on military convoys, and that had spared him from facing the worst of it. But he knew, deep down, it was only a matter of time before the line blurred, before he was ordered to cross it. And when that time came, he wasn't sure if he could refuse—or if he'd even try.

Jax caught the faint sound of his name carried on the wind. He turned toward the voice, spotting a lone figure sitting by a small fire under a twisted, barren tree perched on a low hill at the edge of a cliff. Riven. She was leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees, motioning him to come.

He made his way up the hill, boots crunching in the frozen ground. As he approached, she glanced up, fire reflecting in her eyes. Her cheeks were flustered by the cold, and her silver hair, usually tied in a bun, was now let loose to fall to her shoulders. "Didn't think you'd hear me," she said with a faint smirk, motioning to the empty spot beside her. "Come on, sit."

Jax hesitated briefly before lowering himself onto the cold ground near the fire. The warm was faint but welcome, and he stretched out his hands toward the flames. The air between them hung heavy for a moment, the quiet crackle of the fire the only sound. Finally, Riven broke the silence.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Jax glanced at her, then back at the flames. "I'm fine," he replied simply, the words automatic, practiced. He didn't elaborate, and for a moment, it seemed like he might leave it at that.

Riven didn't press him. Instead, she shifted slightly, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. "The Commander gave me my own squad," she said, her tone neutral, though there was a flicker of something – pride? Uncertainty? – beneath the surface. "To lead in raids."

Jax wasn't surprised. He nodded, poking absently at the dirt with a stick. "Makes sense," he said.

Riven tilted her head, studying him for a moment. "You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not," he admitted, glancing at her. "You've proven yourself. You don't hold back, and you get results. That's what Ulric wants."

She let out a soft breath as she looked back into the fire. "I guess so," she said after a pause. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword. "But leading a squad… it's different. It's not just about me anymore."

Jax didn't respond immediately. He watched her, noting the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers lingered on the table. Finally, he said, "It's a lot of weight to carry, but you'll handle it."

She let out a short laugh, low and humorless. "Easy for you to say."

"It's not easy for anyone," Jax replied, his voice quiet but firm. "But you're strong, Riven. You'll do what needs to be done."

The fire crackled between them, filling the silence that followed. Riven didn't look at him, but her expression softened slightly, the sharp edge of her usual demeanor dulling for just a moment.

"What about you?" she asked after a while. "Do you think you'll ever take a squad?"

Jax shook his head without hesitation. "Not my thing. I'm better on my own."

Riven arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "You sure about that? You've got a way of keeping people alive, whether you like it or not."

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands. "Maybe. But I'm not a leader. Not like you."

Riven didn't argue but watched him closely, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Maybe that's why Ulric keeps sending you out as a scout," she said.

Jax stared at the fire, his expression neutral as he said. "Or maybe he just thinks I'm expendable."

"I doubt that," Riven replied, her tone thoughtful. "If you were expendable, you'd already be dead."

Jax glanced up from fire at her for a moment, but said nothing. The quiet returned, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire.

"This campaign," Riven said after a while, her voice quieter now. "It feels like it's never going to end."

"It won't. Not for us," Jax said simply. "There'll always be another battle, another campaign."

They both fell silent after that, the fire casting their shadows long against the frozen ground as the weight of the war hung heavy in the cold air.

x

The campaign seemed to stretch endlessly, yet in truth, it had been barely over a year since it began. There was no glory to be found in their northern campaign – no grand battles to etch their names into history, no triumphant victories to sing of in Noxian halls. Instead, their efforts were shadowed by a grim purpose that ran far deeper than it seemed at first glance.

They avoided the major battles where Ionian forces clashed with the main Noxian host in the south, maneuvering instead through the quieter, isolated northern regions. Here, they dismantled supply lines, ambushed guerrilla forces, and disrupted the vital support systems that fed the larger Ionian war effort. It wasn't a campaign designed for recognition but for precision, its success measured not by banners raised but by the slow, grinding collapse of their enemy's ability to sustain the fight.

Ulric, ever the strategist, had no need for glory. He understood that the greatest victories were often unseen, fought in the shadows where each action weakened the larger whole. To those under his command, the campaign might have felt endless and thankless, but it was a weapon of its own kind—one that struck where it hurt most, even if the wounds didn't bleed until much later.

The Noxian army moved southward with measured determination, each step advancing their grip on the contested lands of Navori. Jax's role as a scout had become indispensable. He traveled alone, weaving through the wilderness and navigating the desolate paths that led toward the mountain range known as the Serrated Peaks. But the Ionians called it something else: Kyri's Crown, a name whispered with reverence, said to honor an ancient guardian spirit of the land.

Jax's reports were as unpredictable as the war itself. Sometimes, his findings revealed nothing but empty roads and ghostly silence. Other times, his discoveries proved critical: an unguarded supply line intercepted, or a guerrilla squad caught off guard by Noxians striking deeper than expected. Once, his scouting took him to a distant temple hidden in the foothills. There, he spotted something unusual – a gathering of monks, their flowing robes stark against the snow-dusted stones, and Vastayans whose names he had only seen in texts and books he read at the academy. Creatures of myth and legend, they stood alongside the Ionians, their movements graceful yet charged with an otherworldly energy.

When Jax reported the gathering, it caught Ulric's immediate attention. The Commander listened in silence, his expression as sharp as ever, before issuing a single command: they would strike.

The army moved swiftly, descending on the temple under the cover of night. Jax was among them, his blade ready as they breached the sacred grounds. The battle that followed was unlike anything Jax had ever seen. For the first time in his life, Jax witnessed the magic of Ionia up close. The Vastayans fought with a ferocity that blurred the lines between warrior and spirit, their connection to magic seamless and effortless. A feline warrior streaked through the Noxian ranks, her claws glowing with green fire as she tore through armor. A towering bull-like figure let out a bellow that rippled through the air, sending soldiers flying as if struck by a gale. The monks, though less physically imposing, chanted in unison, their voices weaving barriers of light that shimmered like fractured glass.

One of them, a figure with fox-like tails, stood apart. Her magic shimmered with ethereal beauty – pink and violet energy that swirled around her like a living thing. Jax watched as she wove illusions and hurled bursts of magic that sent soldiers sprawling, her every movement calculated to buy time for the monks and others to escape. Her golden eyes burned with determination as she raised her hands, summoning an orb of searing light. It exploded in a blinding flash, disorienting the Noxians long enough for her and a handful of survivors to slip away in the forest.

The temple fell, its defenders overwhelmed by sheer numbers and unyielding steel. The Vastayans' magic, no matter how awe-inspiring, could not stop the rain of arrows or the relentless tide of Noxian discipline. Most were killed, their bodies strewn across the sacred grounds, their vibrant abilities extinguished. But the survivors' escape lingered in Jax's mind, especially the fox-tailed Vastayan who had turned the tide of the battle, if only briefly.

Jax had seen magic before, but never like this. The Vastayans' didn't just wield it – they became it. Yet even they weren't invincible. No spell could shield them from a well-placed arrow or the weight of a Noxian blade. As the army regrouped, the temple smoldering behind them, Jax felt the tension of the moment hang heavy in the air. For the first time, he realized that even myths could bleed.

The winter grew harsher with every day, the snow falling in relentless waves that blanketed the ground in ice and made every step a battle against the elements. Frost clung to the soldiers' cloaks and hair, the bitter winds slicing through even the thickest furs. Men and women trudged forward, their breath visible in the frigid air, their movements slow but unyielding. The uneven ground, hidden beneath layers of snow, claimed its share of injuries as soldiers slipped and stumbled over unseen hazards. Yet the army pushed forward, driven by the unyielding discipline instilled by Commander Ulric.

Some Ionian captives – particularly those with the knowledge of magic or significant information - were brought directly to him, only to vanish without a trace. As time went on, it became increasingly clear what kind of man he truly was—ruthless, unwavering, and brutally effective in his convictions. Rarely did anyone dare to defy him, and for good reason. Jax vividly remembered the fate of one recruit who had dared to challenge Ulric's orders. The young soldier's protest was met with cold, measured silence before Ulric had him dragged before the assembled ranks. The punishment was swift and merciless, a lesson etched into the memory of everyone who witnessed it. From that day forward, no one questioned Ulric's authority, not openly—and certainly not without fear.

When words reached of a larger Ionian force moving southwest from the Placidium of Navori, he ordered a strategic fallback. The maneuver was executed with precision, avoiding a confrontation they couldn't win while maintaining their position in the contested territory. Rumors swirled through the ranks about the greater battles. Whispers claimed that the main Noxian host was besieging the Ionian capital in the south, its forces concentrated on delivering a decisive blow. Ulric's motives became clearer then – he intended for their army to remain positioned to cut off the Ionians' retreat when the main host crushed them.

The army encamped near the foothills of the Kyri's Crown. Here, Ulric's strategy shifted. He ordered raids in every direction, sending out smaller squads to disrupt whatever remnants of Ionian forces remained, seize resources, and weaken the enemy further. It was a brutal, systematic approach designed to tighten Noxus' stranglehold over the region.

It was during one of his patrols that Jax spotted something unusual near the base of the mountains. A village, nestled in the shadow of the peaks. Sehanri, the village was named on old maps. Ulric had ordered their squad to comb the village for anything of value and to eliminate or capture anyone who might have stayed behind. The place was quiet, save for the faint whistle of the cold wind that slipped through the gaps in the wooden homes and stone shrines. The once-proud banners of the village, embroidered with flowing Ionian script and mountain motifs, hung limp and tattered from the poles.

Sehanri had the look of a place built for peace. Its terraced fields, now hidden beneath the layers of frost, cascaded down the surrounding slopes. Small shrines to long-forgotten spirits dotted the edges of the village, their stone surface weathered but still adorned with faint carvings of flowing water and graceful cranes. A stream, frozen solid, wound its way through the center of the village.

Torren, walking near the rear of the squad, let out a low whistle. "Hell of a place to freeze to death, isn't it?" His voice was light, almost joking, but the weight in his tone betrayed his exhaustion. He kicked a half-buried basket by the path, sending a scattering of frozen vegetables tumbling across the snow. "Think they'll come back for their carrots?"

No one laughed. Kelan, marching silently beside him, adjusted the grip on his weapon but said nothing. His face was drawn, the dark circles under his eyes deepened by the pale light of the day.

Jax walked near the front, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the village. The houses were small, their roofs steeply sloped to shed the snow. The doors hung slightly ajar, swinging lazily in the wind as if the villagers had left in a hurry. Inside, through the broken windows, glimpses of forgotten lives were visible: a wooden spoon left on a table, a child's doll lying discarded near a hearth, and small prayer scrolls pinned to the walls, their ink faded but still legible.

Riven stopped near the frozen stream, her breath curling in the cold air. She crouched and brushed a layer of snow from the icy surface, revealing a faint carving etched into the stone beneath. It was a symbol she recognized—a depiction of Kyri, the guardian spirit for whom the mountains were named. The lines of the carving were graceful, flowing like the streams that had once fed this land.

"They believed this place was protected," she murmured, almost to herself. Her fingers lingered on the carving for a moment before she stood and turned back to the squad.

Jax gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing. He could feel the unease hanging over the group like the frost clinging to their cloaks. They had seen villages like this before, abandoned ahead of the Noxian advance, but there was something about Sehanri that felt different. It wasn't just the silence—it was the weight of it, as if the land itself was holding its breath.

Torren caught up, his boots crunching over the frozen ground. He crouched beside a pile of tools left scattered by one of the homes, his brow furrowing. "It doesn't sit right, does it? No signs of a fight, no blood… they just vanished."

"They knew we were coming," Riven said, her tone clipped. "That's enough reason for anyone to leave."

Torren gave a slow nod, brushing frost from the handle of a spade before setting it back down. "Yeah. Can't say I blame them."

The squad continued their sweep through the village, moving methodically from house to house, searching for anything of value—or anyone who might have stayed behind. Inside one of the homes, Torren found a small altar tucked into the corner. A handful of dried flowers sat in a bowl, their petals brittle and frozen. He stared at it for a moment before stepping back out into the cold, his expression unusually somber.

Kelan walked ahead, his weapon raised as he glanced toward the treeline. "Too quiet," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the wind.

At the far end of the village, Jax crouched near a small garden shrine half-buried in snow. Something caught his eye—a faint flicker of color beneath the frost. Brushing it away, he revealed a bundle of flowers, carefully arranged and frozen solid. They were fresh, too fresh to have been left when the villagers fled.

"Over here," Jax called, his voice low but sharp.

The squad gathered around him, their eyes narrowing as they took in the sight. Riven's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her blade, her gaze sweeping the surrounding area.

"Someone's been here recently," she said, her tone tight. "Spread out. Search every room in every house. If someone stayed behind, we're not leaving until we find them."

They moved carefully through the last cluster of homes at the edge of Sehanri. The silence of the village seemed to deepen, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath their boots. Jax paused near a weathered shrine, his gaze lingering on a set of faint tracks leading toward the treeline. They were shallow and partly obscured by fresh snowfall, but they were recent – too recent to belong to the villagers who fled days ago. He opened his mouth to call out a warning, but the words froze on his tongue as a sharp whistle split the air.

The first arrow struck a nearby beam, the impact splintering wood and sending a cloud of frost into the air.

Another followed almost instantly, slamming into the ground inches from Jax's boots. Instinctively, he dove behind a low stone wall, his heart racing as the sharp cries of Ionian soldiers erupted from the treeline. Figures emerged from the shadows, swift and deadly, their movements precise as arrows rained down on the exposed Noxians. The stillness of Sehanri was gone, replaced by the chaos of an ambush.

The squad was exposed, their formation broken in the chaos. Several recruits lay motionless in the snow, their blood staining the pristine white. He could hear Torren shouting at others nearby, his voice tense but steady.

"Stick together! Don't let them flank us!" Torren barked, swinging his spear across the shaft of an axe aimed at one of the younger recruits. Kelan moved with him, his shield raised to deflect a volley of arrows, his face set in grim determination.

Jax gritted his teeth, glancing toward Riven. She had thrown herself into the thick of the fight, her broken blade carving through Ionian defenders with brutal efficiency. Despite the chaos, she maintained her composure, shouting commands as she fought. Jax saw his opening and bolted toward a fallen cart, using it as cover. He crouched low, his hand on the hilt of his sword, waiting for the right moment to move. Arrows continued to rain down, and the clash of steel filled the air. He could feel the cold bite of the snow through his cloak, but he pushed it aside, his focus narrowing on the fight.

Finally, the tide began to turn. The Noxian soldiers regrouped, their discipline taking hold as they forced the Ionian contingent back toward the edge of the village. One by one, the attackers fell, their cries silenced by the relentless advance of the Noxian squad. The ground was littered with bodies, the snow stained red as the battle came to its bloody conclusion. But not all of the Ionians had fallen.

Jax caught sight of two figures breaking away from the melee, their cloaks billowing as they fled toward the forest. His eyes narrowed, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He didn't think—he acted.

"Jax, wait!" Riven's voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. "Don't go alone!"

But he was already moving, his boots crunching through the snow as he pursued the fleeing Ionians. The sounds of the village faded behind him, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of his heartbeat and the faint cries of his targets ahead. The forest loomed, its twisted branches clawing at the pale sky like jagged fingers.

The cold air burned in his lungs, but he didn't slow. He had no plan, no thought beyond catching those two figures. Whether they carried vital information or were simply running for their lives, he didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't let them escape.

Jax sprinted through the forest, his breath steaming in the icy air. The two fleeing Ionians darted between the trees like shadows, their cloaks flaring with each movement. He pushed himself harder, narrowing the distance between them.

With a final burst of speed, he lunged, tackling closest Ionian to the ground. They tumbled into the snow, Jax's weight forcing the man's weapon from his grasp. The Ionian struggled beneath him, his breaths ragged, his eyes wide with panic. Jax raised his sword, but before he could strike, the second Ionian was upon him.

A glaive sliced through the air, its blade catching the faint light of the overcast sky. Jax twisted at the last moment, rolling off his first target as the weapon buried itself into the snow where he had just been. He scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding, barely managing to bring his sword up in time to block a second, sweeping strike. The force of the glaive's impact jarred his arms, sending a sharp vibration through his shoulders.

The tackled Ionian began to rise, his hand fumbling for a blade at his side. Jax snarled and shifted his focus, stepping into the glaive's arc to parry it with a sharp, upward stroke of his sword. The Ionian staggered back, his balance faltering. Without hesitation, Jax surged forward, his blade slicing through the man's chest in a clean, decisive motion. The Ionian crumpled into the snow, his weapon falling from limp fingers.

Jax turned just in time to see the other Ionian regain his footing. His dagger flashing as he lunged. Jax sidestepped, still swift and precise despite the exhaustion. His sword came down in a powerful arc, cutting through the man's defenses and striking true. The Ionian collapsed, his body still for a moment before slumping into the snow, staining it red.

Jax leaned against the tree, gasping in ragged breaths, his mind still spinning from the encounter. The forest around him had fallen silent again. He stared down at the ground, his sword still in hand, its blade stained in crimson. Whatever information those Ionians had – if they had any – was now lost, swallowed by the endless cycle of bloodshed.

He tried to feel something – victory, regret, anger – but all that surfaced was a hollow numbness. Jax sat slumped in the snow, leaning against the rough bark of the tree. The cold seeped through his cloak, numbing him as his sword rested loosely in his hand. He stared at the ground, lost in his thoughts, and let himself feel the weight of it all – of the war, of the fighting, of what he'd lost.

Footsteps crunched in the snow, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced up as Torren appeared from between the trees. His spear rested on his shoulder, and despite his usual cocky grin, there was a nervous energy in his movements.

"There you are!" Torren called, his voice breaking the eerie silence of the forest. He stopped a few paces away, taking in the scene—the bodies sprawled in the snow, the blood, and Jax sitting there like a ghost. His grin faltered for a moment before he forced it back. "You know, some of us like to work together, you know, like a team. What's the deal with running off like that?"

Before Jax could respond, more footsteps followed, faster and more deliberate. Riven emerged from the trees, her expression hard and furious. Her hand was already on the hilt of her blade as she stomped toward Jax.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the cold. "Running off alone? Do you have a death wish? What if there were more of them out here?"

Kelan came up behind her, his shield strapped tightly to his arm, his face stern. "She's right," he said firmly, his tone less biting but no less serious. "That was reckless, Jax. You could've gotten yourself killed."

Jax pushed himself up with a groan, brushing the snow from his cloak. "I handled it," he said curtly, gesturing to the fallen Ionians. "They're dead. That's what matters."

"What matters," Riven shot back, stepping closer, "is that you don't get to play lone hero while the rest of us are out there, working as a squad."

Torren cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension. "Come on, Riv, he's standing, isn't he? And I'll admit, this mess"—he gestured at the bodies with his spear—"is impressive. But maybe save some for us next time, huh?"

Riven ignored him, her glare fixed on Jax. "You keep pulling stunts like this, and one of these days, you won't make it back. "

"We're stronger together, you know that." Kelan added.

Jax clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. The truth of their words stung, but he refused to let it show. "I'm fine," he said flatly. "And they're dead."

Riven let out a sharp, frustrated breath and turned away, muttering something under her breath. Kelan gave Jax a long look before following her, his disapproval clear. Torren lingered, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "You know they're just pissed because they care, right?" he said, his voice softer than usual. He hesitated before adding, "And they're not wrong. We're stronger together, Jax. Come on – let us in. Share the load. That's what friends are for."

Jax didn't respond. His gaze dropped to the sword in his hand, the crimson stains along its edge glaring back at him. "Let's just head back," he muttered, and brushed past Torren without another word, heading toward the trees. The cold bit at his face, the forest stretching out in shadowed silence. He didn't look back. The apology he owed them sat heavy in his chest, unspoken. The words churned inside him, but he forced them down. All he could do was keep moving.

The Weight of a Blade

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The war was a haze of blood and shadows – duels that ended too quickly, screams that lingered too long, and the heavy thrum of death in the air. Nights brought no solace, only voices in his drams, soft and sickly sweet, whispering things he couldn't unhear. Jax stopped sleeping, stopped counting the days since he last closed his eyes, afraid of what waited in the dark. Ulric pressed them onward, his rage a wildfire consuming everything in its path, tearing through villages and souls alike. The mages they captured vanished into the void of his will – no one spoke of what came next, but the silence that followed was worse than any scream. The lines between hunter and hunted blurred, and morale fractured like brittle glass.

Jax felt lost in the endless loop, the war in Ionia consuming his days, but his mind was elsewhere. Faces haunted his dreams—not the soldiers or mages he'd fought, but shadowed figures from that impossible place in the void. They watched him with eyes that didn't belong to anything mortal, their presence heavy with meaning he couldn't grasp. It called to him, a pull stronger than the war, stronger than fear, a gravity that anchored him to something he didn't understand. Sometimes, Jax couldn't tell where the dreams ended and reality began. The faces followed him, shadowed and silent, bleeding from his sleep into the edges of his waking world. He'd catch glimpses of them in the corners of his eyes – impossible shapes, flickering at the edges of his vision. But when he turned to look, they would vanish, leaving only the heavy, suffocating feeling that they were still there, watching.

It was during one of those sleepless days, his body heavy with exhaustion and his mind blurred by the echoes of his dreams, that Jax set out to scout ahead. His steps were slow, his senses dulled by days without rest, and he didn't notice the subtle signs – the broken branches, the disturbed earth – the warn of danger. The ambush came swiftly, a rush of movement and steel from the undergrowth, and by the time he realized, it was already too late.

x

Jax opened his eyes in an unfamiliar room. The walls were simple, adorned with symbols, their meanings lost on him but oddly calming. It was a bedroom, modest and warm, with sunlight filtering through paper-thin screens. He shifted, trying to sit up, but a sharp, searing pain shot through his left arm, forcing a hiss between his teeth. Glancing down, he saw it tightly bandaged, the fabric stained faintly with dried blood. He was shirtless, his chest marred with fresh bruises and scrapes. For a moment, he simply sat there, disoriented, trying to piece together how he had ended up in this place.

Suddenly, a blur of movement burst through the doorway – a scrappy brown dog with short, wiry fur and a tail wagging so furiously it was a blur. Its floppy ears perked with excitement as it bounded onto the bed, landing inches from Jax's face. Its tongue lolled out, panting as it stared at him with bright, curious eyes, one of them slightly lighter in color than the other.

Jax froze, his mind sluggishly trying to process the sudden intrusion. The dog tilted its head, as if studying him, before lunging forward and licking his face with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Wha – stop – hey!" Jax stammered, twisting awkwardly to escape the relentless affection, but the pain in his arm kept him from moving too quickly. He sat there, bewildered and overwhelmed, as the dog continued its assault, completely ignoring his protests. Confusion tangled with disbelief – where in the hell had this creature come from? And why was it treating him like a long-lost friend?

A soft creak of footsteps across the wooden floor drew Jax's attention, and the dog's ears perked before it jumped off the bed and darted toward the doorway. Standing there was a middle-aged woman with kind but sharp features, her dark hair streaked with faint silver strands tied neatly behind her head. She was dressed in simple, flowing Ionian robes, her hands folded calmly in front of her. Behind her, a younger woman stood, her resemblance unmistakable – perhaps her daughter. Her gaze was curious but wary, darting between Jax and her mother.

"Oh, you're awake," the older woman said, her voice calm and melodic, though her tone carried the practiced authority of someone used to caring for others. "We were just about to have breakfast."

Jax blinked, still trying to piece together the situation, but said nothing. His mind swirled with confusion, his guarded instincts kicking in.

"You'll need to wear something else until your clothes dry," the woman continued, motioning to a neatly folded pile of clothes resting on a nearby stool. "I washed them them for you. They were filthy, and the blood… well, it needed cleaning. The other clothes might be too small for you, but I think they'll do fine."

Her gaze shifted to the small bedside cabinet, where he noticed his sword for the first time. It lay there in two jagged pieces. "Your weapon… I'm sorry. I tried to clean it, but it's broken. There was nothing more I could do."

Jax stared at the shattered remains of his sword, his chest tightening. He couldn't describe what he felt. A strange mix of loss? Anger? Confusion? It all swirled within him. It was just a sword he'd found at the docks, a tool he could replace like so many other things in his life. Replacable, forgettable. But not everything… His gaze dropped to his chest, where his fingers brushed against the familiar shape of the pendant. A sharp breath escaped him, and he sighed in relief, clutching it tightly in his right hand as if grounding himself in the only constant he had left.

The woman just stood there, unbothered by his hesitation, as if she understood the weight of his silence. "Come when you're ready," she said gently. "You'll need your strength. She turned to leave, the younger woman lingering a moment longer before following. Jax was left alone again. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't sure what to do next.

He reluctantly joined them for breakfast, following the faint aroma of something savory into a small, neatly arranged dining space. The older woman gestured toward a low wooden table with a warm smile. "Sit," she said gently. Her calm demeanor unsettled him, but Jax, too drained to argue, lowered himself onto the cushion.

The meal before him was simple but beautifully prepared—steaming bowls of rice, fresh vegetables, and delicate slices of grilled fish garnished with herbs he didn't recognize. Cautiously, Jax took the first bite, expecting little, but the taste was unlike anything he'd ever had before. The fish was smoky yet tender, the rice perfectly fluffy, and the herbs added a complexity that surprised him. His hesitation evaporated, and before he realized it, he was eating ravenously, his hunger driving him to shovel food into his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in days.

The daughter, seated across from him, watched him with wide eyes before breaking the silence. "You look like you've never seen food before."

"Let him be," the mother interjected gently, her tone carrying a quiet understanding. Jax slowed slightly but didn't stop, the warmth of the food chasing away the cold knot that had settled in his stomach.

After a moment of silence, the older woman spoke again, her voice soft but inquisitive. "What's your name?"

Jax hesitated, his guard instinctively rising, but the sincerity in her tone broke through his wariness. "…Jax," he muttered reluctantly, glancing down at his bowl.

She nodded, her expression kind. "I'm Hana," she said, placing a hand on her chest, then gesturing to her daughter. "And this is Lin."

Lin gave him a polite nod but said nothing, her gaze still watchful. Jax glanced between them before speaking again. "What is this place?"

Hana smiled faintly. "You're in Shizunai," she said. "A small village, hidden in the valley. We don't see many outsiders here."

Lin snorted softly. "And definitely not ones like you."

Hana's eyes flicked over at Lin for a second before returning to Jax, and her expression softened. "Do the clothes fit? I wasn't sure they would."

Jax glanced down at himself. He wore a simple Ionian robe, light gray with faded blue patterns along the edges, cinched at the waist with a fabric belt. The material was soft but loose, almost too much so, but it was clean and dry—a far cry from the bloodstained rags he usually wore. "They're fine," he said gruffly, not wanting to admit they were comfortable.

Hana smiled faintly, a bittersweet glint in her eyes. "They belonged to my son," she said softly. "I hope you don't mind."

Jax froze for a moment, unsure how to respond. He shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her words settling over him, but he said nothing, instead focusing on the food in front of him.

Jax glanced up from his bowl, his voice quiet but firm. "What happened to me?"

Hana paused, setting her chopsticks down delicately. "We found you at the riverbank," she said, her tone even but laced with concern. "You were barely conscious, with an arrow lodged in your left arm. You were bleeding badly, but… we did what we could."

As she spoke, fragmented images began to stir in Jax's mind. He remembered the ambush—the clash of blades, the panic as he realized he was outnumbered. He recalled sprinting through the dense woods, arrows whistling past him. One had missed his head by inches, its sharp hiss etched into his memory, only to strike his arm instead. The pain had been blinding, and after that, everything dissolved into darkness.

"You should be thankful," Lin interjected, her tone sharp as her gaze flicked over him. "Not everyone would treat a Noxian, especially not now."

"Lin," Hana said sharply, her eyes narrowing at her daughter. "That's enough."

Jax didn't flinch. He set down his chopsticks, leaning back slightly as his left hand hovered near the bandaged wound. "I'm not Noxian," he said quietly, his words heavy with weariness and a strange edge of bitterness.

Both women blinked, clearly surprised. Lin tilted her head, frowning. "Then what are you?"

The question hung in the air, sharper than any blade. Jax opened his mouth, but no answer came. His mind raced, grasping for something—anything—but all he found was emptiness. The faces in his dreams, the voices, the pull of the void… they were all tangled in the fragments of a life he no longer recognized.

"I don't know," he muttered finally, the admission sounding foreign on his own lips. For a moment, there was silence, the weight of his words settling between them like a stone dropped into still water.

Jax shifted uncomfortably under their gazes, the weight of his own admission pressing down on him. "Can I… go back to the bedroom?" he asked quietly, his voice low but strained.

Hana's expression softened, the tension in the air easing slightly. "Of course," she said with a gentle nod. "You need to rest. Don't push yourself too hard."

Jax stood slowly, his body still sore and stiff from his injuries, and gave them a brief, almost awkward nod. He avoided Lin's questioning gaze as he turned and made his way back to the room, the soft padding of his footsteps against the wooden floor the only sound. Behind him, Hana's calm voice murmured something to her daughter, but he didn't linger to listen.

As he stepped into the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom, the door sliding shut behind him, Jax let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Alone again, he sank onto the bed, the ache in his arm a sharp reminder of how close he'd come to losing everything. His eyes drifted to the broken sword on the bedside cabinet, then down to the pendant resting against his chest, clutched tightly in his hand. The questions swirling in his mind were endless, but exhaustion weighed heavier. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly slept.

His weariness wasn't just physical—it seeped into his mind like an inescapable fog, dulling everything. When he was awake, he was fighting. When he was asleep, he was dreaming. But those dreams weren't ordinary—they felt alive, something more than his mind's creations, as though they were reaching for him from beyond. He knew they weren't just dreams, but what they were, he couldn't say.

All he knew was that in the years that passed, he had lost the sight of himself. The thought twisted uncomfortably in his mind, a reminder of a life that felt so distant it might as well belong to someone else. And when was the last time he'd truly laughed? Not the half-smirks or polite chuckles he gave to Torren's jabs, but a real laugh? Torren used to tease him, calling him serious, quiet, and edgy, but Jax knew it wasn't about trying to brood or keep people at a distance. It wasn't intentional. It was just… different now. Everything was.

The morning sun bathed the village in soft light as Jax walked along the narrow paths of Shizunai, winding between the wooden houses. The village was small and peaceful, nestled in a valley surrounded by rolling hills and dense forests. The houses were simple, their wooden frames decorated with carved patterns, and paper lanterns hung from porches, swaying gently in the breeze. The air smelled faintly of dew and cherry blossoms, and the distant hum of villagers starting their day filled the quiet. But as he moved, he couldn't ignore the way eyes followed him. People glanced his way, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, wariness, and something he couldn't quite name.

Whispers floated in the air like faint breezes, impossible to make out but unmistakably about him. He caught fragments of sentences, words like Noxian and enemy, their tones heavy with uncertainty. Yet, to his surprise, no one stopped him, no one confronted him. Their stares lingered, but their hands stayed at their sides, and Jax found himself both relieved and confused.

He tried to imagine what must be going through their minds. What would it feel like to live a simple life, only to have invaders suddenly appear on your shores, tearing through your land without warning? These people weren't warriors—they were just trying to live. Farmers, artisans, families—all caught in a war they hadn't asked for, forced to endure the chaos as everything they'd built was threatened by strangers from across the sea.

His gaze shifted as he passed an open courtyard at the edge of the village. There, a small group of Ionian practitioners knelt in quiet meditation. Their robes were simple, their posture serene, as if the world's turmoil couldn't touch them. Soft chants rose in the air, and with each rhythmic word, subtle ripples of magic formed around them. The petals of cherry blossoms floated unnaturally slow, suspended in the air before falling in delicate spirals. The grass beneath them seemed to glow faintly, vibrant and alive, responding to the energy they summoned.

Jax paused, watching from a distance. There was no aggression in their movements, no show of power—just a quiet harmony, an effortless merging of the physical and the spiritual. It was unlike anything he'd seen in Noxus, where strength and dominance were the only measures of worth.

He wondered what they prayed for. Peace? Safety? Perhaps the strength to keep going in a world that seemed determined to take everything from them. A strange pang of guilt stirred in his chest, uncomfortably familiar, as he realized he was part of the storm that had disrupted their lives.

The chanting faded slightly as Jax turned his gaze back to the village, his thoughts heavy. These people were just trying to live—yet here he was, one of the invaders who had brought the war to their doorstep. What right did he have to stand here and be anything but their enemy? The question lingered, unanswered, as he moved on, his footsteps quieter than before.

As he turned a corner, he noticed a girl sitting cross-legged on the ground. She was surrounded by small pieces of wood, her hands busy as she tried to fit them together. A crude frame was beginning to take shape, though the pieces didn't quite align, and frustration etched her face as she worked.

Jax stopped, his gaze caught by the scene. For a moment, the village and its murmurs faded, and an image flickered in his mind—his workshop. The cluttered shelves, the half-finished gadgets, the smell of oil and metal. He could almost feel the familiar weight of a wrench in his hand, the satisfying click of pieces coming together.

The memory startled him, and he blinked, shaking his head. The girl was still there, oblivious to his presence, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she adjusted the wooden pieces. Jax hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. The urge to step in, to offer help, tugged at him, but he stayed rooted in place, unsure if he had the right.

"You know," Lin's voice cut through the quiet, "if you stare any harder, she might think you're trying to hex her."

Startled, he almost jumped in place, turning to find her standing behind him with her arms crossed, her head tilted in amusement. Her smirk was playful, but as always, there was a trace of caution in her eyes. She didn't trust him—not completely—but she wasn't mean, either.

"I wasn't staring," Jax muttered, turning his gaze back toward the girl under the tree.

"Sure," Lin said, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. She stepped up beside him, following his line of sight. "She's been at that for days, you know. Trying to build… something. I don't think she even knows what it is."

Jax didn't respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the girl as she let out a frustrated sigh, adjusting one of the pieces of wood. He smiled, remembering all the fails and faint explosions as his and Powder's contraptions went up in smoke. What was meant to be a thunderous explosion turned into a pathetic clatter of gears and a dying hiss. What was meant to be a practical tool ended up swallowed by black smoke and failure. He wondered if she had ever managed to make that monkey bomb work.

"I'm grateful," he said finally, his voice low but steady. "For everything. And… I'll be out of your hair soon."

Lin blinked, her smirk fading slightly. She turned to look at him, studying his face. For a moment, she didn't say anything, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and skepticism.

"Grateful, huh?" she said eventually, her tone quieter, almost curious. "That's a first."

Jax shrugged, not looking at her. "You didn't have to save me. I know that."

"No, we didn't," Lin replied, her voice softening. She hesitated, then added, "But my mother… she wouldn't have left you there. And, well, here you are."

Jax glanced at her, meeting her gaze for just a second before looking away again. "I'll be gone soon," he repeated, quieter this time.

Lin frowned slightly, her teasing demeanor slipping further. "You probably should," she said, though her tone carried an edge he couldn't quite place. She looked back at the girl under the tree, then at Jax. "But for now, you're here. So, if you're grateful, maybe you can start by proving you're not completely useless."

He looked at her, his brow furrowed in confusion, unsure of what she meant or why she was even talking to him about it.

Lin sighed, crossing her arms and shaking her head slightly, her expression softening. "Ah, forget I said anything," she said, her tone a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "You're injured, after all. No point in pushing yourself over something that doesn't matter right now."

She glanced at his bandaged arm, her gaze lingering for a moment before she looked away, almost as if catching herself from showing too much concern. "Just… take it easy," she added, her voice quieter this time, though still carrying a faint edge.

The evening descended gently, the soft hum of crickets filling the air as the family gathered in the small dining space. Hana carefully unwrapped the old bandages from Jax's arm, her movements steady and practiced. The air felt cool against his skin as the layers came away, revealing the wound beneath. Jax glanced down at it—a clean slice where the arrow had struck. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to ache with every movement. He could already tell it would leave a faint scar, a reminder of what he could've lost if the arrow struck only a bit higher. Hana gently cleaned the area with a cloth soaked in herbal tincture, the scent earthy and sharp. "It's healing well," she said softly, her voice calm. "Give it a few weeks, and it shouldn't bother you much."

Jax said nothing, watching as she worked with practiced precision, replacing the old bandages with fresh, clean ones. The room was lit by a single paper lantern hanging from the ceiling, its faint, flickering glow casting shifting shadows on the walls. Jax sat quietly, his bowl half-empty in front of him as his gaze drifted upward. The lantern swayed slightly with the breeze filtering through the window, its frame bent and frayed at the edges. The light inside struggled, dimming and flaring unpredictably, as if fighting to stay alive. It wasn't just wear and tear—the inner mechanism seemed faulty.

"It's been like that for a while," Lin said, noticing his focus. Her tone was casual, but there was a flicker of irritation beneath it. "We don't have the parts to fix it, and it's not like we can just go into town these days."

Hana glanced up at the lantern as well, sighing softly. "It still works, even if it's not perfect. We make do."

Jax tore his eyes away from the sputtering light and looked back at his bowl. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the way it sputtered, clinging to life despite its flaws. Or maybe it was the nagging itch at the back of his mind, the part of him that had always hated seeing something broken.

"I could fix it," he said suddenly, his voice low but steady. The words surprised even him, and for a moment, the room fell silent.

Lin raised an eyebrow. "You? Really?" Her tone was skeptical, almost teasing. "What are you, some kind of craftsman?"

Hana shot her a reproachful look, but Jax didn't react to the jab. Instead, he gave a small shrug. "I used to be."

Hana tilted her head, studying him. "If you want to try, go ahead," she said gently. "But don't feel like you have to."

Jax nodded, standing slowly as his joints protested from the day's strain. He stepped closer to the lantern, reaching out carefully to unhook it from the ceiling. Holding it in his hands, he examined its frame and inner workings, his fingers moving instinctively over the worn wood and cracked glass. The mechanism inside was indeed damaged—simple, but delicate enough to require precision.

"It'll take some time," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Hana smiled faintly. "Take all the time you need. It'll be nice to see it working properly again."

Lin leaned back, arms crossed, watching him with thinly veiled curiosity. "This I've got to see."

Jax worked in silence, his focus entirely on the delicate repairs. His hands moved with surprising precision, carefully realigning the bent frame and reattaching the cracked sections with whatever materials he could find around the room. The mechanism inside was tricky, but his fingers seemed to remember skills long buried under years of fighting and running. Bit by bit, the lantern began to take shape again.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Jax stepped back and held the lantern up, its structure restored and the mechanism repaired. He gave the wick a cautious flick, lighting it. The lantern glowed steadily now, its warm light filling the room without a single flicker. He turned toward the others, holding the lantern aloft. "It's done," he said quietly, almost shyly.

Hana's eyes widened with delight, a broad smile breaking across her face. "Oh, it's perfect!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. She stepped forward as Jax carefully hung the lantern back in its place on the ceiling. The soft, steady glow illuminated the room with a gentle warmth, casting long shadows that danced along the walls. Even Lin, who had been watching skeptically from her seat, looked mildly impressed. She crossed her arms and leaned back, trying to mask her reaction. "Huh," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Guess you're good for something after all."

Jax glanced at her, then back at Hana, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "It wasn't much," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Nonsense," Hana said warmly, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Jax."

Jax felt a faint heat rise to his face and gave a small nod, unsure how to handle the praise. He shuffled back toward his seat, his shyness bubbling to the surface as Hana continued to admire the now fully repaired lantern. For the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of pride—not for fighting, but for something else.

As Jax sat in the quiet of his room, the faint murmur of voices filtered through the thin walls. He recognized them immediately—Hana's calm, steady tone and Lin's sharper, more insistent one. Their conversation was muffled, but not enough to keep him from catching the words.

"You saw the way they looked at him today," Lin said, her voice low but tense. "People are getting restless, Mother. They're scared. He's a Noxian, and they think he's dangerous."

There was a pause before Hana responded, her tone firm but gentle. "He's injured, Lin. He's done nothing to harm us, and he's not a threat right now."

"That doesn't matter," Lin shot back. "You know how they are. They're already asking why we didn't just leave him at the river. Why we're risking everything for someone who fought for the people who attacked us."

Jax shifted slightly, the words settling heavily in his chest. He stared at the floor, his hand unconsciously brushing over the bandages on his arm.

"I couldn't leave him there," Hana said softly, her voice unwavering. "We're not like that, Lin. We don't leave people to die, no matter who they are."

There was a silence, thick with unspoken emotions. When Lin finally spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost resigned. "I just… don't trust him. And I don't think I ever will."

"I know," Hana replied. "But he's here now, and we'll deal with it as it comes."

Jax leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Their words lingered in his mind, a mix of guilt and gratitude swirling inside him. He wasn't sure if he deserved their kindness—or if he even knew how to repay it.

Next morning, he followed Lin into the forest. The scent of damp earth and fresh pine filled the cool air. Jax walked a few steps behind Lin, his eyes idly scanning the ground for dead branches. His arm still ached, but it wasn't enough to stop him from helping. As they moved, his gaze caught on the weapon strapped to Lin's waist – a sword, slightly curved and sharp on one edge. It was simple but elegant, the craftsmanship precise, and it reminded him of the Ionian warriors he'd fought in battles. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever used it.

She moved with ease, picking out dead branches and snapping them into manageable pieces. Jax followed suit, gathering what he could find. The quiet between them stretched, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the snap of a branch.

"So," Lin said after a while, breaking the silence, "is the plan to keep staring at the ground, or do you actually talk sometimes?"

Jax glanced at her, his grip tightening slightly on the bundle of branches in his arms. "I talk," he muttered, his voice low.

Lin raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Could've fooled me." They worked in silence for a moment longer before Lin spoke again, her tone more curious this time. "So, what's your deal, anyway?"

Jax frowned, glancing at her. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, snapping a branch over her knee with ease. "You're not like most of the people we see around here. I mean, you don't exactly scream 'Noxian soldier.' So what's someone like you doing out here, fighting their war?"

Jax hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the ground. "I'm just… here," he muttered, his voice low. "I go where I'm told."

Lin stopped, resting her hand on her hip as she looked at him, her head tilted slightly. "That's it? No grand story? No hidden reason you're stomping around Ionia?"

He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the pile of branches in his arms. "I'm just… trying to figure out my purpose," he admitted reluctantly. "Why I'm here. What I'm supposed to do."

Lin straightened, watching him with an expression that was equal parts intrigued and skeptical. "Your purpose?" she said, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "That's… ambitious. Most people are just trying to survive."

Jax shrugged, his voice low. "Surviving isn't enough. Not for me."

Lin tilted her head, studying him as if trying to decide whether to take him seriously. "Well," she said after a pause, her tone lighter, "I guess that's one way to keep yourself busy. Figuring out why you're here." She gave him a teasing grin. "But in the meantime, maybe focus on carrying those branches back without tripping over your own feet."

As they walked through the forest, Lin glanced over her shoulder at Jax, her pile of branches growing steadily. "There's a spot not far from here," she said casually, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "A few trees grow redstar plums there. Sweetest fruit you'll ever taste."

Jax raised an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the name. "Redstar plums?"

"They're small, bright red, with this kind of golden glow in the sunlight," Lin explained, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Taste like honey, but sharper. I usually grab a few whenever I'm out here. I'll meet you back here in a bit."

Before he could say anything, she turned and headed off toward a different path, her footsteps fading into the rustling of leaves. Jax sighed, watching her go before turning his attention back to his task.

He knelt by a patch of deadwood, snapping the dry branches into smaller pieces and placing them into a woven reed basket they'd brought from the village. It was sturdy, its design simple but efficient, and large enough to hold a decent amount of firewood. Jax worked in silence, occasionally glancing around the forest as sunlight dappled the ground through the canopy above. As he reached for another branch, a sharp scream tore through the quiet.

His head snapped up, heart racing as the sound echoed through the trees. It was Lin's voice.

Without thinking, he dropped the branches in his hands, the basket tipping over as he bolted in the direction of the scream. The forest blurred around him, his feet pounding against the ground as he sprinted through the undergrowth, his mind racing with possibilities.

"Lin!" he called out, his voice hoarse and urgent, but there was no reply—only the faint rustling of leaves in the distance. Adrenaline surged through him as he pushed forward, branches snapping underfoot and the forest closing in around him. Jax crashed through the undergrowth, the sound of his own breath and pounding footsteps drowning out the forest's natural stillness. As he neared the source of the scream, he heard it—a short, sharp clash of metal, followed by a faint grunt of effort. His chest tightened, and he pushed himself harder.

Bursting into the clearing, he froze at the sight before him.

Under the shade of a redstar tree, its golden fruits glowing faintly in the sunlight, Lin was lying on her back, scrambling to push herself away from a figure standing over her. The man was a Noxian soldier—his armor lightweight but unmistakable, his posture radiating cruel confidence. He held a sword lazily at his side, his stance relaxed as he smirked down at Lin, clearly enjoying the upper hand.

"Didn't think I'd run into such a feisty little rat out here," the soldier sneered, the edge of his blade glinting as he shifted it in his grip. "Where's that fight you had a moment ago, Ionian?"

Lin glared up at him, her breathing heavy, but her expression held no fear, only defiance. "Go to hell."

The soldier laughed, taking a step closer, but then his gaze flicked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned and saw Jax, his presence startling both him and Lin. For a moment, the soldier stared in disbelief.

"Jax?" he said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and surprise. "By the gods… Jax, is that you?"

Jax froze, his breath catching in his throat. The soldier's voice was familiar, and as he took in the man's features—the square jaw, the scar across his brow, the faint swagger in his stance—recognition struck him.

It was Dren—a soldier he knew well from the camp. He'd seen him countless times, laughing around the fire during off-hours, sharpening his blade in the quiet moments before battle. Torren often joked with him, their banter lighthearted even amid the grimness of war. They'd fought side by side in more skirmishes than Jax could count.

"Dren," Jax said quietly, his stomach tightening.

Dren let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You're alive? We thought you were dead after the ambush! Everyone did." His tone softened for a moment, genuine relief flickering in his eyes. "Ulric even sent search parties for you."

Jax blinked, the words catching him off guard. "Search parties?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Dren nodded, gesturing vaguely as he continued. "Yeah. Torren, Kelan—they went out looking for you. Even Riven. Multiple times. Nobody wanted to believe you were gone." His expression hardened slightly, his eyes narrowing. "And now, here you are, standing in the middle of nowhere… with her?"

Jax glanced at Lin, who was watching the exchange silently, her breaths coming in short bursts. He saw her sword lying near his feet and moved to pick it up, the curved blade feeling unfamiliar in his grip. Dren's gaze followed the movement, his relief giving way to suspicion.

"What are you doing?" Dren asked, his voice sharpening. "Why are you picking that up? What's going on?"

"Let her go," Jax said evenly, gripping the sword tightly as he rose to his full height.

Dren stared at him, his expression incredulous. "Let her go? She's Ionian, Jax! Have you lost your mind? Ulric wants them all dead or captured. You know that. You've fought with us—you've followed those orders!"

Jax's jaw tightened. "I'm asking you to let her go. That's all."

Dren stepped forward, his anger building. "You're protecting her?" he demanded. "After everything we've been through, after all the times we've fought side by side? You're throwing that away for an Ionian?"

Jax didn't flinch. "I'm giving you a chance to walk away, Dren. Don't make me do this."

Dren's grip on his sword tightened, his face twisting in disbelief and fury. "You're insane. Do you even hear yourself? You're a traitor. You think I'm just going to walk away from this?" He snarled, raising his blade. "I won't. Not from you. Not for her."

He lunged with a furious cry, his sword slicing through the air as the forest erupted into chaos, the clash of steel breaking the fragile quiet.

Dren's blade came down hard, the clash of steel ringing out as Jax barely managed to parry. The impact sent a jolt up his arm, and he stumbled back, gripping the unfamiliar curved blade tightly. Pain flared in his left hand, the lingering wound from the arrow throbbing with each movement. The injury limited his strength and forced him to adjust his stance awkwardly, his movements slower and less fluid than he needed them to be.

Lin watched from where she sat on the ground, her wide eyes darting between the two men.

The sword felt strange in Jax's hands, almost alien. It was lighter than the weapons he was used to, its weight distributed differently, making it more nimble but less stable under heavy blows. The curved edge meant it required precision and finesse—qualities that didn't align with the heavier, brute-force fighting style he had grown accustomed to in Noxus. His hands adjusted awkwardly, the hilt feeling thinner and more delicate. Each swing sent a sharp reminder of his weakened grip and the pain in his injured hand, forcing him to rely more on quick, reactive movements than raw power. He sidestepped as Dren advanced again, gritting his teeth against the ache and trying to find a rhythm with the unfamiliar blade.

Dren sneered as he pressed his attack, his strikes calculated and forceful. "What's wrong, Jax?" he taunted. "You look like you're fighting with the wrong hand."

Jax ignored him, his mind focusing entirely on defense, his breaths coming fast and shallow. The sword felt like both a lifeline and a burden in his hands, its lightness allowing him to parry and evade, but its unfamiliar design leaving him exposed under Dren's relentless assault. He adjusted his grip, the pain from his left hand a constant reminder of how close he was to losing control.

But he held on. He had to.

Dren pressed forward, his movements confident and aggressive, his sword a blur of controlled strikes. Jax parried another blow, but the lightness of Lin's sword made it harder to absorb the impact, forcing him to back down quickly to avoid being overpowered.

"You traitorous bastard!" Dren snarled, his blade cutting through the air as he launched another attack. "This isn't you, I thought you were better than this!"

Jax gritted his teeth, deflecting a thrust and spinning away to gain distance. The curved blade allowed for sharper, quicker motions, but it also demanded precision he wasn't used to. Every swing felt like walking a tightrope—one misstep and the sword would slip from his control.

"Looks like you're the one struggling to keep up," Jax muttered, his voice low, trying to mask his discomfort with the weapon.

Dren growled, charging again, his strikes coming faster and harder. Jax pivoted, using the nimbleness of the blade to deflect a strike to the side, then countering with a slash of his own. It wasn't as powerful as he wanted, but it was quick, forcing Dren to retreat for a moment.

Lin, still on the ground, clutched her side, her eyes narrowing as she watched Jax fight. "It's not a hammer," she muttered to herself, almost too quiet for him to hear. "Stop swinging it like one."

Jax adjusted his grip, trying to focus. He let the sword's lightness guide his movements, testing quick, slicing arcs rather than the heavy swings he was used to. As the fight continued, he began to find a rhythm, though the awkwardness never truly left. Each strike felt like a gamble, balancing on the edge of control, but he held his ground. Dren's frustration grew as Jax's movements became harder to predict. "You're really going to do this?" he snarled, swinging wildly. "You'll die for her? For Ionian?"

Jax didn't answer, dodging another attack and letting the curved blade sweep upward in a quick slash that barely missed its mark. His breathing was heavy, his grip slick with sweat, but he stood firm, his stance steadying as he prepared for the next strike.

Dren attacked again, but this time, his movements were desperate and wild, his blade aiming to end the fight with one final blow. Jax stepped diagonally, his body moving on instinct, and with a quick arc of the curved blade, he countered. The strike landed clean, slicing diagonally across Dren's torso from waist to chest.

Dren staggered, falling to his knees as blood poured from the deep diagonal cut across his torso. His sword slipped from his hand, clattering uselessly to the forest floor. He clutched at the wound, his breaths shallow and labored. His eyes lifted to Jax, filled not with anger but a deep, sorrowful confusion.

"Why…?" Dren rasped, his voice weak but steady enough to make Jax falter. "I thought… we were comrades…"

Jax's grip on the curved blade trembled, his chest tightening as he stared down at Dren's bloodied form. The words hit harder than they should have, leaving Jax grasping for something to say, something to explain. But no answer came. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, suffocating. Instead, the question that had gnawed at him since Dren had spoken earlier slipped out. "Why did Ulric send search parties?" Jax asked, his voice low but urgent. He knelt slightly, his gaze locked on Dren's fading eyes. "I'm just a scout. Why would he care?"

Dren let out a faint, bitter laugh, coughing as blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. His head tilted slightly, his expression caught between disbelief and something softer. "Ulric…" he began, his voice barely more than a whisper. "When he thought you died… it was like… he couldn't let it go. Said he needed you back – no matter what."

Jax's heart skipped a beat, confusion and unease swirling in his chest. "What are you talking about?" he pressed, leaning closer. "Why? Why would he care that much?"

Dren's lips moved, but the words didn't come. His breath hitched, his body shuddering as he struggled to hold on. Jax's question hung unanswered, the silence pressing harder with each passing second. Dren's head dipped forward, his body slumping as the light left his eyes.

Jax froze, the curved sword still clutched tightly in his hand. The words echoed in his mind, unanswered and heavy with implication. The forest around him was eerily silent, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Slowly, he let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he lowered the blade.

"Jax," Lin's voice broke the stillness, tentative and unsure. She stood a few steps away, her hand resting against the trunk of the redstar tree. Her wide eyes flicked between Jax and Dren's lifeless body on the ground. "What… was that? He was your comrade, wasn't he? Why did you kill him?"

Jax didn't answer right away. He stood still, his knuckles white around the hilt of the bloodied sword. The question hit him harder than he expected. "It doesn't matter," Jax said finally, his voice flat. He turned away from her, toward the direction of the village. "We need to head back. Right now."

Lin hesitated, then asked another question. He didn't answer. Instead, he raised a hand in a brief, wordless motion for her to follow, his gaze fixed ahead. His silence said more than any words could as he picked up his pace toward the village, leaving Lin with no choice but to fall in step behind him.

When they entered the village, the reactions were immediate. Villagers paused in their tasks, their eyes widening as they saw Jax approaching, the bloodied sword in his hand stark against the quiet morning. Whispers spread quickly, frightened murmurs rippling through the small crowd. Mothers pulled their children closer, and men exchanged uneasy glances but kept their distance. Jax could feel their fear, their mistrust, but he didn't stop. He just kept walking toward Lin's house.

Inside, the warm, quiet atmosphere of the home felt worlds away from the chaos outside. Hana sat at the low table, drinking tea with an older monk dressed in simple robes. The man's serene expression barely shifted as Jax and Lin entered, but Hana immediately noticed the sword in Jax's hand. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she set her cup down carefully.

"What happened?" Hana asked, her voice calm but laced with urgency. "Why is that sword—" Her gaze moved to Lin, searching for answers.

"There was a Noxian scout," Jax interrupted, his tone flat but tense. "They found the village."

Hana stiffened, her face paling. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Jax said firmly. He glanced at Lin, then back at Hana. "You don't have much time. They'll send more when he doesn't return. Everyone needs to run."

Hana's face was pale, her hands trembling slightly as she stood. "We can't just leave," she said, her voice wavering but firm. "This is our home. If we run, where will we go? How will we survive?"

"There's no time for that," Jax said sharply, his tone cutting through her hesitation. "This village is compromised. That scout wasn't alone—there's always more. They'll come looking, and when they do, they won't spare anyone."

Hana looked at him, her expression caught between fear and defiance. "But—"

"No," Jax interrupted, his voice low but insistent. "Just take what's most important and leave. If you stay, you're putting everyone here at risk."

Hana's lips pressed into a thin line, her hesitation evident. She opened her mouth to protest, but Lin stepped forward, her expression grim and determined. "I'll warn the others," she said quickly, already heading for the door. Without waiting for response, she was already outside, her footsteps fading as she disappeared outside.

Hana stood there for a moment, her hands trembling slightly. "I'll… I'll pack my things," she said hesitantly, her voice quieter now. She moved toward the other room, her movements slow and reluctant, as though she were still grappling with the enormity of what was happening.

Jax placed the sword on a table, and walked off to get things, his mind already racing with what he needed to do. He returned to the room where he'd been staying, the calm space now feeling suffocating. He grabbed his few belongings: the pendant around his neck, his boots, and his light scout armor. He donned his Noxian clothes, pulling the familiar fabric over his shoulders, the weight of the armor pressing against his bandaged wound. His eyes briefly flicked to the broken sword lying on the bedside table. The edges of broken shard seemed to glare at him. His hand hovered near it, but after a moment of hesitation, he let out a quiet breath and turned away. It was no use to him now.

When he emerged into the dining room, fully dressed and ready, where Hana was still hastily packing. The older monk, who had remained seated, rose and approached him. Jax frowned, confused by the man's quiet intensity. The monk stopped a few feet away, his serene expression unreadable. "The spirits are restless around you," he said softly, his voice steady but grave. "Something dark grips your heart, like a shadow trying to take hold."

Jax stared at him, unsure how to respond. His grip tightened on the bloodied sword in his hand, the monk's words digging into a place he didn't want to examine. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, looking away.

The monk stood still, his gaze unwavering. "Perhaps you don't," he said quietly, his tone carrying no judgment. "But the spirits know. And so do you, deep down."

Jax clenched his jaw, shaking his head slightly. He didn't have time for this. "Are you ready?" he asked, turning to Hana just as Lin walked back in. Hana nodded, her arms full of hastily packed essentials. Lin slung a small satchel over her shoulder, her expression unreadable as she looked at Jax. He paused, his gaze softening for a moment.

Jax looked at Hana and Lin, his tone sharp but steady. "You need to move fast," he said. "As far as you can, and don't stop until you're a safe distance away. Noxians are relentless in pursuit. They won't give up, and you can't afford to let your guard down. Keep looking over your shoulders. Always."

Hana nodded solemnly, her hesitation melting into resolve. Lin glanced at him, her usual sharpness softened by the gravity of his words. They didn't argue. They simply listened.

Jax shifted uncomfortably, lowering his gaze. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice almost shy. "For everything."

Hana gave him a faint, sad smile. "What are you going to do now?" she asked.

Jax's eyes moved to the door, his expression hardening with a quiet determination. "I'll try to find other scouts," he said. "Buy you some time. After that…" He hesitated, his voice trailing off. "I don't know."

As he turned to leave, Lin stepped forward, holding her sword and a decorated scabbard in her hands. "Take this," she said simply, holding it out to him.

Jax blinked, surprised, and shook his head. "I can't," he said, stepping back slightly. "It's not mine. It belongs to your family."

Lin frowned, her grip on the weapon tightening. "It belonged to my brother," she said, her tone firm but calm. "He's gone, and that sword deserves to be used, not left behind."

Jax hesitated, his hand hovering near the blade. "I shouldn't—"

"You should," Hana interrupted, stepping forward. Her voice was gentle but resolute. "Lin's right. That sword was meant to protect people. If it stays here, it'll just gather dust. Take it, and maybe it can help someone."

Jax looked down at the sword, really seeing it for the first time. The curved blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, its edge sharp and precise. Near the base of the blade, intricate Ionian symbols were carved into the steel, their flowing designs deliberate and beautiful. He didn't understand their meaning, but they felt significant, as though they carried a weight beyond the sword itself.

After a long moment, he let out a quiet breath, his fingers wrapping reluctantly around the hilt. The blade felt lighter than it should have, its weight not just physical but emotional. "Thank you," he said, his voice heavy with a mix of gratitude and unease.

Lin smirked faintly, though her eyes betrayed something softer. "Just don't lose it," she said lightly. "My brother wouldn't forgive you for that."

For a moment, Jax hesitated. "What was his name?"

Lin paused, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "Akaharu," she said softly.

"It means 'morning spring,'" Hana added, her tone gentle. "He always believed in new beginnings."

Jax nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the blade as if the name itself gave it even more weight. "I'll remember that," he murmured, his voice almost a promise.

After a moment, Jax glanced back at Lin. "Did he die?" he asked quietly.

Lin's expression darkened, the faint softness in her eyes replaced by something colder. "Noxians killed him," she said, her voice steady but heavy. "He went to fight for our home when the war began. This sword was all that came back to us."

Jax looked down at the blade again, his grip tightening around the hilt. The room felt heavier, the air charged with unspoken emotion. "I'm sorry," he said softly, though he knew the words could never be enough.

Lin shrugged, her voice quiet. "Just make sure it's used for something that matters."

Jax nodded, slipping the blade into its decorated scabbard and slinging it over his back. With one last look at the two women, he stepped toward the door. The weight of the sword, and the name it carried, settled firmly on his shoulders as he stepped outside and headed for the mountains. So many thoughts churned in his mind—the weight of the sword on his back, the unanswered questions that refused to fade. None of it made sense. Not the nightmares or the visions. Not the cloaked figure who appeared in his workshop that fateful night. But now, there was no turning back. It was time to find out the truth.

Chapter End Notes

I had so much fun writing this chapter! Now, I'm even more excited to dive into the upcoming chapters that will bring the second arc to its conclusion. While I can't reveal the exact number of chapters left, we're steadily moving toward the pivotal moment that will lead Jax to the place we've all been waiting for. :)

Eyes Without Pity

The sun hung low in the western skies, its golden-red rays casting long shadows across the winding main road that cut through the Ionian countryside. Jax's boots crunched against the packed dirt, the rhythmic sound accompanying the quiet rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of unseen birds. The road was wide, flanked by dense groves of cherry blossom trees that stood silent, their pale petals scattered like snow across the ground. It was peaceful, but Jax felt no calm. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that lingered before a storm.

He followed the path southward. The further he went, the more the signs of war became undeniable. Burned-out wagons lay abandoned on the roadside, and deep ruts carved into the dirt marked the passage of heavy Noxian siege engines. Jax passed the remains of a small village, its wooden buildings charred and crumbling. A faint smell of ash lingered in the air, even though the fires had long since gone out.

The road began to incline as the landscape opened up to reveal a vast plain, and in the distance, Jax caught his first glimpse of Isunari. It was breathtaking even from a distance—a sprawling settlement of elegant beauty, steeped in tradition yet carrying an undeniable sense of grandeur. The city stretched across the horizon, its tiled rooftops a mosaic of deep reds, earthy browns, and whites, glinting under the sun. Towering pagodas adorned with delicate golden accents pierced the sky, their curved eaves tipped with shimmering wind chimes that sang softly with the breeze.

Encircling the city were ancient walls, their weathered stone etched with protective wards and intricate carvings of Ionian folklore and sacred symbols. These walls seemed alive, faintly glowing with a subtle magic, a reminder of the city's spiritual strength and its resilience against the tides of war. At the heart of the city rose the Sanctum Spire, the pinnacle of the Great Temple. Its serene, flowing architecture evoked the natural world, resembling a lotus in full bloom. Surrounding it, gardens filled with cherry blossoms, sacred ponds, and artfully placed lanterns added an air of tranquility, visible even from the distance. Despite its serene beauty, the city was not without its weight. As one of the largest settlements in Ionia and its greatest power hub, it bore the responsibility of leadership in a land that rejected centralized governance. The city stood not as a seat of domination but as a symbol of unity, which is why some considered it an unofficial capital of the continent. It was a city steeped in contrasts – peaceful yet commanding, ancient but thriving. And now, it was a city at the edge of the abyss.

Jax's eyes shifted to the massive encampment sprawled across the plains outside the city. The Noxian main host.

Tents stretched as far as the eye could see, a sea of dark red and black fabric bristling with weapons, siege engines, and banners bearing the crimson sigil of Noxus. Smoke curled into the air from countless campfires, mingling with the distant clang of metal and the shouts of soldiers. The camp was alive with activity—rows of soldiers sparring, officers barking orders, and war beasts being prepared for battle. The sheer scale of the encampment was overwhelming, a testament to the relentless power of the Noxian war machine. What drew Jax's attention first was the town nestled at the base of the capital's outer walls. Once a bustling Ionian settlement, it now lay in shambles, its streets overrun with Noxian troops. The remnants of its wooden structures stood charred and broken, their intricate Ionian designs barely visible beneath the layers of ash and debris. What had been homes and markets was now a staging ground for war. The Noxian camp had engulfed the town, forming around it like a parasite draining its host.

Jax stopped at the edge of the road, just before the plain fully opened up, ducking behind a cluster of boulders to observe. He crouched low, his gaze sweeping over the Noxian encampment. It was massive, easily housing tens of thousands of soldiers. His gut tightened as he scanned the banners and markings, trying to pick out anything familiar.

The siege of the city had clearly been prolonged and brutal, with the main host entrenched outside its walls for months. Even from his distant vantage point, Jax could see the damage to the city's walls—sections pockmarked with craters from siege engines and magic projectiles, their once-pristine surfaces marred by relentless bombardment. Parts of the parapets looked hastily reinforced, the patches evidence of desperate repairs. The defenders had held so far, but it was clear the strain was taking its toll.

From his vantage point, Jax could also see the city's defenders. Ionian warriors patrolled the damaged walls, their movements fluid and deliberate. Archers stood ready on the parapets, their bows drawn and trained on the camp below. Despite their discipline and resolve, Jax could feel their weariness, their numbers spread thin. How long could they hold out against the massive host camped outside their gates?

The siege wasn't the only part of the invasion. Jax had heard whispers along the road—smaller Noxian armies were spreading out across Ionia, securing territory and crushing resistance. But in the north, in the province of Navori, he'd heard rumors of defiance. Fighters refusing to yield, striking back against the invaders with everything they had. The war was far from over, even with the capital under siege.

Jax's eyes shifted back to the Noxian camp. Amid the chaos of soldiers and siege equipment, he finally spotted what he was looking for—a section of the camp near the central command tent. The banners there bore the insignia of Ulric's forces, unmistakable against the sea of Noxian standards. Jax's jaw tightened.

Somewhere within the chaos of the camp was Ulric. The commander Jax had once followed. The man he now had to confront.

Jax stayed crouched for a long moment, the weight of the sword on his back grounding him. The questions swirling in his mind—about Ulric, about the war, about himself—felt heavier with every passing second. His next steps wouldn't be easy, but the path forward was clear. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted the scabbard, rose from his hiding spot, and began to move again—toward the edge of the camp and whatever waited within.

Jax approached the edge of the camp, his steps steady but his heart pounding in his chest. The perimeter guards glanced at him as he neared, their eyes briefly scanning his armor and the sword slung across his back. He gave them a small nod, and after a moment's pause, they let him through without a word. He kept his pace measured, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.

Once inside, the scale and organization of the camp struck him. The rows of tents were perfectly aligned, forming neat grids that extended far into the distance. Each section of the camp seemed to have a purpose, with designated areas for supplies, training, and command. Soldiers moved with strict efficiency, their discipline evident in every step.

Jax passed a group of Noxian mages practicing their elemental magic. Bright arcs of fire and ice crackled in controlled bursts as they honed their spells, their instructors barking corrections and commands. The raw power on display was both impressive and unsettling. Nearby, a formation of soldiers drilled in unison, the synchronized clanging of their shields and swords echoing across the camp. Others sparred in open spaces, their grunts and the sharp clash of steel adding to the ever-present din of activity.

Rarely did anyone pay him more than a passing glance. The camp was vast, and Jax's Noxian armor helped him blend in. He walked with purpose, mimicking the confidence of those around him, though inside, he was anything but certain. For a brief moment, he felt disoriented, unsure where to go in the maze of tents and bustling soldiers.

He stopped near a small clearing, pretending to adjust his armor while taking in his surroundings. The banners of different commanders fluttered in the breeze, their insignias marking distinct sections of the camp. Somewhere here, Ulric's command lay. He just needed to find it. There were questions Jax needed answers to. Ulric was cold and calculated, not the kind of man to waste resources on a mere scout. There had to be a reason, and Jax was determined to find out why.

Moving deeper into the central area of the camp, a faint sound reached his ears – music.

He stopped, his gaze shifting to where the soft melody drifted from. It was unusual, out of place amidst the chaos and rigid order of the camp. Quietly, Jax moved closer, his curiosity piqued. By a small fire, he saw him. Torren sat on a makeshift stool, his shoulders relaxed as his fingers moved deftly over the strings of a lyre-like instrument. The melody was light and wistful, carrying a quiet warmth that seemed to ease the tension in the air. On either side of him sat two camp followers—women dressed in plain but colorful clothing. One leaned against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed, while the other watched him with a faint smile, her chin resting in her hand.

For a moment, Jax hesitated, staying in the shadows as he watched the scene. Torren's usual rowdy energy was absent, replaced by a rare calmness as the flickering firelight softened his features. But as much as Jax felt the urge to stay hidden, something in him pushed forward. He stepped out into the firelight, clearing his throat. Torren's fingers faltered on the strings, the music cutting off abruptly. His head snapped up, his expression confused at first. Then his eyes widened in shock.

"Jax?" Torren shot up from his stool, nearly toppling it over as he closed the distance between them in two quick strides. "You lucky bastard!" he exclaimed, pulling Jax into a fierce hug. "I knew you wouldn't go down that easily!"

Jax grinned faintly, patting Torren on the back. "Good to see you too."

Torren pulled back, his hands gripping Jax's shoulders as he looked him over. "Where in the bloody hell have you been? Everyone thought you were dead! Kelan said no one makes it out of an ambush like that, but I told him—nah, not Jax. He's tougher than that." He laughed, shaking his head. "And here you are, proving me right."

Jax's smile lingered, the warmth of the reunion cutting through some of the tension that had followed him into the camp. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice steady. "I guess I got lucky."

"Lucky?" Torren scoffed, grinning. "That's putting it lightly. So, where the hell have you been? No one's seen you in weeks."

Jax hesitated, his mind flickering briefly to Shizunai. He thought of Hana and Lin, hoping they'd made it far enough away to be safe. He'd bought them some time by dealing with the scouts, but he hadn't been sure he'd found them all.

"Got caught behind enemy lines," Jax said, keeping his tone casual. "Took me a while to find a way back."

Torren raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but satisfied with the answer. "Behind enemy lines, huh? Damn, you must've been running circles around them. Guess that's why you're still in one piece."

His voice carried with a theatrical flair, drawing the attention of two women seated by the fire. Seizing the moment, Torren grinned and clapped Jax on the shoulder with exaggerated enthusiasm. "This here," he declared, glancing at them with a conspiratorial wink, "isn't just any soldier. Oh no. This is the guy who once took down five Ionian monks in a single duel—barehanded, mind you. And rumor has it, he can outdrink every officer in the camp."

Jax raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his lips pressed into a faint smirk as Torren kept going.

"This fiery-haired vision of charm," Torren said, nodding toward the ginger-haired woman, "is Lyra, a poet by trade, though her beauty is pure art itself." Lyra rolled her eyes playfully, a smile widening at her lips. "And this," Torren added, gesturing toward the dark-skinned woman, "is Amara, who, if I may say, could easily outshine the brightest stars over Noxus."

Amara snorted, folding her arms. "Don't let him fool you," she said to Jax, her tone teasing. "He's been trying the same lines on us all night."

"Ah, but it's different this time!" Torren exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Tonight, I have Jax here to back me up." He turned to the women, leaning closer as if to share a secret. "This guy? He's the definition of Noxian grit. If we're lucky, he might even regale us with tales of his heroics."

Jax shook his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "I think Torren's doing enough talking for both of us," he said, his tone light.

"Nonsense!" Torren said, nudging him toward the fire. "Come on, Jax. You can't leave me hanging. Tell them about the time you…" He trailed off, snapping his fingers dramatically. "Oh! The ambush near the Weiji cliffs! I swear, this man stared down twenty Ionians and walked away without a scratch."

Jax glanced at the women, who were both watching with mild amusement. He could feel Torren's enthusiasm pulling at him, and while it wasn't awkward, he couldn't help but feel the weight of his current mission pressing against this lighthearted moment.

"Right," Jax said, his voice calm but measured. "That's not exactly how it happened, but sure."

Torren grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Don't let his modesty fool you. Jax is as humble as he is deadly."

Jax sighed, giving Lyra and Amara a small, knowing shrug. "He's always been like this," he said simply, earning chuckles from the women. Lowering himself onto the stool next to Amara, her warm gaze briefly met his before she leaned slightly closer. Torren, ever the showman, was in the middle of another grand tale, his arms gesturing wildly as Lyra chuckled at his theatrics.

"So, Jax," Amara said, her voice smooth and curious, cutting through the noise of Torren's storytelling. "What's your story? Torren here makes you sound like a legend. Is any of it true?"

Jax offered a faint smile, trying to keep his voice even. "Depends on which part he told you."

"The five monks, barehanded," Amara replied with a raised brow, clearly amused. "That one's hard to believe."

Jax shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. "That's… not exactly how it went. I was lucky to get out of that one alive."

Amara grinned, leaning back slightly. "Modest, huh? I like that."

Jax shifted in his seat, glancing at Torren, who was now miming an exaggerated sword fight for Lyra's benefit. He opened his mouth to speak, hoping to steer the conversation toward his questions, but Torren's booming voice cut him off.

"And then Jax—cool as ice—just says, 'Try harder next time,' and walks away like nothing happened!" Torren bellowed, earning a laugh from Lyra.

Jax sighed inwardly, masking his impatience with a neutral expression. He glanced back at Amara, who was still watching him with interest. "So, how are you handling all this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely toward the camp and the distant sounds of drills and shouting. "The war, I mean. Torren makes it sound like nothing ever gets to you."

Jax hesitated, his gaze flicking to the fire as he weighed his response. He wasn't much for words, especially when it came to personal questions, but he didn't want to come off as rude either. "I manage," he said simply, his tone steady but reserved. "You just… get through it."

Amara tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Doesn't sound easy."

"It's not," Jax admitted after a pause, glancing at her briefly before shifting his attention back to Torren, who was still in the middle of his exaggerated storytelling. Amara's beauty didn't escape him—her smooth features, the confident way she carried herself—but it wasn't what held his focus. His mind was elsewhere, his thoughts circling back to the questions he needed answers to.

He tried to steer the conversation back on track. "Torren," he said, cutting in during a rare pause. "I need to—"

"Hold that thought, Jax," Torren interrupted, raising a hand dramatically. "Let me finish this one. You'll love it."

Jax sighed inwardly as Torren launched into yet another story, this time recounting a skirmish in exaggerated detail, complete with grand gestures and sound effects. Lyra and Amara leaned in, clearly entertained, while Jax sat back, his patience wearing thin.

"…and then, just when she thought she'd won the drinking contest, who steps up to the table?" Torren paused, looking around the group with a smug grin before dramatically pointing to himself. "Me, of course. Tankard in one hand, dice in the other. The crowd's going wild, bets are flying, and I—"

"Torren," Jax interjected, his voice steady but carrying a hint of urgency.

"—roll a perfect six!" Torren continued as though he hadn't heard, his grin growing even wider. "The whole place erupts! Drinks are spilled, coins are flying, and the poor fool who thought she had me beat? Speechless. Absolutely speechless."

Jax exhaled quietly, his fingers tapping lightly against his leg as he waited for a pause. But Torren was unstoppable, diving headlong into every exaggerated detail of his triumphant night at the tavern.

Amara caught Jax's eye and gave him a small, knowing smile. "He doesn't stop, does he?" she murmured quietly, leaning closer.

Jax's patience finally snapped. He leaned forward, cutting Torren off mid-sentence. "Torren, shut up," he said flatly, his voice low but firm.

Torren blinked, startled. "What's with you, Jax? I'm in the middle of—"

"I need to talk to you," Jax interrupted, his tone sharper this time. He stood abruptly, glancing at Lyra and Amara. "Excuse us," he muttered, his voice softer now, though still tense. "I'll bring him back. Eventually."

Amara raised an eyebrow but gave him a small smile, while Lyra crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. "You owe us a good story when you're done," Amara quipped.

Jax ignored the comment, already tugging a still-confused Torren away from the fire. As they moved toward the edge of the campfire's glow, Torren looked at him, his brow furrowed. "What's the big deal? You drag me away from my audience for what? You better have a damn good reason."

Jax stopped a few paces away, his expression serious. "I do," he said simply, his voice steady. "And it can't wait. Why did Ulric send search parties for me?"

Torren frowned, the question catching him off guard. "Why?" he repeated, as if the answer should be obvious. "Because he wanted to find you. He thought you were dead, and—"

Jax shook his head, cutting him off. "No. That doesn't add up. Why would the Commander send search parties for a mere scout? I wasn't even the best scout in the regiment, Torren. You know that."

Torren hesitated, his brow furrowing as the weight of Jax's words began to sink in. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, his confusion deepening. Jax could see the doubt beginning to take root, his old friend's confidence faltering as he tried to piece it together.

"I don't know," Torren admitted reluctantly, his voice quieter now. "Maybe you're wrong. Maybe there's another reason."

"Think about it," Jax pressed, his voice calm but firm. "He wouldn't waste resources on someone like me unless there was something else."

Torren looked away, clearly troubled, his mind racing as he turned the possibility over. Jax stood silently, waiting for a response, when Torren suddenly perked up, his gaze shifting past Jax's shoulder. "Hey, it's Riven," he said, his tone lighter, though the unease in his eyes hadn't entirely faded.

Jax turned around and saw her. Riven was riding on horseback, her powerful figure silhouetted against the fading light. Kelan rode beside her, with about a dozen other soldiers following behind them, their armor glinting as they approached. She pulled her horse to a halt as her eyes landed on him, her surprise flickering for only a moment before it was replaced by a composed, blank expression.

As the group drew closer, Riven dismounted her horse with ease, landing on the ground with a hard thud and clatter of armor. Her sharp eyes scanned him head to toe, as if examining him for injuries – or weakness. She stopped just in front of him.

"You're alive," she said, her tone even but carrying a faint warmth beneath the curiosity, as if she were still processing the sight of him standing there. For a brief moment, her demeanor softened before her usual composure returned. Kelan, still seated on his horse, grinned broadly and slid off his mount to follow her. Unlike Riven, his reaction was far more animated. "Jax!" he exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder with a wide smile. "You have no idea how good it is to see you alive. Everyone thought you were dead after that ambush. I mean, no one comes back from that."

Jax offered a small, faint smile, his eyes flicking briefly between them. "I was lucky," he said, his voice steady but guarded.

Torren laughed behind him. "I told you all he was too stubborn to die."

Riven's gaze remained fixed on Jax. "Where have you been?" she asked. "The Commander sent search parties for you."

Jax hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of her question and the watchful eyes of those around them. "It's a long story," he said, his tone measured. "Actually, Ulric is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Riven nodded curtly, her expression unchanging. "Good. You can tell me on the way to his tent."

Jax frowned, his thoughts racing. Had he already found out that Jax was back in the camp? He studied Riven for a moment. There was something different about her—more composed, almost coldly stoic, even more so than he remembered. She carried herself with a sharpness that felt new, as though her confidence had hardened into something unyielding.

"Come on, let him take a breath, Riv. He just got back," Torren protested, stepping forward with an exasperated look. But Riven shot him a sharp glance, silencing him immediately, before turning her gaze back to Jax.

"Can't do," she said flatly. "These are Commander's orders."

Jax exhaled quietly and nodded. That would explain her lack of surprise to see him alive. "Lead the way," he said, motioning with his arm for her to go ahead. His gut twisted slightly as he fell into step behind her, knowing that whatever awaited him at Ulric's tent, it would demand every ounce of his focus.

Riven walked ahead, leading her horse by the reins, while Jax followed a step behind. The sky deepened into a rich indigo, with stars shimmering brightly above the bustling camp. His eyes were drawn to the massive blade strapped to her back, its weight resting on the folds of her red cloak. The weapon was enormous, but Jax had no doubt Riven could wield it effortlessly. Carved runes along the blade's jagged edges pulsed faintly with a green glow, like veins of raw power coursing through the metal.

"New sword?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Riven glanced over her shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Compensation for my service," she said, her tone brimming with pride. "A new sword and a warband of my own."

Jax nodded, his thoughts drifting to what else might have changed in the time he'd been away from the army. "You earned it."

"Thank you," she replied, her voice steady. "The Commander recommended me for promotion, and Emperor Darkwill himself gave me the blade."

That made Jax pause. The Emperor himself? It was a rare honor, one reserved for the truly exceptional. He was surprised at the source of the weapon, but not at her promotion. Riven had always stood out, even as a recruit. She was the strongest among them, the most skilled fighter, and a natural leader. The others followed her without question, her strength and resolve inspiring their loyalty. Time and again, she had proven herself on the battlefield, embodying everything Noxus valued.

It was just as she'd said back when they were recruits. She believed wholeheartedly in Noxus and its ideals—strength, unity, and the pursuit of power. If anyone could rise through the ranks and live out the Noxian dream, it was her. And Jax, knowing her as well as he did, couldn't deny that she was doing exactly that.

Riven glanced back at Jax as they walked, her smirk lingering. "The siege will continue soon," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "We're gearing up for the next push. The walls are weaker now. One more good assault, and we'll breach them. Once that happens, the city will fall."

Jax listened quietly, his gaze fixed on the ground as they moved.

"It's good to have you back," she continued. "You'll have a chance to prove yourself in battle. Maybe even impress some people of influence. Noxus rewards those who stand out."

Jax looked up at her, his expression calm but resolute. "I have no such ambitions," he said evenly.

Riven raised an eyebrow, glancing at him over her shoulder. "No ambitions? Come on, Jax. This is Noxus. Ambition is everything."

Riven kept her stride steady, leading her horse by the reins, the faint glow of her runic blade visible over her shoulder. After a few moments, she broke the silence again. "You've been gone for weeks," she said, her voice quieter than usual. She looked at him, her green eyes betraying a flicker of something softer. "I'll admit, I was worried."

Jax was caught off guard by her candor. "You were?"

She nodded, her expression still composed but earnest. "Of course I was. After the search parties came back with nothing, it wasn't looking good. You disappearing like that? It didn't sit right."

Jax fixed his gaze ahead as they continued through the maze of tents, his mind flickering to darker thoughts. What would she think if she knew I killed Dren? Would she call me a traitor too? The question lingered, heavy and unwelcome, as he forced himself to respond. "I didn't plan on disappearing," he said simply. "Things just… happened."

"You're back now, and that's what matters," Riven said, her voice firm but with an undertone of reassurance. She hesitated briefly before continuing. "But I've been meaning to ask you—why would the Commander send those search parties for you? It's not like him."

Jax shot her a brief glance. "That's what I've been meaning to find out."

Riven's brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't press further. Instead, she studied him for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then she turned her attention forward as the path opened up to the command section of the camp.

Night had fallen by the time they reached their destination. The encampment was sprawling, a labyrinth of tents, supply stations, and makeshift armories stretching as far as the eye could see. Fires burned in scattered clusters, casting flickering light across the sea of crimson banners and the glinting steel of weapons. The air was thick with the mingled scents of smoke, sweat, and damp earth. Ulric's tent loomed ahead, larger and more ornate than the others. Its crimson fabric was embroidered with intricate black designs, the markings almost menacing in the dim light. A pair of guards stood at the entrance, their armor gleaming faintly in the glow of nearby lanterns. The heavy atmosphere around the tent made it feel isolated from the rest of the camp, as though even the air grew colder the closer they got.

Riven glanced at Jax one last time before motioning toward the entrance. "Let's go," she said simply, her tone steady but quieter now, as if sensing the weight of what was about to unfold.

The guards at the entrance stepped aside, their faces impassive as they motioned for Riven and Jax to enter. The air inside the tent felt heavier, colder, as though the space itself repelled warmth. Lanterns cast a dim, uneven light against the crimson walls, their glow too faint to dispel the shadows that crept into every corner.

Ulric sat at a wide, imposing desk, its surface littered with maps, documents, and ink-stained quills. His head was bent low as he scribbled something onto a parchment, his hand moving with sharp, precise strokes. The faint scratching of the quill against the paper was the only sound, cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.

"Commander," Riven announced, her voice firm as she saluted, though even her usual confidence seemed muted in his presence.

Ulric's hand froze mid-stroke, and he looked up slowly, his calculating eyes first landing on Riven before shifting to Jax. His gaze lingered, cold and piercing, as though dissecting him piece by piece. For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression—surprise, recognition, or perhaps irritation. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual mask of cold detachment.

"Jax," Ulric said, his voice low and deliberate, carrying an unsettling calm. He set the quill down with precision, the movement unnervingly measured, and leaned back in his chair. Steepling his fingers, he regarded Jax with an expression that revealed nothing. "You've returned."

"Sir," Jax replied in a disciplined tone. He inclined his head in acknowledgment, though he could feel the weight of Ulric's gaze pressing down on him like a vice.

Ulric's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile that held no warmth. "Riven," he said dismissively. "That will be all."

Riven hesitated, glancing briefly at Jax before saluting again. "Yes, Commander." Her voice was clipped, and she cast one last look at Jax as she exited the tent, the heavy flap falling shut behind her with a dull thud.

Now, it was just the two of them. The silence in the tent stretched out, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of the lanterns and the rustling of the fabric walls. Ulric leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk as he continued to study Jax. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

"You've been gone for weeks," Ulric began, his tone casual but cold. "That's a long time to leave your comrades without word."

Jax stood firm, his gaze steady. "I didn't have much choice, sir. I was cut off after the ambush."

Ulric nodded slightly, as if considering the answer, though his expression remained unreadable. "The ambush," he echoed, his voice calm. "A regrettable loss. And yet, here you are—alive. You must have been resourceful."

"I did what I had to," Jax replied, keeping his tone neutral.

"Indeed," Ulric said, his mouth decorated with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Survival can teach a man much about himself. It strips away pretense, reveals… truths."

Something about the way he said the word truths made Jax uneasy. He shifted his weight slightly, careful to keep his expression neutral. "I've learned to adapt," he said simply.

Ulric tilted his head, his piercing gaze unrelenting. "Adapt, yes. But that doesn't explain everything, does it? You see, I don't believe in coincidences, Jax. I never have."

Jax frowned, confused. "What do you mean, sir?"

Ulric's smile widened, still devoid of warmth. "You were reported dead. Scouts found no sign of you or your remains. And yet, not only do you return, but you do so… now. At this particular moment." He paused, the silence between them stretching, his tone dropping lower. "Isn't that curious?"

"I don't know what you're implying," Jax said carefully, his voice steady, though his pulse quickened.

The faint flicker of the lanterns seemed to dim as Ulric rose from his seat, his movements slow and deliberate. "You've been through much, Jax. More than most would endure. But tell me—what is it you hope to find now that you're back?"

Jax hesitated, feeling the weight of the question. "Answers," he said finally, his voice steady. "I want to know why search parties were sent for me. I'm just a scout. Why go to so much trouble?"

For a moment, the Commander said nothing, letting the weight of the question hang in the dim light of the tent. The lanterns flickered faintly, their glow casting jagged shadows on the crimson walls. "Why?" Ulric repeated softly, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something darker. "It's an excellent question. One I've asked myself."

Jax's brow furrowed slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You see, Jax, I've always been interested in potential. Watching soldiers rise—or fall—testing the limits of their strength and resolve. And you… you've always been interesting to me. Capable. Resilient. Yet, I wondered—how far could you go? What would you become?"

Jax frowned, his chest tightening. "That doesn't answer the question."

"No," Ulric admitted. "It doesn't. But only recently have I… understood. Only recently have I begun to see the truths."

"What truths?" Jax asked, his voice edged with unease.

Ulric's smile widened slightly, though it carried no warmth. "I've been watching you," he said smoothly, as if sensing Jax's tension. "We all have. We had to be sure."

Jax's jaw clenched. "Sure of what?"

"That you are who he said you were," Ulric replied, his voice dropping into a soft, almost reverent whisper. "He told us, but we had to see. We had to watch."

Jax's breath hitched, his mind racing. "Who?" he demanded, his voice edged with both confusion and defiance.

Ulric's smile turned sly, his cold gaze piercing into him even further. "Tell me, Jax," he said. "The dreams what do you see in them? The visions that haunt you—what do they show? And the whispers," he continued, his voice barely above a murmur now, "the ones in the quiet moments, in the stillness. You've heard them, haven't you?"

Jax's heart pounded, his pulse echoing in his ears, and he couldn't ignore the knot forming in his chest. How does he know?

Ulric walked around the desk, stepping closer, his presence almost suffocating. "You've felt it," he said softly, his words cutting through Jax's defenses. "The pull. The beckoning. Tell me, Jax… what do they say to you?"

Jax stared at him, frozen. His thoughts were running wild, swirling in chaos.

"Have you ever wondered?" he continued, his tone insidious. "Why some enemies flee at the mere sight of you? Why they falter without you even lifting a hand? You've felt it, haven't you? Though you never question it – never thought to."

Jax's chest tightened. Torren's words flashed in his memory: This man stared down twenty Ionians and walked away without a scratch. The boast had seemed exaggerated at the time, but was it? Other memories surfaced, unbidden. Years ago, back in Zaun, at the docks. The thug who had been so sure of himself, his bravado turning to sheer terror in an instant. The way he'd screamed and fled, as though Jax were some nightmare made real.

Could it be that all of it – every inexplicable moment – was connected?

"What's happening to me?" Jax's voice wavered, heavy with fear, and laced with desperation as the question slipped from his lips. "Who are you? What… what do you want from me?"

Ulric's wicked smile grew wider. "Oblivion."

Before Jax could respond, the Commander raised his hand slowly, his fingers outstretched as if to touch him. "All you need to do," he said softly, "is see."

Jax's breath hitched, terror flooding him. His mind flashed back to that night in his workshop, to the cloaked apparition that had emerged from the shadows, its hand brushing against his forehead. That single touch had shattered his world, pulling him into the nightmare visions that plagued him even now.

His hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, his instincts screaming at him to defend himself. But his body refused to move, frozen in place by fear—or something else. His muscles locked, his breath quickening as Ulric's finger drew closer, the air between them charged with an unnatural energy.

When Ulric's finger finally made contact with his forehead, a cold, searing sensation rippled through Jax. His vision flickered violently, the tent around him dissolving into darkness.

In an instant, Jax was standing at the edge of the canyon again, the world around him was dissolving into nothingness. There was no sky, no ground—just an infinite void stretching endlessly in every direction. The canyon seemed suspended in this emptiness, its jagged edges framing a rift that pulsed and breathed with something unholy. The pull from its depths was stronger than before, an invisible force dragging at his very being, making every breath a struggle.

The silence was deafening, a void of sound that made the oppressive weight pressing against his chest even more unbearable. Jax's knees felt weak, and he fought the urge to step back, though there was nowhere to retreat.

On the far side of the canyon, a figure emerged from the nothingness—a towering presence, its form cloaked in shadows that seemed alive, shifting and writhing like smoke. It stood impossibly still, yet its sheer existence exuded power and dread. The faint, glowing eyes pierced through the abyss, locking onto Jax. They didn't just look at him—they saw him, as if laying bare every hidden corner of his mind.

The pull from the rift grew stronger, dragging at him, threatening to tear him from the ledge. He felt the oppressive energy of the figure reach out, though it never moved. It didn't need to. Its presence alone was overwhelming, a manifestation of fear and inevitability.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the vision shattered.

Jax's chest still heaved from the vision, his breaths shallow and ragged. The weight of what he had just witnessed bore down on him, making his legs feel like they could give out at any moment. His wide eyes stared blankly, not fully registering Ulric's words. The canyon. The figure. Those glowing eyes—it all felt too real, too much.

"You've seen it," Ulric said, his voice low and almost reverent, the cold detachment he once held now replaced with a strange fervor. "It comes for us all. It will consume. It will cleanse." The commander's face, once a mask of calm command, now bore the unmistakable signs of madness. His eyes were wild, burning with something unnatural, and his lips twisted into a grotesque grin as he spoke.

"Do you feel it yet, Jax?" he murmured, and each word seemed to echo and linger. "The inevitability? It's been calling you for so long. The whispers in your dreams, the pull in your heart. You belong to it as we all do. But you—" he paused, his head tilting slightly as if studying him anew. "You were chosen. Special. The last piece."

Jax blinked, the words barely penetrating the haze of his shock. His mind replayed the vision over and over. The oppressive void. The rift. The figure. Chosen? The word barely registered.

"It is not a curse, Jax. It's a gift. And you will see that soon enough. You'll become what you were meant to—"

The words blurred together, half-heard as Jax's breathing quickened. Something inside him snapped, the dissonance of the moment—Ulric's cryptic words, the vision, the invisible pressure—colliding in his mind.

Jax's instincts roared to life. In a single fluid motion, his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. The blade hissed as it left its scabbard, the sound sharp and decisive. Before Ulric could react, before the commander's twisted smile could fade into surprise, the sword arced through the air.

The blade sliced cleanly through Ulric's neck, the motion almost too fast to comprehend. Blood sprayed in an arc, the crimson staining the dim light of the tent. For a moment, Ulric's body stood motionless, his head severed, before collapsing with a sickening thud. The lifeless body collapsed to the ground, the madness in his expression frozen in place.

Jax stood still, the sword trembling in his grip, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The tent felt impossibly quiet now. His mind reeled, the enormity of what he'd done crashing down on him. He had just killed his commander.

The words Ulric had spoken echoed faintly in his mind. You were chosen.

As Ulric's lifeless body lay crumpled on the dirt floor, the oppressive darkness that had filled the tent seemed to lift. The flickering lantern light, which had once danced erratically, now settled into a steady glow, illuminating the crimson-stained ground. The air, once heavy and suffocating, felt lighter—though it did nothing to ease the storm in Jax's chest.

His came in ragged gasps as he stared at the lifeless form of his commander. The sight twisted something deep inside him. Anger, sharp and bitter, boiled to the surface, mixing with the fear that clawed at his chest. The visions. The rift. The figure. It all churned in his mind, a relentless tide that refused to settle. So many questions he had no answers to, only the unsettling silence of the tent, broken by the faint crackle of the lantern wicks.

Before Jax could decide his next move, the flaps of the tent rustled behind him. His body tensed as his instincts screamed at him to prepare for more chaos.

"Commander, I—" Riven's voice cut through the stillness, but her words faltered as she stepped inside. Her sharp green eyes darted between the body of Ulric and Jax, who stood frozen in the center of the tent, his sword still dripping crimson.

The silence stretched, heavy and tense. Riven's gaze lingered on Ulric's lifeless form before snapping back to Jax, narrowing in disbelief and shock. Her mouth opened as though to speak, but all she managed was, "You—" before her voice cracked under the weight of disbelief.

Her expression twisted, a mixture of anger and pain etched into her features. "What have you done?" she said, her voice trembling but firm enough to cut through the tension. Without hesitation, she unsheathed her massive runic blade, its green runes flaring to life with a faint, ominous glow. Her stance was tense, ready for a fight, but there was something in her eyes—a hurt she couldn't hide.

Jax's chest tightened. "Riven, listen to me," he said, his voice desperate. He raised his free hand as if to placate her, but she didn't lower her weapon. "It's… It's not what you think."

"Not what I think?" she snapped, her voice breaking. "You killed him, Jax. The commander—our commander. And now you want me to believe you have a reason for it? What could possibly justify this?"

Jax's mind was going wild. He knew she wouldn't believe him if he tried to explain the visions or the chilling truths Ulric had revealed. He didn't even fully understand them himself. "Riven, he wasn't the man you think he was," Jax said, his tone low but urgent. "He… something was wrong with him, and I–"

"Enough!" she interrupted, her grip tightening on her blade. "You'd expect me to believe that? After everything?" Her voice cracked, but her resolve didn't falter. "You've lost your mind, Jax." Her expression hardened, and her voice rose sharply. "Guards!" she shouted, her tone cutting through the tense of night air.

Jax cursed under his breath. He had seconds, at most. His gaze flicked around the tent, landing on the lantern burning faintly on Ulric's desk. Without thinking, he lunged for it, grabbing the handle and hurling it toward Riven with all his strength.

The lantern shattered at her feet, a burst of flames igniting the spilled oil. Riven flinched, stepping back instinctively as the fire roared to life, creating a wall of heat and light between her and Jax. Her blade gleamed in the light, her eyes narrowing with fury as she shouted, "Coward!"

Jax's heart pounded as his eyes darted around the confined space. Riven stood firm near the tent flap, her blade glowing faintly as the light from the lantern reflected off its runes. Her stance blocked the only clear exit, and her sharp eyes followed his every move. His gaze darted to the fabric walls of the tent, their taut surface rippling slightly in the breeze. Without a second thought, he pivoted, slashing his blade in a swift, powerful arc.

The fabric tore with a loud rip, the sudden opening exposing the cool night air beyond. He dove through the jagged hole he'd made with no hesitation, rolling into the shadows outside. He hit the ground hard, the dirt scraping against his arms, but he pushed himself up quickly. The shouts from inside the tent grew louder, and he could already hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

He darted through the rows of tents, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart hammering like a war drum in his chest. The camp buzzed with activity—soldiers moving between scattered fires, shadows flickering against the fabric walls. Jax kept his head low, slipping through the maze of structures with practiced precision. He knew the time window was very short before the alarm fully spread and the confusion turned into pursuit. He ducked behind a stack of supply crates, his scout instincts taking over. He needed to create distance, to lose himself in the chaos before the guards closed in. Spotting a line of wagons headed toward the eastern edge of the camp, he moved quickly, weaving through the shadows.

Behind him, he heard Riven shouting orders, her voice rising above the growing commotion. "Find him! Don't let him escape!"

Jax's jaw tightened. He slipped between the wagons, grabbing a cloak draped over a crate and throwing it over his shoulders. Disguised and out of immediate sight, he melted into a group of camp followers, blending into the moving crowd.

As he neared the perimeter, his sharp eyes spotted a weak point in the guard patrol—a gap near the supply carts where the shadows ran deep. Timing his movements carefully, he darted into the darkness, his steps quick and silent. He didn't stop running until the sounds of the camp faded into the distance, his lungs burning as the cool night air filled his senses. Only then did he slow, his mind still racing with everything that had just happened.

Ulric was dead. Riven thought him a traitor. And now, he was on the run. Whatever came next, Jax knew one thing: there was no going back.

The Dancing Dragon

Jax narrowed his eyes, watching the dust-tail that rose ahead, three or four bends of the road away. He was already headed toward the wild hedgerow alongside the road. Its evergreen leaves and dense branches would hide him as well as a stone wall. The other side of the road was marked by the head-high bushes, and beyond was an open field for half a mile to the woods. It might have been part of a farm not too long abandoned, but it offered no quick hiding place. He tried to judge the speed of the dust-tail, and the wind.

A sudden gust swirled road dust up around him, obscuring everything. He blinked and adjusted the collar of his cloak across his nose and mouth. None too clean now, it made his face itch, but it kept him from inhaling dust with every breath. Jax was glad there was no rain. Rain settled the dust, and dust was the only warning he had before whoever it was on the road came close enough to hear. As he pushed to the other side of the hedge through a hole someone cut there once, he heard horses coming. Not the wind.

He crouched behind the barely covered opening, clutching the hilt of his sword on his back as the horsemen rode by. Five… six… seven of them. Their hard armors and red tunics told him all he needed to know. The pursuit was in motion. One of them casually swung his eyes toward the hedge as he went by the opening, and Jax bared an inch of his sword. But the riders moved on as if nothing was there, riding with haste.

He waited until the clop of the hooves faded before he stuck his head cautiously back through the hole. The dust-tail was well down the road, going the way they had come. Eastward the sky was clear. He walked back to the road, watching the column of dust move west.

For days after fleeing the main host encampment, Jax would find himself staring back down at the road behind him. There was considerable traffic on the road – the Noxian soldiers were a common sight on the road in this part of Ionia, a reminder of the Empire's occupation and reach.

Jax kept his distance, staying off the main paths whenever possible. He knew it was only a matter of time before word of his betrayal spread. He was no longer just a scout or a soldier – he was a traitor a wanted criminal, a traitor who assassinated the officer of the Empire. The thought gnawed at him with every passing mile.

It wasn't just the soldiers that unsettled him. The former camp followers, the Ionian refugees moving east, even the merchants hauling their wares through the war-torn land – all of them seemed like potential threats. He avoided them all, keeping his head low and his movement cautious.

The first village Jax came across felt familiar, reminding him of countless others he'd passed through during the last two years in Ionia. Two years? Had it really been that long? Or did it just feel like an eternity? From a distance, the village was a haunting silhouette against the falling night. What remained of its structures sagged and leaned, their wooden frames blackened and splintered, some reduced to skeletal outlines. The ground was littered with debris – broken carts, collapsed roofs, and fragments of what were once homes. Smoke no longer rose, but the scars of fire remained.

A few days later, what little food he had ran out. The land around him was barren, stripped clean by the relentless march of armies. Jax foraged for whatever scraps he could find—berries, roots, even small game—but the hunger clawed at him relentlessly. The sharp pangs in his stomach were constant at first, gnawing and insistent. But then, after a while, the pain dulled, replaced by a hollow emptiness that felt worse.

He mostly slept under some bushes still bearing their leaves, curled up on the ground, wrapped in his cloak, without a fire. A fire could be seen; better to be cold. Uneasy with his nightmares, Jax woke often, and every time he could hear the faint voices and whispers, lingering even after he woke up. You will return. He stopped counting how many nights he spent with just his cloak to protect him from the wind, and sometimes the rain, cold and soaking. Or how many times the only meal he had for a day was cold water.

He believed he was heading toward the Placidium of Navori, judging by the mountain range he followed and his fragmented memories of the maps he'd studied. The further he went, the fewer signs of Noxian occupation he noticed. The air grew quieter, the roads less traveled, as though he was moving away from the heart of the conflict.

It was then, just as the hunger threatened to overwhelm him, that he spotted a small farm tucked against the rolling hills. The sight of it stopped him in his tracks—a modest cluster of buildings surrounded by untended fields. He didn't like the idea of approaching in broad daylight, his instincts urging him to wait for nightfall. But as he stood there, watching the quiet farm, guilt ate at him from the inside. The Noxians had already taken so much from the Ionians. To stoop to their level, to steal from these people in their own home—it felt like crossing a line he wasn't ready to face.

Jax didn't like it, but he decided to approach the farmhouse openly in broad daylight. Perhaps an hour or two of work could earn him a meal—or even a place to rest, even if it was just a pile of straw in the barn. Anything was better than sleeping under a tree or out in the open with nothing but the cold and hunger as the only reminders. What he didn't like, however, was the cost of lingering in one place. Every moment spent here was a moment his pursuers gained on him. But with no food and his strength waning, he didn't have a choice.

The farmer, an older Ionian man in his late fifties, eyed him warily when Jax made his offer. Suspicion etched deep lines into his weathered face as he studied the stranger before him. Jax did his best to appear unassuming, to hide the telltale signs of his past as a Noxian soldier. But the faint crimson stitching on his tattered clothes gave him away. There was no point in denying it.

Even so, the farmer didn't turn him away. He kept his distance, his body language stiff and cautious, but he let Jax work in exchange for a meal. Perhaps the man thought him a deserter, just another poor soul running from the war, and that was enough to justify sparing a crust of bread. The fact that his wife told him he reminded her of her grandson was somewhat able to lessen his worry about the man.

Jax worked stripped to the waist, his sweat mixing with the dust and dirt of the farm as he hauled heavy buckets of water from the well and raked through the fields. His muscles burned with the effort, but he found the distraction welcoming, the mechanical repetition of the tasks pulling his mind away from the hunger and constant sense of pursuit.

When he was finished, he washed up at the trough in front of the barn, his shadow stretching long with the sinking sun. Jax toweled off with his shirt as he walked to the farmhouse. The farmer met him at the door; leaned on a quarterstaff in a too-casual manner. Behind him was his wife, peering past his shoulder and chewing her lip. Jax sighed; he did not think he reminded them of their grandson any longer.

"Our sons are coming to visit tonight," the old man said. "All four of them. I forgot. Big men. Soldiers. Be here any time, now. I'm afraid we don't have the bed we promised you."

His wife thrust a small bundle wrapped in a napkin past him. "Here. It's a bun, and a Glintfish with herbs. Enough for two meals, maybe. Here." Her wrinkled face asked him to please take it and go.

Jax took the bundle. "Thank you. I understand."

It could have been worse, Jax thought. Three days later, luck seemed to smile on him again when he found more work on another farm. But as he worked, he had dogs set on him. The dogs, the farmer, and his two sons waving cudgels chased him out to the main road and half a mile down it before giving up. He barely had time to snatch up his belongings and run. The farmer had carried a bow with an arrow nocked and ready to fire. From the way the farmer held himself in the pursuit, Jax knew he used to be a soldier.

Jax sometimes wondered if it was even worthwhile stopping at farms. Not everyone was welcoming as Lin and Hana were in Shizunai. And with a good reason. The further he went into the heart of Ionia, the more suspicious Ionians were of him. The meals got skimpier for the same work, and sometimes not even the barn was offered as a place to sleep.

Trying to avoid venturing too deeply into the central territories, Jax veered south, keeping the mountains to his right as he made his way toward the coast. The terrain gradually shifted, the dense forests thinning into open fields dotted with wildflowers and the occasional cluster of gnarled trees. It was then, as the sun slowly moved downward toward the western horizon, that he came upon another place.

The village was bigger than most, more like a town. The name was Kyora, and as Jax entered the town, the rhythmic noise of activity enveloped him. The town a gently winding main road, its modest yet elegant Ionian architecture blending with the surrounding hills. The tiled rooftops and curved eaves of the buildings created a sense of harmony, while bright red and gold paper lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting warm glows over the neat cobblestone streets.

The center of Kyora was bustling with life, its market square a vibrance of color and sound. Merchants displayed their wares on wooden stalls adorned with flowing Ionian fabrics. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meats, spiced teas, and baked pastries carried on the breeze.

Jax picked out Ionian soldiers patrolling the streets, their calm but watchful gazes sweeping over the crowd. Their presence was steady, a reminder of the ongoing war. Among them were non-Ionian merchants – travelers from distant lands, some garbed in colorful silks, others wearing practical, rugged attire. Their goods added an exotic flair to the market: rare spices, glinting jewelry, and trinkets that seemed out of place in this small Ionian town. As he walked through the bustling square, his ears caught snippets of conversation – bartering, laughter, and occasional heated arguments.

Despite the vibrancy, Jax's focus drifted to the taverns scattered across Kyora. Most were lively, packed with locals and travelers alike. Their doors swung open and closed as waves of laughter and music spilled into the streets. The scent of spiced ale and roasted fish wafted out, tempting even Jax's weary senses.

At the far end of the town, however, his eyes fell on a smaller, humbler establishment. It stood slightly apart from the others, its sign hanging askew and the wood of its walls weathered and faded. Unlike its bustling counterparts, this tavern exuded a quiet stillness. The faint glow from its windows suggested only a handful of patrons inside, and the soft creak of its door in the breeze seemed to whisper of simpler days. Jax flicked his eyes up to the sign hanging above the entrance. The painted lettering was faded and chipped, but he could just make out the name: The Dancing Dragon. The sign swung gently in the breeze.

The tavern itself looked as though it had seen better days. The wooden walls were worn and uneven, and the windows, though glowing faintly from within, were slightly smudged and darkened with age. A small lantern hung near the entrance, its flame flickering weakly against the growing dusk.

Jax hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the bustling heart of Kyora. The lively taverns nearer the square were packed with patrons – soldiers, merchants, travelers – many of whom would surely be drinking and talking too much for comfort. Here, though, the quiet was almost inviting. He pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.

The interior matched the exterior's humble appearance. The wooden beams overhead were low and dark, and the floor scuffed from years of footsteps. A handful of tables were scattered across the room, most of them empty. Only a few patrons sat in the dimly lit space – a pair of older men nursing their drinks. Business was definitely not good. Exactly as many servers as there were patrons busied themselves around the room. There was plenty for them to do – dirt crusted the floor and cobwebs filled the corners of the ceiling – but most were not doing anything really useful, only moving so they would not be seen standing still.

A bony man with long, stringy hair to his shoulders turned to scowl at him as he came through the door. "What do you want?" He was rubbing his hands on a greasy apron that hung to his ankles. Jax wondered if more grime was coming off on the apron or on the man's hands. "Well? Speak up, buy a drink, or get out!"

Jax's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the tavern keeper. The man's scowl deepened, his greasy hands rubbing absently at the strained apron as if daring Jax to give him a reason to throw him out.

"I don't have coin," Jax said bluntly, stepping further inside. The tavern keeper's lips turned into a sneer, but before he could bark a response, Jax held up a hand. "But I can work. Repairs, heavy lifting – whatever you need. I just need a plate of food and a place to rest."

The tavern keeper snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Work, huh? You don't look like much of a carpenter. What, you think you can just fix a squeaky hinge and call it even?"

Jax glanced around the room, catching the signs of neglect. A broken stool sat propped awkwardly against a table leg, and a section of the wall near the hearth sagged, a gap in the wood was pretty striking. He stepped toward the hearth, gesturing with a nod. "I can fix that before the night's over," he said, his voice calm but firm. "And if that's not enough, I'll chop wood for the fire, clean the floor – whatever it takes."

"I've got a man who does the maintenance," the innkeeper said sourly.

"You have a drunk, Junkao," one of the serving maids said. She was passing him with a tray and two mugs, and she paused to give Jax a plump smile. "Most times, he can't see well enough to find the common room," she confided in a loud whisper. "Haven't even seen him in two days."

Without taking his eyes off Jax, Junkao casually backhanded her across the face. She gave a surprised grunt and fell heavily to the unwashed floor; one of the mugs broke, and the spilled drink washed rivulets in the dirt. "You're docked for the wine and breakage. Get 'em fresh drinks. And hurry. Customers don't pay to wait while you laze around." His tone was as offhand as the blow. None of the patrons looked up from their wine, and the other servers kept their minds averted.

The plump woman rubbed her cheek and stared pure murder at Junkao, but she gathered the empty mug and the broken pieces on her tray and went off without a word.

The tavern keeper sucked his teeth thoughtfully, eyeing Jax. His gaze clung to the hilt of his sword peeking above his shoulder before he pulled it away. "Tell you what," he said finally. "You can have a couple of pallets in an empty storeroom in the back. Rooms are too expensive to give away. You eat when everybody's gone. There ought to be something left."

Jax couldn't help but wish he'd tried his luck at a different tavern in Kyora. But now that he had a chance at a potential plate of food and a place to rest, he hesitated to walk away. The thought of being turned away elsewhere, with no guarantee of finding work or shelter, weighed heavily on him. Since fleeing from the Noxian encampment, he had met coolness, indifference, and outright hostility from others, but nothing that gave him the sense of unease that this man and this tavern did. He told himself it was just in his head, but the misgivings did not go away. Junkao looked at him as if he expected a trap. Jax sighed.

"The pallets will do if they're clean, and if there are enough clean blankets."

Junkao eyed him skeptically. "And what if you skip out the second I turn my back?"

Jax met his gaze, "I won't. I'm tired, I'm thirsty, and I'm out of options. Let me earn my keep."

The man's scowl softened – just barely. With a grunt, he waved a hand toward the hearth. "Fine. But if you waste my time, I'll have you out on your ass before you can blink." His eyes touched Jax's sword again; and his lips widened into a smile that touched nothing but his lips. "If you do a good job, I might even give you some decent food instead of leftovers."

Jax nodded, already moving toward his first objective. He wondered if he had been wise to keep wearing the sword openly on his back. Swords were common enough, but the decorated scabbard of his blade attracted attention and speculation. Not from everybody, but any notice at all made him uncomfortable. He started working slowly, hauling a crate of firewood from the back of the tavern and stacking it near the hearth. The labor was simple enough, but his body felt heavy, his movements sluggish from days of exhaustion. Junkao barked tense orders between swipes at his greasy apron, watching Jax with a critical eye.

The tavern was quiet at first, just the occasional clink of mugs or murmured conversation from a few patrons huddled in the dim corners. Jax barely noticed when the first few travelers trickled in, their weathered cloaks dripping from the light drizzle outside.

By the time Jax had wiped down the tables and swept the floor, the quiet hum had grown into a steady buzz of voices. More and more people shuffled through the doors—tired, hungry faces that bore the unmistakable marks of travel and hardship. Their clothing was simple and worn, patched in places, and their expressions carried a weight that Jax recognized all too well.

Junkao came over, his eyes narrowing as they settled on the sword strapped to Jax's back. "You planning to start a fight, or are you just trying to scare off my paying customers?" he said, his voice low and gruff.

Jax blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "What?"

"The sword," Junkao clarified, jerking his chin toward the weapon. "Take it off. This isn't a battlefield, and folks in here have had enough reasons to be afraid without some stranger parading around armed to the teeth."

Jax hesitated, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of the blade. "It's just for protection. I'm not looking for trouble."

Junkao snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "Nobody ever is, until it finds them. Leave it by the bar or get out."

The room felt heavier under the innkeeper's scrutiny, and Jax could feel the wary eyes of a few patrons turning his way. He let out a quiet sigh, unbuckling the strap that secured the sword across his back. Jax carefully leaned it against the wall near the bar, keeping it within sight.

Junkao gave a satisfied grunt, already turning back toward the kitchen. "Don't make me regret letting you stay."

As he worked, he caught snippets of conversation between the servers. "Refugees," one of them muttered, balancing a tray of steaming bowls. "And travelers trying to stay ahead of the chaos."

Another server nodded grimly. "Word must have spread. They're flooding in from the north and west."

Jax didn't pause to listen further, but he kept the information in the back of his mind as the tavern continued to fill. Most of the patrons looked poor—scraping together what little they had for a meal or a drink. The clatter of bowls and cups grew louder, mingling with the low hum of conversations. Despite the weariness in the air, there was an undercurrent of relief, as if the patrons were grateful for even a brief respite.

Then, as if to break the tension, a small figure hopped onto a stool near the center of the room—a Yordle, no taller than a child, dressed in colorful patchwork clothing that contrasted sharply with the drab tones of the crowd. The Yordle carried an odd-looking stringed instrument, its polished wood glinting in the warm light.

Without a word, the Yordle began to play. The melody started soft, almost hesitant, but soon grew into a lively tune that filled the room. The sound of the instrument was unlike anything Jax had heard before—bright and rhythmic, with a whimsical energy that lifted the mood of the tavern. A few heads turned, some of the patrons smiling faintly despite themselves. One or two even clapped in time with the music. For a moment, the heaviness in the air seemed to lift, replaced by the warm hum of simple, shared joy.

Sometimes fights broke out between those wanting different songs. Once a knife flashed, and a woman screamed, and a man reeled back from a table with blood streaming down his face, but Kentar and Hirok, the two bouncers, closed in swift and with complete impartiality threw everyone involved into the street with lumps on their heads. That was their tactics with any trouble. The talk and the laughing went on as if nothing had occurred. Nobody even looked around except those the bouncers jostled on their way to the door.

Junkao smiled when he looked at Jax while he was wiping the bar after an older man spilled his drink. After a while Jax realized that the tavern keeper was not smiling at him; the smiles came when his eyes slid over Jax, to where his sword lay behind the counter. Jax frowned, realizing that he'd have to bar his door tonight. He even considered just eating dinner and leaving. He didn't feel like taking chances. Kentar and Hirok could break through any door in the tavern. But he couldn't see how Junkao could give him any trouble while the common room was full, and getting fuller. For every person who left or was thrown out, two came in from the street. They shouted at Yordle for a particular tune, but mostly they were interested in drinking and carousing. One man was different, though.

He stood out in every was among the crowd in The Dancing Dragon. Merchants apparently had no use for the run-down tavern; there were not even any private dining rooms for them, as far as he could make out. The patrons, just like he observed earlier, were all rough-dressed, with the tough skin of men who labored in the sun and wind. This man was sleekly fleshy, with a soft look to his hands, and a velvet coat, and a dark green velvet cloak was slung around his shoulders. All of his clothes had an expensive cut to them. His shoes – soft slippers, not boots – were not made for the rutted streets of Kyora, or for any streets at all, for that matter.

He came in well after dark, shaking the rain off his cloak as he looked around, a twist of distaste on his mouth. He scanned the room once, already turning to go, then suddenly gave a start at nothing Jax could see and sat down at a table Kentar and Hirok had just emptied. A serving maid stopped at his table, then brought him a mug of wine which he pushed to one side of the table and never touched again. She seemed in a hurry to leave his table both times, though he did not try to touch her or even look at her. Whatever it was about him that made her uneasy, others who came close to him noticed it, too. For all of his soft look, whenever some callus-handed wagon driver or a drifter decided to share his table, one glance was all it took to send the patron looking elsewhere. He sat as if there were no one else in the room but him – and Jax. Then he watched over steepled hands that glittered with a ring on each finger. He watched Jax with a smile of satisfied recognition.

Who is he? Jax thought, his eyes flicking sideways to the man while keeping his movements steady. He worked with focus, careful not to let his curiosity show as he observed. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, working quickly to secure the leg of another broken stool. The wood creaked softly under the strain as he tightened the makeshift fix, ensuring it was sturdy enough to hold weight again. Once satisfied, he set the stool upright against a nearby table, brushing sawdust from his hands.

The warmth of the hearth drew him next. Picking up the iron poker, Jax crouched near the fire, coaxing the embers to life. The flames flared briefly, crackling as they swallowed the fresh wood he added. He moved carefully, weaving through the room to avoid bumping into the growing crowd of patrons. Each step was deliberate, his ears tuned to the hum of conversations around him. Yet, even as he worked, his thoughts kept drifting back to the man in the corner. Who is he?

Jax wiped his hands on his pants, the ache in his muscles a constant reminder of the long day behind him. The tavern was still buzzing with the chaotic energy of music and song, the melody weaving through the air as patrons joined in with enthusiasm – most of them off-key but too spirited to care. Jax approached Junkao, who was leaning against the bar, half-heartedly wiping a mug with his ever-greasy apron.

"I've worked enough for today," Jax said. "It's getting late. Can I get some food now?"

Junkao shot him a sharp glance, his lips curling into a reluctant frown. For a moment, Jax thought he might be denied, but the man let out a low grunt, waving a dismissive hand. "Fine. Go to the kitchen and get yourself something. Don't take more than your share."

Jax nodded, muttering a quiet, "Thanks," before stepping toward the back. On his way, his gaze flicked toward his sword, leaning against the wall near the bar where he had left it earlier. Without breaking stride, he reached out and grabbed it, sliding the strap over his shoulder. Junkao noticed but said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow before returning his focus to the tavern.

A stout door separated the kitchen from the front of the tavern, and the rain pounding the roof was louder in the kitchen than the shouts from the common room. It was a big room, hot and steamy from stoves and ovens. Some of the servers sat clustered on a bench near the rear door, rubbing their feet and chattering away all at once with the cook, who talked back at the same time and waved a big spoon to emphasize her points. They all glanced up as Jax came in, but it did not slow their conversation.

Feeling overlooked by the others, Jax took the liberty of serving himself, scooping a portion of rice onto his plate along with some strange-looking food he guessed might be fish. The cook hardly looked at him, keeping up her talk with the other workers while she pushed things aside on the table with her elbows and set the plates down, adding forks.

Jax dropped onto one of the benches and dug in, his empty stomach driving every movement. The food looked plain at best, but to him, it felt like a banquet. Hunger gnawed at him like a beggar's desperation, and the warm, savory smells lingering in the kitchen only sharpened the ache. Before he realized it, his mouth was full, each bite barely chewed before he reached for the next. He did not mean to eavesdrop on the worker's talk, but some of the words reached out and grabbed him.

"Sounds crazy to me."

"Crazy or not, it's what I hear. He went to half the inns in town before he came here. Just walked in, looked around, and walked out without saying one word, even at The Blossom. Like it wasn't raining at all."

"Maybe he thought here was the most comfortable." That brought gales of laughter.

"What I hear is he didn't even get to Kyora till after nightfall, his horses blowing like they'd been pushed hard."

"Where'd he come from, to get caught out after dark? Nobody but a fool or a madman travels anywhere and plans it that badly."

"Well, maybe he's a fool, but he's a rich one. I hear he even has another carriage for his servants and baggage. There's money there, mark my words. Did you see that cloak of his? I wouldn't mind having that myself."

"He's a little plump for my taste, but I always say a man can't be too fat if enough gold comes with it."

They all doubled over giggling, and the cook threw back her head and roared with laughter.

Jax dropped his spoon on his plate. A thought he did not like bubbled in his head. He picked up his sword along with his cloak as he stood, and buckled it on his back again on the way to the back door. No one paid him any mind.

The rain was bucketing down. He swung his cloak around his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head, holding the cloak closed as he trotted across the stableyard. A curtain of water hid everything except when lightning flashed, but he found what he was hunting. The horses had been taken into the stable, but the two black-lacquered carriages glistened wetly outside. Thunder grumbled, and a bolt of lightning streaked above the tavern. In the brief burst of light he made out a name in gold script on the coach doors. Kastor Barov.

Unmindful of the rain beating at him, he stood staring at the name he could no longer see. He remembered where he had last seen black-lacquered coaches with their owners' names on the door, and sleek, overfed men in silk-lined velvet cloaks and velvet footwear. The Noxian encampment at Isunari loomed in Jax's memory. It was there, amidst the chaos of wagons and coaches lined up between the tents, that he had slipped into the shadows to make his escape after killing Ulric. But still, a merchant could have a perfectly legitimate reason to be on his way through Ionia, for trade. A reason that sends him to half the inns in town before he chooses the one where you are? A reason that makes him look at you as if he's found what he's searching for?

Jax shivered, and suddenly he was aware of rain trickling down his back. His cloak was tightly woven, but it had never been meant to stand up to this kind of downpour. He hurried back to the inn, splashing through deepening puddles. Kentar blocked the door as he started through.

"Well, well, well. Out here alone in the dark. Dark's dangerous, boy."

Rain slicked Jax's hair down across his forehead. The stableyard was empty except for them. He wondered if Junkao had decided he wanted the sword badly enough to take it right there and then.

"I didn't come here looking for trouble. Just a meal and some rest. I've done the work to earn it." Brushing water out of his eyes with one hand, he put the other on his sword. Even wet, the hilt made a sure grip for his fingers. "No need for this to get ugly."

Dry in the doorway, the big man looked out at the rain and snorted. His eyes slid down to Jax's hand on the sword. "You know, me and Hirok got a bet. He's betting you picked that up off some old widow. Me? I reckon she'd have knocked you flat and taken it back before you made it out the door." He grinned. His teeth were crooked and yellow, and the grin made him look even meaner. "Night's long yet, boy."

Jax brushed past him, and Kentar let him by with an ugly chuckle.

Inside, he tossed off his cloak and dropped on the bench at the table he had left only minutes before. The plate he'd abandoned, still half-finished, was now gone, but the hunger that had gnawed at him before had disappeared entirely before the thoughts that lingered in his mind. Kastor Barov. A Noxian name if ever there was one. The man could very well be after him, but the question lingered—was he a Noxian spy hiding behind the guise of a merchant, or someone like Ulric, one of those men?

The door to the kitchen slammed open with a force that made the pots hanging on the wall rattle. Junkao stormed in, his face twisted with frustration, and his greasy apron swinging as he moved.

"You," Junkao barked, pointing a bony finger at Jax. "Clock's broken. Been driving me mad all week, ticking too slow. Go fix it."

Jax blinked. "I'm done for the night," he said evenly. "I've worked enough."

Junkao's eyes narrowed, his scowl deepening. "Enough?" he snapped, his voice dripping with disdain. "You call that enough? It's been driving me mad all day, and you're just sitting here, eating my food like you've earned a feast fit for the Emperor."

Jax sighed, standing slowly. He could feel the ache in his muscles from the day's labor, and all he wanted was to leave this place. "It can wait until morning."

"No, it can't," Junkao shot back, his voice rising. "Not when I've got drunks asking me every five minutes what time it is. Do it, or the stew you ate won't be the only thing you owe me for."

Jax studied him for a long moment, weighing his options. He didn't like the idea of spending more time in this place, but arguing with Junkao seemed like a mistake at the moment. He could just go along with it and leave the place once he's finished.

"Fine," Jax muttered, pushing back his chair. "But this is the last thing."

"It better be the first thing done right," Junkao shot back, already turning to leave.

Jax made his way to the common room, where the old clock sat crooked on the wall near the bar. Its once-polished wood was scuffed and dull, and the brass hands hung frozen in place. He pulled it down carefully, setting it on a nearby table as he examined the mechanism. The faint sound of uneven gears greeted him as he worked, his fingers moving deftly to clean and reset the intricate parts.

He tried to think of how he was going to get away, and tried to avoid looking at Barov, too. If he was really after him, there was no point in letting him know he knew it. As for getting away…

He had never realized before what a good trap a tavern made. The noise, the crowd, the dim lighting—it all created the perfect cover for someone to watch unnoticed, to linger in the shadows without drawing attention. Travelers came and went, faces forgotten as quickly as they appeared, and amidst the chaos, it was easy to miss the one who stayed too long, whose eyes lingered a little too intently. For someone being hunted, it was a snare disguised as sanctuary. And Barov was watching his every move, too. It was so funny he would have laughed if he had not been on the point of throwing up. He would just have to be wary and wait for his chance.

At one point, their eyes locked across the room. Barov's smile deepened, if anything, and he raised a questioning eyebrow. Jax did not want to know what the question was. He tried to avoid looking at the man, but he knew it was too late for that. Too late. Too late again.

Only one thing seemed to shake the velvet-cloaked man's equilibrium. Jax's sword. He had left it on. Two or three men staggered up to ask if he thought working in place such as this was so bad that he needed protection, but none of them seemed to notice the decorated scabbard. Barov noticed. His pale hands clenched, and he frowned at the sword for a long time before his smile came back. When it did, it was not as confident as before.

One good thing, at least, Jax thought. If the man feared his skill with blade, then all he had to worry about were Junkao and his bullies. It was hardly a comforting thought, and, sword or no sword, Barov kept watching. And smiling.

Fixing the clock seemed to last a whole eternity. As the gears clicked back into place and the second hand began its steady movement, Jax allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. But it was fleeting—he knew Junkao would find something else if given the chance.

Eventually the need to be up with the dawn began to pull men reluctantly out into the dark. A farmer had only himself to answer to, but merchants were notoriously unfeeling about hangovers when they were paying drivers' wages. In the small hours the common room slowly emptied as even those who had rooms abovestairs staggered off to find their beds, and Jax knew he had stayed too long.

Barov was the last patron. When Jax reached for his cloak, yawning, Barov stood up and slung his cloak over his arm. The servers were cleaning up, muttering among themselves about the mess of spilled drinks and broken mugs. Junkao was locking the front door with a big key. Barov cornered Junkao for a moment, and the tavern keeper called one of the workers to show him to a room. The velvet-cloaked man gave Jax a knowing smile before he disappeared upstairs.

Junkao stood watching Jax, flanked by Kentar on one side and Hirok on the other.

Jax hastily finished hanging his things from his shoulders, holding them all awkwardly behind him with his left hand so he could reach his sword. He made no move toward it, but he wanted them to know it was ready. He suppressed a yawn; how tired he was was something they should not know.

Junkao was carrying a lantern, and to Jax's surprise he gave a little bow and gestured to a side door with it. "Your pallets are this way." Only a slight twist of his lips spoiled his act.

Jax thrust his chin out at Kentar and Hirok. "You need those two to show me my bed?"

"I'm a man of property," Junkao said, smoothing the front of his soiled apron, "and men of property can't be too careful." A crash of thunder rattled the windows, and he glanced significantly at the ceiling, then gave him a toothy grin. "You want to see your bed or not?"

Jax wondered what would happen if he said he wanted to leave. He'd faced multiple foes in battle before, but a gnawing unease made him second-guess whether that was the right choice here. Junkao had the look of someone who always kept a surprise in reserve, ready to spring it on anyone foolish enough to try fighting their way out. "Lead the way," he said, trying to make his voice hard. "I don't like having anybody behind me."

Hirok snickered, but Junkao nodded placidly and turned toward the side door, and the two big men swaggered after him. Taking a deep breath, Jax gave a wishful glance at the door to the kitchen. If Junkao had already locked the back door, running now would only begin what he was hoping to avoid. He followed the tavern keeper glumly.

At the side door he hesitated. The reason for Junkao's lamp was apparent. The door let into a hall as black as pitch. Only the lamp Junkao carried, silhouetting Kentar and Hirok, gave him the courage to keep on. If they turned, he would know it. And do what? The floor creaked under his boots.

The hall ended in a rough, unpainted door. He had not seen if there were any other doors along the way. Junkao and his bullies went through, and he followed quickly, before they could have a chance to set a trap, but Junkao merely lifted the lamp high and gestured at the room.

"Here it is."

An old storeroom, he had called it, and by the look of it not used in some time. Weathered barrels and broken crates filled half the floor. Steady drips fell from more than one place on the ceiling, and a broken pane in the filthy window let the rain blow in freely. Unidentifiable odds and ends littered the shelves, and the dust almost covered everything. The presence of the promised pallets was a surprise.

The sword makes him nervous, he thought. Junkao wouldn't try anything until he was asleep. Jax had no intention of sleeping under his roof. As soon as they left, he intended to be out the window. "It'll do," he said. He kept his eyes on Junkao, wary for a signal to the two grinning men at his side. It was an effort not to wet his lips. "Leave the lantern."

Junkao grunted, but pushed the lantern onto a shelf. He hesitated, looking at him, and Jax was sure he was about to give the word for Kentar and Hirok to jump him, but his eyes went to Jax's sword with a calculating frown, and he jerked his head at the two big men. Surprise flashed across their broad faces, but they followed him out the room without a backward glance.

Jax waited for the creak of their footsteps to fade away, then counted to fifty before sticking his head into the hall. The blackness was broken only by a rectangle of light that seemed as distant as the moon: the door to the common room. As he pulled his head in, something big moved in the darkness near the far door. Kentar or Hirok, standing guard.

A quick look at the door told him all he needed to know, little of it good. The boards were thick and stout, but there was no lock, and no bar on the inside. It did open into the room, though. He searched through the room, for anything that could be useful. The barrels were empty, the crates splintered, and the whole lot of them piled in front of the door would not stop anyone from opening it. Then something caught his eye. Two splitting wedges, covered with rust and dust.

Hastily he shoved them under the door and, when the next roll of thunder rattled the tavern, drove them in with two quick kicks of his heel. The thunder faded, and he held his breath, listening. All he heard was the rain pounding on the roof. No floorboards creaking under running feet.

Now, the window.

It had not been opened in years, from the dirt crusted around it. He strained hard, pushing aside with all his might. Jax's knees wobbled before it budged; it groaned with each reluctant inch. As soon as the gap was wide enough for him to fit, he prepared to leap through—but froze at the last moment.

"Damn it!" Jax growled. It was no wonder Junkao was not worried about him slipping out.

Iron bars in an iron frame glistened wetly in the light from the lantern. Jax pushed at them; they were as solid as a boulder. He glanced around the room once more and spotted a sturdy iron pry bar leaning against the wall. Putting his hands on the iron bar, he tried to find good footing in the growing puddle of water under the window. Thunder rolled and he heaved. With a tortured squeal of nails that made the hairs lift on Jax's neck, the frame shifted – a quarter of an inch, if that. Timing his efforts with the thunder's roar and flashes of lightning, he heaved on the iron bar again and again. Nothing. A slight give. Nothing. Another hairsbreadth. Nothing. Still nothing.

Jax's feet suddenly slipped on the wet floor, sending him crashing down into the puddle with a splash. The iron bar slipped from his grasp, clattering loudly against the bars with a metallic ring that echoed like a gong. He froze, lying still in the cold water, holding his breath as he strained to listen. The only sound was the relentless patter of rain outside. He knew that at this rate, he'd never get out of there. But he had to keep trying. But as he set the bar under the edge of the frame, the door creaked as someone tried to open it. The splitting wedges held it shut. He glanced at the door as it gave another screak.

Jax took a deep breath and tried to make his voice steady. "Go away, Junkao. I'm trying to sleep."

"I fear you mistake me." The voice was so sleek and full of itself that it named its owner. Kastor Barov. "Mister Junkao and his… minions will not trouble us. They sleep soundly, and in the morning they will only be able to wonder where you vanished to. Let me in, my young friend. We must talk."

"I don't have anything to talk to you about," Jax said. "Go away."

Barov's chuckle was nasty. "Oh, we have plenty to discuss. You know it as well as I do. I saw it—the truth—in your eyes. I know what you are, perhaps even better than you do. It's pouring off you, undeniable, like ripples in still water. Stop running. Accept it. He's waiting for you."

Jax swallowed hard. "Leave me alone." The floorboards in the hall squeaked. Barov was not alone. How many men could he have brought in two carriages?

"Stop being foolish. You know very well. The eyes in the Void have turned to you—they see you, they claim you. My master knew it long before you did. The words of the Prophet have foretold this moment."

Jax glanced back at the window just as lightning split the sky, and he almost groaned. The brief flash of light showed men outside, men ignoring the rain that drenched them as they stood watching the windows.

"I grow weary of this," Barov said, his voice carrying an edge of finality. "You will submit—to him, to what you already belong to—or you will be made to. And believe me, the latter will not be kind. Open this door. Your running ends here, one way or another. Open it!"

He must have said something else, too, for suddenly a heavy body thudded against the door. It shivered, and the wedges slid a fraction of an inch with a grate of rust rubbing off on wood. Again and again the door trembled as bodies hurled themselves at it. Sometimes the wedges held; sometimes they slid another tiny bit, and bit by tiny bit the door crept inward.

"Submit," Barov demanded from the hall, "or spend eternity wishing that you had!"

No way out. Thunder muttered overhead, and was drowned in a slash of lightning. Have to find a way out. Barov called to him, demanding, appealing; the door slid another inch toward being open. A way out!

Darkness twisted into a violent eruption, a pulse of unnatural energy that filled the room with a blinding, otherworldly light. The air itself seemed to tear apart, a low, resonant roar vibrating through Jax's chest. He felt the force before he understood it, something invisible yet immense slamming into him, hurling him backward like a leaf in the storm.

He hit the wall hard and crumpled to the ground, his ears ringing with a sound that was less of this world and more a distant, alien whisper. Every hair on his body stood on end, an electric charge crawling over his skin. For a moment, his vision blurred, shifting between the faint outline of the room and something else – shapes, shadows, and something beyond comprehension.

The lantern, lying on its side on the edge of one of the few shelves still clinging to the walls, still burned and gave light. All the barrels and crates, some blackened and smoldering, lay toppled where they had been hurled. The window, bars and all, and most of the wall too, had vanished, leaving a splintered hole. The roof sagged, and tendrils of smoke fought the rain around the edges of the opening. The door hung off its hinges, jammed in the doorframe at an angle slanting into the hall.

With a feeling of woozy unreality he stood the lantern up. It seemed the most important thing in the world was making sure it did not break.

What happened?

Nothing moved in the dark corridor beyond the door. Of Barov and his companions there was neither sign nor sound, though anything could have been the blackness. Jax found himself wishing they were dead, but he wasn't about to risk sticking his head out to confirm it, not even for a king's ransom. Nothing moved out in the night beyond where the wall had been, either, but others were up and about. Confused shouts came from upstairs in the inn, and the pounding of running feet.

He grabbed what he could of his things, and jumped through the hole in the wall. As the first rain his Jax's face, lightning forked above the tavern, and he came to a convulsive stop. Barov's men were still there, lying with their feet toward the opening. Lashed by the rain, their lifeless eyes gazed unblinking at the sky, their faces frozen in expressions of pure horror, as if they had witnessed something beyond comprehension in their final moments.

There was no light save the lightning, and he stumbled in the ruts as he ran staggering away from the tavern. Every stumble almost pulled him down, but tottering, panting, he ran.

Once he looked back. Once, before the rain thickened to a deafening curtain that blotted The Dancing Dragon from the sight. Lightning silhouetted the structures around him, painting a confusing flashing image. The rain came in a deluge, isolating him in a wall of water. He hurried through the night, listening through the roar of the storm for the sound of pursuit.

A Flickering Star

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The rain has continued through the night he staggered away from The Dancing Dragon, hammering at him as hard as the thunder out of a black sky split by lightning. His clothes became sodden in minutes; in an hour Jax's skin felt sodden, too, but he had left Kyora behind him.

Thunder crashed overhead, and Jax stumbled, almost falling. Lightning split the dark, and the thunder crack pounded every other sound into the ground, but in the flash Jax could almost make out the silhouette of the velvet-cloaked man. Or was it something else?

He's dead. He must be dead.

He walked over to some bushes as another lightning flash lighted his way. He had leaves enough to give a little shelter from the driving rain. Not as much as a good tree might, but it would have to do. Huddled beneath the bushes, he tried to arrange his cloak in a way to make a little tent over the branches. It was far too late to think of staying dry, but just stopping the incessant pelting of the raindrops would be something. Dripping wet as he was, and more drips coming through his cloak, he shivered himself into sleep.

He awoke screaming, the sound ripping from his throat as if it could pull him free of the nightmare's grip. His chest heaved as he fought for every ragged breath. In his nightmare, he was back at The Dancing Dragon. Somehow it seemed more lifeless and gray than it was when he was awake. In the nightmare, he walked in. Barov was there, at a table.

Jax had known it was him only because of the dark silks and velvets that clung to the man's skeletal frame. But the Barov before him wasn't whole. His skin was cracked and burned, warped in ways that defied nature. It twisted and folded in on itself like withered parchment, barely clinging to the bones beneath. His face was grotesque—almost entirely a skull, the flesh around his mouth pulled back to expose bare teeth and shriveled gums.

But it was the eyes—or lack thereof—that rooted Jax in place. They were lidless, impossibly wide, glowing faintly with a sickly hue. They bore into him with an intensity that spoke of hunger and hatred, yet there was no life behind them, only a hollow, consuming void.

And then, before Jax could move or speak, Barov began to unravel. It was as if the edges of his form dissolved into smoke, curling upward, but not fading into the air. Instead, he seemed to be devoured by something unseen, the nothingness reaching for him, claiming him piece by piece. The twisted remains of his flesh flaked away like ash, vanishing as though they had never existed. His body crumbled, and the silence deepened, growing so profound that Jax could hear his own heartbeat pounding in the void.

Barov's skeletal grin lingered the longest, his jaw moving soundlessly, as though speaking words Jax could not hear or understand. And then even that was consumed, swallowed by the encroaching emptiness. There was no body left, no trace, no memory of sound or presence. Only the void remained, vast and infinite, its quiet pressing down on Jax until he felt like he, too, was being pulled into it.

When he woke up, Jax knew with certainty that Barov was dead.

Just before first light the downpour dwindled, the last drizzle fading as dawn came. The clouds remained, threatening until well into the morning. The wind came up, then, driving the clouds off to the south, baring a warmthless sun and slicing through his dripping wet clothes. He had barely slept again, but groggily he donned his cloak and set off southward.

He came on another village shortly after midday. Jax shivered harder at the sight of houses and smoke rising from chimneys, but he kept clear, going through the woods and fields. A lone farmer working with a spading fork in a muddy field was the only person he saw, and he took care that the man did not see him, crouching through the trees. The farmer's attention was all on his work, but Jax kept one eye on him till he was lost to sight. If any of Barov's men were alive, perhaps they would believe he had taken the western road out of Kyora when they could not find anyone who had seen him in this village.

The road stretched on, winding through the countryside, where the land was dotted with villages that seemed to spring from the earth itself. This part of Ionia was far from the sprawling cities or temples; here, the way of life was simpler, quieter. Or at least, it had been, before the war.

Ionians had always been a people of balance and peace, but now, even here in the more spiritual part of the continent, the echoes of war reached deep. Jax noticed the signs – empty fields that should have been tended, livestock pens abandoned, and the occasional burned-out shell of a home where crops grew wild around the ruins. The war was grinding down everyone—both attackers and defenders. Food had become scarce, prices soared beyond reason, and where once a few coins might have bought a feast, now they barely fetched a thin, watery soup. Even at the farms, where life had always revolved around the rhythm of the land – planting, harvesting, tending to animals – the effects were noticeable. Jax noticed it in the wary faces of farmers tending fields – that yielded little more than struggle and uncertainty – within view of the road but kept one eye on the horizon, as if expecting invaders to crest it at any moment.

As he passed within earshot of one such village, tucked between rolling hills and a dense thicket of trees, Jax overheard fragments of hushed conversations. They spoke of the resistance in Navori, far to the north, where Ionian fighters were said to be pushing back against the Noxian forces. There was talk of small victories, of raids on supply lines and ambushes in the woods. But there was also fear—the siege of Isunari still dragged on, the Noxian main host relentless in their attempt to break the city's defenses. Jax wondered how much truth there was in the rumors he heard. Perhaps the city had already fallen, its defenders scattered, or the Navori resistance had been crushed beneath the relentless Noxian advance. Nonetheless, some of the tales carried an almost mythic quality, amusing in their absurdity yet hard to entirely dismiss.

Stories of a young Ionian warrior leading the resistance in Navori, her movements as graceful as a dance, each strike of her blade a perfect counter to the chaos of war. They said she fought with an elegance that inspired those around her, and that her defiance had rekindled the spirits of those who had nearly given up.

And then there were whispers of another figure, a drifter who wandered through the shadow of the conflict. A man with a weathered blade and a haunted past, whose skill with the sword was whispered about in hushed tones. He was said to keep to himself, avoiding crowds and villages, yet there were tales of his interventions—rare moments when he stood between the helpless and those who would harm them. No one seemed to know his name, only that he traveled like the wind, here one moment and gone the next.

Jax found himself smirking faintly at the stories. They sounded more like the beginnings of legends than reality, but in times of war, it was often hard to tell where the truth ended and the stories began. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to these whispers, something stirring amidst the chaos that even the Noxians hadn't accounted for.

His destination was the ocean. Jax didn't know what awaited him there, but for now, it was enough to keep him moving, one weary step at a time. Perhaps he could find passage on a ship—something to take him far from Ionia. The idea of Shurima's vast deserts tempted him, or perhaps the ordered lands of Demacia. Even the Freljord crossed his mind once or twice, though the thought of its relentless cold made him shudder. All he wanted was to leave the war and the men who hunted him behind. But a small, insistent voice in the back of his mind whispered that the pursuit would never truly stop.

The first signs of sickness came suddenly. Jax began to feel feverish, his body warming uncomfortably, as though an unseen fire simmered beneath his skin. At first, he blamed it on the nights he'd spent drenched from the rain, sleeping in soaked clothes with no shelter to protect him. It seemed like the natural consequence of days on the road without respite—exhaustion taking its toll. He brushed it off, thinking it would pass if he could just push through.

Occasionally, he caught a ride on the back of a cart, grateful for the brief reprieve. An old farmer hauling empty crates had let him climb aboard one day, though the man had watched him warily from the driver's seat. Another time, a wanderer offered him space among a pile of firewood, speaking little but nodding in silent understanding. These small acts of kindness allowed him to cover more ground than his aching legs could manage alone, though his condition continued to worsen.

The fever persisted, and with it came new symptoms. His muscles ached as if he'd been beaten, and sharp chills racked his body, even under the midday sun. His appetite vanished entirely, replaced by a persistent nausea that twisted his stomach. Every bite of food sat heavily in his gut, each attempt to eat leaving him retching and gasping for air.

But it was the sensation in his chest that troubled him the most. It was more than a fever's heat, more than the throbbing of exhaustion. It felt… wrong. A tainted, oily weight pressed against his ribs, spreading outward with each breath. The sensation didn't subside, instead clinging to him like a slick residue he couldn't scrape away. It left him weak and unsteady, his movements sluggish and his mind clouded.

By now, the rides had dwindled; no one wanted to risk taking on a man who looked as haggard and sickly as Jax. He stumbled along the road alone, his cloak hanging damp and heavy over his shoulders. The air felt thicker somehow, every step an effort, yet he continued southward, driven by nothing more than the faint hope that he might reach the ocean and leave this all behind.

During his fever, the nightmares became more vivid, more oppressive. They gripped him tightly, pulling him into their twisted world each time he closed his eyes. This time, he dreamed of his friends.

Torren was the first. He moved through an endless, suffocating darkness, a dim lamp clutched in his hand. Its light flickered weakly, barely cutting through the gloom. Shadows danced around him, closing in with each step. Jax tried to call out, to warn him, but no sound left his lips. Torren seemed unaware, his face set with determination as he continued his search, calling Jax's name into the void.

Then came Riven. She was different—furious and unrelenting, her runic sword glowing ominously as she pursued him through an endless maze. Her voice echoed in his mind, harsh and accusing. "Traitor," she spat, over and over again. The blade in her hands was a blur of motion, each swing aimed with deadly precision. Jax tried to explain, to plead, but she wouldn't listen. She wouldn't stop.

Kelan appeared next, but he didn't chase or search. He stood still in the darkness, his face a mask of confusion and despair. His eyes darted around as if looking for a path, but there was none. He looked lost, utterly adrift, and the sight of him filled Jax with an aching sense of guilt.

And all the while, Jax felt it—a gaze, heavy and all-encompassing, pressing down on him from behind. Something otherworldly, vast, and unknowable, its presence like a weight on his very soul. It watched him, scrutinizing his every movement, its attention a cold and terrible thing. He tried to turn, to see what it was, but his body wouldn't respond. He was frozen, trapped in place, helpless under the oppressive stare.

Jax awoke after one of these dreams, feeling stiff and sore from leaning against the rough wooden wall of the horse stalls. The scent of hay and damp wood filled the air. His cloak covered his legs, doing little to keep out the lingering chill of the morning.

Blinking against the light streaming through the cracks in the stable walls, he tried to piece together how he had ended up there. The memories were hazy, blurred by fever and exhaustion. He faintly recalled stumbling through the village under cover of darkness, his movements sluggish and unsteady. No one had been around to notice as he slipped into the stable, his legs barely carrying him to the nearest corner where he could collapse unseen.

His head throbbed as he shifted, and a sharp ache in his joints reminded him of the fever still burning in his veins. Jax ran a hand over his face, brushing away the straw that clung to his skin. His stomach growled faintly, but the thought of food only made him feel nauseous.

Jax looked toward the door.

A woman stood there holding it open with one hand. For a moment she was only a dark shape in a dress, outlined by the faint light of early morning, then she stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. In the lantern light he could see her more clearly. She wore a green dress that shimmered as she moved, and a soft, gray cloak.

"I came to see my horse," she said, gesturing vaguely at the stalls. Her gaze, however, never left him, sharp and wary. "Are you… ill?"

"I'm fine," Jax replied, his voice hoarse and unconvincing.

But she didn't leave. Instead, she stepped cautiously down the length of the stable, holding the hem of her skirt to avoid the dirt. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though approaching a wounded animal. When she reached him, she knelt by his side, her face softening with concern.

"You don't look fine," she murmured, reaching out to touch his forehead.

The moment her hand brushed his skin, instinct roared to life. Without thinking, Jax's hand shot to his belt, drawing his knife in a fluid motion. The blade hovered inches from her throat, his fevered mind flashing with images of his pursuers, of betrayal, of danger at every turn.

Her eyes widened, frozen in fear, but she didn't scream. The stable fell into a tense silence, broken only by the soft shifting of horses in their stalls. Jax's chest heaved as he stared at her, the knife trembling in his grip. For a moment, he almost struck—then he saw her face. There was no malice in her eyes, only shock and confusion.

Reality crashed down on him, and with it came shame. He lowered the knife, his hand shaking. "I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice barely audible. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, swaying as he stepped back.

"I… I didn't mean…" He couldn't finish the sentence. Without another word, Jax grabbed his belongings and stumbled out of the stables into the pale morning light. The cool air did little to soothe the fever burning within him. Each step felt heavier than the last, his sickness clawing at him relentlessly. That feeling—the oily, tainted sensation—spread deeper, clinging to him like a second skin. His vision blurred, and the world seemed to sway under his feet.

The streets were already bustling, even at this early hour. Merchants set up their stalls, children darted about, and villagers moved with purpose, going about their daily routines. None of them paid him any mind. But as Jax pushed forward, head low and cloak wrapped tightly around him, his gaze snagged on someone standing in the middle of the street.

The figure was motionless, their stance unnervingly calm amidst the moving crowd. They weren't doing business, nor talking with anyone—they were simply watching. Watching him.

Jax's breath hitched, panic blooming in his chest. His fevered mind screamed a single thought: They've found me.

He turned sharply, heading in the opposite direction, weaving through the bustling crowd. His heart pounded as he risked a glance over his shoulder. The figure hadn't stayed put. They were following, their pace quickened, closing the distance with each step.

His fear drove him forward, faster now, though his legs threatened to buckle with every stride. His strength was slipping away, drained by the fever and his growing terror. The crowded street seemed endless, the people around him blurring into a chaotic haze.

And then, everything stopped. His foot caught on uneven ground, his body crumpling as his knees gave out. He hit the dirt hard, his vision spinning and darkening at the edges. The last thing he saw before the blackness claimed him was the figure, closing in on him.

The next time Jax opened his eyes, the world felt strangely calm. Warmth enveloped him, seeping into his aching body. Thick blankets were tucked snugly around him, their weight both foreign and comforting. The air carried a faint scent of herbs and wood smoke, and as his vision adjusted, he realized he was lying in a bed—a real bed. The room was dimly lit, a single lantern casting a soft, flickering glow that danced on the wooden walls.

He turned his head, his muscles groaning in protest, and his breath caught in his throat. Sitting beside the bed, leaning back in a worn chair with his arms crossed, was Torren.

Jax blinked, his mind scrambling to process what he was seeing. Torren's presence felt surreal, like a figment of his fevered dreams. His old friend looked the same as ever—casual and confident, though his brow was furrowed slightly, and his usual grin was missing. He seemed deep in thought, staring at nothing in particular. His spear rested on his lap.

"Torren?" Jax's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Torren's head snapped up, his sharp eyes meeting Jax's. For a moment, surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by something harder to read—a mix of relief and frustration.

"Well, look who finally decided to wake up," Torren said, his tone dry, but Jax didn't miss the undercurrent of concern. "You've been out for a while."

Jax struggled to sit up, but his body protested, and he fell back against the pillows with a wince. "What… how are you here?" he asked, his mind racing with questions. His last memory was collapsing in the street.

"Take it easy," Torren said, reaching out to gently push Jax back against the pillows when he tried to sit up. "You saw me and tried to bolt. Then you collapsed."

"I didn't know it was you," Jax replied weakly.

Torren smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost. Never seen you that afraid before."

"It doesn't matter," Jax sighed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Torren tilted his head, studying him. "You catch a cold or something? You look like death warmed over."

"I feel like death."

"At least your dry humor's still intact," Torren said with a chuckle, leaning forward slightly. His attempt to lighten the mood didn't quite land, though, and silence settled between them.

Jax's mind, however, wasn't quiet. An unpleasant thought began to creep in, tightening his chest. What if Torren was one of them? The possibility sent a chill down his spine. His fevered mind couldn't shake the paranoia. Was this really his old friend, or someone sent to lure him into a trap? Why was he here? How did he even find me? Every word Torren spoke seemed to have a double meaning, every glance an ulterior motive.

"I hope you like the room," Torren said casually, breaking the silence with his usual small talk. His tone was easy, but to Jax, it felt wrong. Too rehearsed. Too smooth. Suspicion churned in his gut.

Torren continued, oblivious to Jax's growing unease. "I couldn't just leave you out in the streets. If I hadn't—"

"No," Jax snapped suddenly, his voice sharper than intended. His eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching toward the edge of the blanket, where his knife usually rested. Torren flinched, genuinely surprised by the outburst.

"Jax," Torren said, his tone serious now. "If I hadn't done it, Riven and the others would've found you by now."

"Riven?" Jax's heart skipped a beat. "What's Riven doing here?"

"She's looking for you," Torren admitted, his voice softening. "After what happened, she requested to be the one to bring you to justice." He hesitated before asking, "Is it true, Jax? Did you… did you kill Ulric?"

Jax didn't answer right away. Instead, he asked, "How did you find me?"

Torren leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. "I came with her. There's only about ten of us – her, me, Kelan, and a few others. She wanted a smaller band, something about not drawing attention.

Jax's chest tightened at the mention of them. "How did you track me?"

Letting out a loud sigh, Torren continued, "Honestly? Luck more than anything," he admitted. "Most of the time, we were wandering blind, guessing where you might've gone. We asked questions, but half the answers weren't worth a damn. Still, every now and then, we got something useful."

His gaze shifted to the corner of the room, where Jax's sword leaned against the wall. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Like hearing about a lone wanderer who looked Noxian but carried an Ionian sword. Nice sword, by the way," he added, though his tone had an edge of curiosity.

Jax didn't respond, his eyes narrowing slightly. Torren continued, leaning forward now. "Someone spotted you working on that farm," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "And then there was the story about a man staying at a tavern in one of the towns up north. Supposedly killed the owner, some of his worker, and a merchant. Set the tavern on fire or something…"

At that, Torren hesitated, his smirk fading into something more cautious. His eyes flicked back to Jax. "That last part… that wasn't you, was it?" His word carried a trace of worry, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "We've all done despicable things in this war, Jax. I'd understand if you had the reason. So, what was it?"

Jax's throat tightened, and he looked away, his jaw clenched. The seconds stretched painfully as Torren waited, his expression a mixture of disbelief and concern.

Finally, Jax broke the silence. "I didn't kill the owner or his workers," he said, his voice steady but guarded. "And the merchant… I don't even know what happened that night. They were after me, and I was trapped in this room, trying to find a way out, and then –" he paused, his brow furrowing as he struggled to put it into words. "There was this… flash. Like lightning, but not really. It wasn't natural."

He shook his head, the memory still vivid and unsettling. "It sent me flying against the wall. When I got back to my feet, the merchant was gone. And there was a hole in the wall, big enough for me to escape through."

Torren's eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his expression caught between skepticism and unease. "A flash? Lightning that wasn't lightning?" he repeated, his tone careful. "You sure you're not just imagining things, Jax?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Jax replied firmly.

Torren hesitated before pressing further. "And this merchant—he was pursuing you? Why would a merchant do that? Was he some kind of Noxian spy? A bounty hunter, maybe?"

"He didn't look like either," Jax said, the memory of Kastor Barov's face flashing in his mind. His voice dropped slightly as if he were piecing it together again himself. "And he didn't say things a bounty hunter would say. He was… one of those people. Like Ulric."

"Like Ulric?" Torren's brows knit together, and his expression darkened. "So, you did kill Ulric." His voice dropped to almost a whisper, his face falling.

Jax looked away, his jaw tightening as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. He exhaled heavily, his gaze distant as he tried to find the words. "It's not what you think, Torren," he began, his voice low and strained. "Some people… they're after me. I don't know who they are, not exactly. They're not just soldiers or bounty hunters. It's something else."

Torren's frown deepened, but he stayed quiet, letting Jax continue.

"Ulric," Jax said, his jaw tightening as he said the name. "He was one of them. I don't know how or why, but he was connected to them. I found out… things, things I can't explain. Things I didn't want to know. He wasn't the man we thought he was."

Torren leaned forward slightly, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What kind of things?"

Jax shook his head, unwilling—or unable—to explain. "I've been running ever since, but they always find me. Somehow, they know. No matter where I go, they're always there, just behind me."

The room fell into silence for a moment, the weight of Jax's words hanging heavy in the air. "I didn't want to kill him," Jax said finally, his voice barely audible. "But I had no choice. It was him… or me."

Torren stared at him, his brow furrowed as he tried to process what he'd just heard. "You're serious," he said at last, the disbelief fading from his voice.

Jax met his eyes, and in that moment, Torren saw the exhaustion, the fear, and the weight Jax had been carrying. "I wish I wasn't," Jax said quietly.

He felt the sickness wash over him, in pulsing waves, so he closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of himself. Torren noticed and walked around his bed to a pick up a jar from the bedside table and fill the mug with water. Jax shook his head, and Torren just set it down.

"Torren," Jax said, his voice trembling despite his effort to steady it. "Something's happening to me. Ever since I left my home. I don't know why me, and I don't know how to stop it."

Torren gave him a sad, crooked smile, tapping Jax's leg lightly over the blanket. "I'm sure you'll find out a way to stop it. Just… one step at a time, my friend," he said, his voice low and warm. "First, I need to make sure Riven—or the others, for that matter—don't find you. I'll head back to them soon, or she'll start getting suspicious. You, on the other hand, rest up. Get better, and figure out the rest later."

Jax looked at him, hesitation in his gaze. "Why are you doing this?"

Torren chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "Because you've always been a pain in the ass, Jax," he said with a smirk, though there was genuine affection in his tone. "But you're a tolerable pain in the ass. And you're my friend. I just hope you feel the same about me."

Jax couldn't bring himself to reply, but something in his expression must have given Torren the answer he was looking for. Torren stood, brushing off his tunic as he prepared to leave. Halfway to the door, he paused and turned back.

"Oh, and next time we see each other, you're telling me all about that sword," he said, nodding toward the weapon leaning against the corner of the room. His grin widened briefly. "But for now, get some rest. Stay low for a few days. I booked this room for a whole week—burned through all my savings for it, so you better make good use of it. I'll figure out some lie to tell Riven when I get back."

With that, he gave Jax a quick wave, his demeanor light but purposeful. "Take care of yourself, Jax," he said softly before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

For a long moment, Jax sat in the quiet room, his thoughts swirling. He wanted to trust Torren, but the paranoia that had been his constant companion since that day he killed Ulric whispered doubts in his mind. What if this was a trap? What if Torren was leading him into something worse? But what if he wasn't?

He closed his eyes and sighed, letting his hand drift to the pendant resting against his chest. He clutched it tightly, drawing some faint comfort from its presence, and finally allowed himself to drift back into a restless sleep.

Jax knew it was one of those dreams again as soon as he found himself there. He drifted in a boundless void, an oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow everything around it. There was no air there, but he didn't feel the need to breathe in that place. Something was different this time, though. Scattered across the endless black were faint, flickering lights, so small and dim they might have been mistaken for dying stars. They pulsed weakly, as though struggling against the darkness that threatened to extinguish them.

He felt weightless, unanchored, and strangely hollow. When he looked down, he was startled to see his own body, faintly illuminated in an eerie, silvery glow. His hands moved sluggishly, and he couldn't walk in this place. Yet he moved, pulled by an unseen force, as if something was guiding him. Somewhere.

Then came the whispers. They began as faint buzz at the edge of his awareness, rising slowly, like a tide of fragmented voices. They were indistinct, overlapping, and incessant, waving a tapestry of sounds that Jax couldn't comprehend. Unlike the menacing murmurs of his usual nightmares, these whispers were different – softer, almost pleading. And they weren't coming from nowhere. As he floated past the faint lights, he realized the voices were tethered to them, tiny fragments of speech echoing from each flicker.

The words were fragmented and fleeting, vanishing before he could grasp their meaning. They weren't monstrous or cruel but carried a weight of longing, of desperation. They weren't sinister, but their intensity sent shivers racing down his spine.

As the whispers grew louder, he saw it. A light ahead, brighter than the rest. It stood apart from the scattered flickers, its glow persistent, yet fragile. It pulsed wildly with some unpredictable energy, as if it had its own heartbeat. The pull on him intensified, and he was drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.

The closer he came, the more darkness around him seemed to thin. And then, he stopped. The light wasn't just a glow. Something about it felt familiar, tugging at a part of him he thought he'd lost a long ago. He reached out, his hand trembling as it moved closer to the light.

Jax's fingertips grazed the light, and the world around him came undone.

It surged into him. Everything. Raw and consuming, as if it had always been his. Grief weighed on his chest, sharp and unrelenting, as trembling hands placed a flower onto a broken workbench. He didn't understand why, but it hurt – deeply, achingly – as though he'd lost something precious he could never reclaim.

The image dissolved into fire and chaos. Triumph flared briefly, a burst of confidence, but it was swallowed by the roar of an explosion. Flames devoured everything, and a scream echoed—not his voice, but he felt it in his throat, raw and desperate. Guilt clawed at him, heavy and unyielding, as though his own hands had caused the destruction.

Through the haze of ash and fire, he saw her for the first time—a silhouette, small and hunched, shoulders trembling. A child, faceless and undefined, but her presence burned into him like a brand. The figure stood over a crumpled body, unmoving, as another shape turned and walked away. The child reached out, a hand shaking with anger and despair, but the shadow disappeared, leaving her alone.

The darkness pulled him forward, and the figure grew older. Taller now, its posture hardened, the childlike frailty replaced by something sharper, fractured. A second presence loomed beside it, shadowy and towering, its gaze heavy and oppressive. Jax felt the anger simmering, rising to the surface and spilling over, the heat of it scorching his veins.

A flash. She, somehow he knew it was she - held a weapon now. He felt the tremble of her hand as though it was his own, the cold weight of metal pressing into his palm. A deafening crack shattered the air, and anger erupted, wild and unrelenting. It burned hot, but it left him hollow, emptier than before.

Laughter spilled into the void—maniacal, sharp, and cutting. Not his, but it escaped from his throat, echoing until it fractured into silence. The silhouette, now a young woman, stood still, her shoulders trembling once more.

He was in a corner now, knees pulled to his chest. Tears burned his eyes—he didn't know why, but they felt real. Apologies whispered from his lips, over and over, desperate and unspoken. Loneliness pressed down on him like a crushing weight, suffocating, inescapable.

The void began to fold in on itself, the emotions spinning faster, pulling him into their relentless torrent. And then, the silhouette appeared again. She was closer now, her form clearer, though her face remained obscured, unreachable.

She turned toward him.

Jax froze, every nerve in his body taut, trembling under the weight of her gaze. He couldn't see her eyes, her mouth, or her features, but he felt her. Somehow, she was looking straight at him.

Then came the whisper.

"Jax…"

Her voice was soft, carrying a weight he couldn't place, and it struck him like a thunderclap. It felt familiar, and as though she was aware of his presence. His heart stuttered, and before he could even breathe, the void shattered.

Jax jolted awake, gasping for air as his body jerked upright. His chest heaved, his heart pounding as though it wanted to escape his ribs. Cold sweat dripped down his face, and his hands shook as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to calm himself. The images were already fading, slipping through his mind like water through a sieve, but the feelings remained – raw, undeniable.

He closed his eyes, and then it hit him.

"Powder…" he whispered.

He hadn't said that name in years. Not since he'd buried it deep beneath layers of guilt and the futile hope that it would fade away with time. Not since he'd tried to walk away from the shadows of his past, to forget the memories of a girl with blue hair and wide, trusting eyes.

His legs felt like lead as he swung them over the side of the bed, standing up on instinct alone. The room was dark, barely visible in the faint glow of a lantern, its oil nearly burned away. Each step felt heavier than last as he moved toward the window, his stomach twisting with a lingering sickness. Outside, the night stretched on, still far from dawn. The village was quiet, and calm. He felt like he'd slept for days – like he's been somewhere far away and only now returned. He leaned against the window frame, his forehead pressing against the cool glass, the pounding in his head matching the racing of his heart.

His fingers brushed against the pendant hanging from his neck, its cold surface grounding him for a moment. But as his grip tightened, it anchored him not to the present but to the past.

The dream – no, it wasn't just a dream. It couldn't have been.

Another nightmare, maybe, but not like the others that haunted him. This was different.

It felt real. Too real.

The emotions he felt, the images, the voice – they didn't feel like the distorted fragments of his usual dreams. They were sharp, vivid, like memories etched into his soul. But they weren't his memories. They were hers.

Powder's.

His breath hitched as the realization sank in, the truth wrapping around him like a vice. She wasn't just a memory. She wasn't a ghost from a time long past.

She was out there.

And she was in pain.

The weight of it crushed him, driving him deeper into the storm swirling in his chest. He didn't understand how he'd seen her or why it had happened now, but it didn't matter. He felt it – her anguish, her loneliness, her desperation. It clung to him like a burden he couldn't shake.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the pendant tighter, the edges biting into his skin, grounding him in the here and now. But it didn't stop the name from echoing in his mind, over and over again. Powder wasn't just a memory, and she wasn't just a girl he once knew. She was the girl he had made a promise to.

She was a girl he broke his promise to.

x

Jinx woke with a start, her eyes snapping open as if she'd been pulled from a deep, suffocating sea. Her heart was pounding so violently it felt like it might burst, and her breathing came in shallow gasps. The shadows of her hideout danced across the walls, dim light filtering through the cracks like broken memories trying to slip through.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, as if that alone could still the storm raging within her. Something was wrong. Something she couldn't name, but it clung to her like a phantom. Her dream – if it was even a dream – lingered just out of reach, slipping through her grasp like sand. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to piece it together, but all she found were empty fragments and a hollow ache.

Someone had been there.

She was sure of it.

It wasn't a face she could recall or a voice she could place, but a presence. Strong. Familiar. Like a whisper she'd forgotten how to hear. It wasn't frightening – though perhaps it should have been – but it wasn't comforting either. And she couldn't place why.

A weight settled over her, heavy and cold. Sadness. The kind she didn't know what to do with, the kind she didn't let herself feel. Jinx scowled, rubbing at her face as if she could scrub the emotion away. She didn't do sadness. She laughed at it, blew it up, drowned it in noise and chaos until it didn't dare return. But now, in the suffocating quiet, it curled around her, pulling her under.

And for reasons she couldn't understand, she wanted to cry. Her thoughts drifted, unbidden and unwelcome, to someone she hadn't thought of in years. Jax.

The name hit her like a punch to the gut. Why now? Why him?

He was gone. Dead. He had been for years. Just like everyone else who had ever mattered. And yet, his name stuck in her mind like a shard of glass she couldn't pull free, cutting her with every breath.

Jinx swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing against the cold, uneven floor. She stared down at her hands, her fingers curling and uncurling as though trying to hold onto something – anything. But there was nothing here. Nothing but the echo of a name.

Why now?

It had been so long. So many aching years since she'd last seen him. Since he made that promise. She remembered it so clearly when he promised to stay by her side. Forever. Always. Sure, they were just kids at the time, but there was some strange weight in it, even back then.

And then he broke it.

He was gone.

Just gone.

Like everyone else.

She wondered how different things might have been if he had been there when it all went to hell. There had always been something about him—a quiet comfort, a steady presence that kept her grounded while still giving her the freedom to let loose. Wild, but never too far. She smiled faintly, the memory of their contraptions and gadgets flickering in her mind like a warm light in the dark. She remembered how they'd spend hours, laughing over their creations, and how she'd once made him an 'early birthday present' because he'd never told her when his birthday was. Knowing how ridiculous he could be, he probably didn't even know it himself. She'd never forget the look on his face – not the usual sarcastic remark or a joke, but a surprise and lack of words. For a moment, the memory felt close, almost tangible like he was still there beside her. Maybe, just maybe, if he was still alive, it wouldn't feel like she'd lost everything.

But even if he had been there, what would he think of her now? Would he see her as a monster, like everyone else did? The thought made her chest tighten, her pulse quicken. She had come to accept the monster, to wear it like armor against the world. But the idea of him looking at her that way—it was a pain she couldn't explain, sharp and unrelenting, making her heart stutter in a way she hated.

Her throat tightened, and the familiar ache of loss clawed its way into her chest. She shoved it down, burying it as deep as it would go. What was the point of mourning ghosts? Jax wasn't here. He wasn't anywhere. He was dead, and she didn't need him. She didn't need anyone.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been there in her dream. Someone familiar. The presence lingered at the edges of her mind, like a hand reaching out for her from the dark.

Jinx pushed herself to her feet, the sudden movement breaking the stillness. She forced out a laugh, hollow and shaky. "Get a grip, Jinx," she muttered, her voice cracking. "Dreams are just dreams. Ain't nothing in them but crazy ideas and stupid memories. Nothing important."

But as she wandered through her cluttered hideout, the ache in her chest refused to leave. Her mind kept circling back, no matter how much noise she tried to drown it in. His name whispered through her thoughts like a song she couldn't escape.

Jax.

No matter how far she tried to run from it, the name wouldn't let her go.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed the surprise at the end!

If things feel a little confusing right now, that's completely intentional. This arc is almost complete, just one more chapter to go before we wrap up the Noxus-Ionia storyline. Honestly, I'm relieved to be nearing the end of it (it stretched out longer than I originally planned, though I did tag this as a slow burn). I'm really excited for what's coming next, though! The story will shift back to its original focus and characters, which is why I included Powder's (or should I say Jinx's) POV at the end. I think you're going to love what's ahead!

The Last Harbor

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jax sat in the corner of the tavern, adjusting the hood of his cloak to cast more shadow over his face. The place had a distinct Ionian charm—wooden beams that arched gracefully like the trees outside, and paper lanterns that swayed gently from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow. The air was heavy with the mingling scents of burning incense and freshly brewed tea, a calm atmosphere that felt at odds with Jax's wary mood.

The tavern was lively, a meeting point for travelers and locals alike. Ionians moved gracefully between tables, their voices soft and melodic, while merchants from distant lands filled the room with a variety of accents. A group of Shurimans in brightly colored robes sat near the hearth, their laughter carrying above the hum of conversation. Across the room, a few Piltovans discussed trade routes, their brass-trimmed goggles and elaborate jackets making them stand out. Even a pair of Bilgewater sailors were here, their boots muddy and their laughs loud, as they toasted their latest voyage.

Jax's tea sat untouched on the table before him. He'd taken a sip earlier and found it bitter, with an herbal undertone that clung to his tongue in a way he didn't like. The tea had gone cold long ago, but it didn't matter. It was only there to give him a reason to linger without drawing attention.

His eyes darted across the room, studying every face and every movement. He wasn't expecting trouble, but he'd long since learned that trouble rarely announced itself in advance. His sword rested across his lap under the table, his right hand loosely gripping the hilt, ready to draw it at the first sign of danger. Though the town of Haruma wasn't occupied or under threat, Jax never let himself grow complacent. Danger followed him like a shadow, no matter where he went.

The person he was waiting for hadn't shown up yet. He glanced at the door, then at the tavern's interior again, careful to keep his head low. He wasn't impatient—years of harsh training and war had taught him the value of waiting—but he hated the vulnerability that came with sitting still.

A shadow passed by the window near the entrance, and Jax instinctively stiffened, his grip tightening on his sword. The door slid open, and a man stepped inside, his heavy boots scuffing against the wooden floor. Jax glanced at him briefly, but it wasn't the person he was waiting for. Just another traveler looking for warmth and a drink.

He sighed quietly and leaned back, letting his grip on the sword relax slightly. Patience, he reminded himself, was as valuable as any weapon. He shifted slightly, the wooden legs of his chair creaking softly. His knee bumped the table, causing the teacup to tremble, but no one seemed to notice. The lively buzz of the tavern continued unabated.

A loud voice rose from the table nearest to him, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "I'm telling you, it's madness out there. Prices going to hell, trade routes drying up—it's all falling apart!" The man's voice was rough and commanding, the kind of tone that demanded attention. Jax's ears pricked up as he tilted his head slightly, listening while keeping his gaze on the table in front of him.

The voice belonged to a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and a thick beard peppered with gray. He leaned forward, gripping his mug as though he were arguing with it as much as the men around him. Four others sat with him, but it was clear this man dominated the conversation.

"It was a mistake coming here to trade," the man continued, slamming his mug down hard enough to make it clatter. "Should've stayed closer to home. But no, the geniuses back in Piltover had to chase their profits halfway across the world."

One of the men sitting beside him, lean and sharp-eyed, asked casually, "What's going on in Piltover, then? Thought the City of Progress was supposed to be immune to this sort of thing."

The bearded man snorted, leaning back with a scowl. "You'd think, wouldn't you? But no, things are shifting there, too. It's been a mess since the attack on the Council."

The sharp-eyed man raised an eyebrow. "Attack on the Council?"

The Piltovan nodded grimly, lowering his mug to the table. "Left half of them dead. Or so the story goes. Left the city in chaos. Trade's gone to hell since. Security's too tight now, and everyone's too scared to move goods without paying through the nose for protection."

Another man at the table, a stocky fellow with a thick accent, frowned. "I heard something about that. Do they know who did it?"

"Depends on who you ask," the bearded fellow replied in a bitter tone. "The Enforcers are keeping quiet about it, of course. But we all know where the fingers are pointing. The filth from the Fissures. The Undercity."

Jax froze. His grip on the hilt tightened under the table. The Undercity. Zaun. The filth from the Fissures. The phrase itself was enough to make Jax's blood boil. The sharp-eyed man frowned. "The Undercity? You mean those Chem-barons or whatever they call themselves?"

"Some of them, probably," the captain said with a shrug. "Does it matter? They're all the same down there. Scavengers and killers, that lot."

The stocky man scratched his head. "Still, taking out half the Council… that's a bold move."

"Bold or desperate," the captain muttered. He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly, though not enough to escape Jax's ears. "And now you've got Noxians sticking their noses where they don't belong, making everything worse."

Noxians? In Piltover? He hadn't heard anything about this before.

"They're running the show now, are they?"

"Not officially," the bearded man said. "But there's a warlord – some commander or general – who's made herself very comfortable there. Last I heard, she's cozying up to what's left of the Council."

The sharp-eyed man leaned in closer, his voice oozing with curiosity. "What are they doing in Piltover? There's a war going on right here, in Ionia. What business do they have sticking their noses in the City of Progress?"

The Piltovan scowled and shook his head, taking a swig from his mug before slamming it down. "Who the hell knows? One day, they just showed up – official business, they said. And ever since, they've been stirring things up. Patrolling the streets alongside the Enforcers, venturing down into the Undercity and whatnot."

"What are they looking for in the Undercity?"

"Trouble, if you ask me," the Piltovan muttered, leaning forward as though imparting a grim prophecy. "The city's in chaos – riots breaking out in the Fissures, though the Enforcers are quick to quench them. But it's getting more frequent. The cracks are showing. Mark my words, there will be another war with the Undercity before long." The table fell quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them.

"And the war here?" the sharp-eyed man finally asked, breaking the silence.

The Piltovan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "The war's not going anywhere," he said gruffly. "But Piltover doesn't care about Ionia. They care about their damn trade routes and their progress. They'll let Noxians walk their streets if it keeps their factories running and their wallets full." He leaned back, his expression dark. "But you can see it coming. Another war down there, in the Fissures. As if those bastards hadn't learned their lesson last time. Piltover won't stay quiet for long."

Jax sat back slightly, his tea forgotten as he focused entirely on the conversation. The bearded man—clearly a merchant, and most likely the captain of one of the ships docked in Haruma—went on, grumbling about taxes, politics, and the rising cost of doing business. Jax barely heard the rest. His thoughts were stuck on the words war and the Undercity.

The door opened again, and this time, Jax's eyes flicked toward it with more intent. A familiar figure stepped inside, their cloak pulled tightly around their shoulders. A faint wave of relief washed over Jax, though he kept his expression neutral. The person he'd been waiting for had finally arrived. He loosened his grip on his sword, but his hand didn't leave it entirely. It never did.

Torren slid into the seat across from Jax, his movements easy and unhurried, but Jax's sharp eyes immediately caught the detail that didn't sit right—Torren wasn't carrying his spear. His brow furrowed slightly as he leaned forward.

"Where's your spear?" Jax asked quietly, his voice low enough to blend into the hum of the tavern.

Torren shrugged, a small, practiced gesture. "Left it in my room. Too recognizable." He leaned back, draping an arm over the back of his chair. "Everyone knows it's my go-to weapon. If one of Riven's lackeys sees me carrying it around, it might raise questions I don't want to answer."

Jax nodded, the logic solid. But he still didn't like it—it felt off seeing Torren without it. The spear was as much a part of him as Jax's sword was to him. Torren's gaze swept over Jax, and he gave a faint smirk. "You're looking better than the last time I saw you."

Jax blinked at the comment, then leaned back slightly. "Yeah, I guess I am," he said, his voice more thoughtful than defensive. He hadn't paid much attention to his own recovery lately, too caught up in staying ahead of Riven and her hunters. And others, too.

"You guess?" Torren raised an eyebrow. "Last time, you looked like you werehalfway through the death door. Barely standing, barely breathing. Now look at you—drinking tea like a proper Ionian." He gestured at the cup with mock seriousness.

Jax gave a small huff of amusement. "Tea's cold," he muttered. "And bitter."

"Still counts," Torren said with a grin. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

Jax shifted slightly, the wooden chair creaking beneath him. "I checked the harbor," he said, steering the conversation back to business, trying to take his mind off what he overheard from the Piltovan captain. "There are still ships docked, but most are pulling out fast. Once they heard about the Noxian army heading this way, no one wants to get stuck in the middle of it."

Torren's smirk faded, replaced by a serious nod. "That's your way out, then."

Jax nodded in return. "Yeah. Just a matter of picking the right one."

Torren leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "And after that? Where do you go?"

Jax hesitated, glancing at the table where the Piltovan captain sat before meeting Torren's gaze. "I don't know," he admitted. "Somewhere I can get a fresh start. Somewhere safe." His voice dipped slightly on the last word, the weight of it hanging between them. "No strange people chasing me, no Noxians breathing down my neck."

Torren tilted his head, studying him for a moment. "What about going back home?"

The question caught Jax off guard, and his brow furrowed. "Home?" he repeated, the word feeling foreign in his mouth. He shook his head quickly, though his answer sounded unsure even to himself. "I don't know."

"Why not?" Torren asked, his tone curious but not prying.

"I don't belong there anymore," Jax said, his voice tight, as if those words alone explained everything. He looked away, his fingers brushing the edge of the table. But the answer didn't sit right with him—it felt incomplete, hollow. It wasn't untrue, but it wasn't the truth either. Deep down, he knew it wasn't about belonging.

The words came back again. Noxians in Piltover. The idea gnawed at him, unsettling him in many different ways. Piltover – the City of Progress – was supposed to be untouchable, a place of science, innovation, and gears turning without end. Not that he'd ever cared much for the glittering heights of the Upper City. But what did it mean for the people below? For the ones in the Undercity? What would Noxian hands on Piltover mean for them? All of those lives lived in the shadows of that so-called progress, the ones who had no voice when the powerful made their move. And then, he wondered – what did it mean for her? For Powder?

The name flickered in his mind like a fragile flame ever since he dreamed about her. He could feel her presence in that dream; it was more than a trick of the mind. It was real. He knew it was real. Guilt, long buried, resurfaced back again like a fish from the depths, the pain he'd endured in the first few years after leaving Zaun. It had been a constant reminder back then, a hollow feeling in his chest that never fully faded no matter how far he ran. He'd learned to live with it, to push it aside, but now it was back. There were questions, too. Why now? Why her? And what was he supposed to do about it?

Over time, Jax had come to understand that his dreams weren't just dreams—they meant something. They carried weight, messages wrapped in shadows that he couldn't always decipher. That was the reason he left Zaun in the first place. He'd told himself it was for her—to protect her, to keep her safe. But was she safe now? What if she was hurt? What if she needed help and no one was there? What if…

"Jax?" Torren's voice pulled him back to the present, and Jax blinked, realizing he'd fallen silent.

Torren's voice snapped him back to the present, and Jax blinked, startled to realize he'd fallen silent.

He straightened slightly, forcing a nod. "I… I don't know," he said, his voice quieter but firm. "I just need to get out of here."

Torren exhaled through his nose, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If I had any coin left, I'd give it to you," he said, spreading his hands apologetically.

Jax shook his head, his expression softening slightly. "You've already given me enough," he muttered. "I still have some of it left."

Torren tilted his head, his usual grin flickering into something more genuine. "Good. Make it count then," he said, leaning back. "And if Riven asks where it went, I'll just say I lost it in a bad bet. She already thinks I'm irresponsible, so she'll believe it."

Jax huffed a quiet laugh despite himself. "That's because you are irresponsible."

Torren shrugged with mock pride. "Keeps life interesting."

Jax looked at him, his expression unreadable for a moment before he dipped his head slightly. "Thanks. For everything."

Torren shrugged again, leaning back in his chair like it was nothing. "Don't worry about it," he said. "But the longer you stay, the more dangerous this gets. Riven's restless, and that's never a good thing."

Torren leaned forward, his voice dropping as his gaze flicked across the tavern. "You need to keep your eyes open, Jax. Riven's got her people everywhere, and they're all looking for you. Most of them blend right into the crowds—merchants, dockworkers, travelers. You wouldn't even know until it's too late."

Jax nodded, his fingers brushing over the hilt of his sword under the table. "She should get in line, then. Though, she's getting difficult to stay away from. And she's thorough"

"She's more than thorough," Torren added, his tone edged with warning. "She's impatient. That makes her more dangerous, not less."

Jax glanced toward the bustling tavern, his jaw tightening as the weight of the situation pressed heavier on him. After a moment, he turned back to Torren, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean."

Torren shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile. "I don't know. Maybe I like sticking my neck out for lost causes. Keeps things interesting."

Jax tilted his head, unconvinced by the flippant answer. "That's not it."

Torren smirked, but there was a glint of something softer in his eyes. "Maybe not. Truth is, I couldn't tell you why. Just feels like the right thing to do."

Jax let that sit for a moment, then nodded, his voice quieter when he spoke again. "Thanks, Torren. You're a true friend—the best one I've had in a long time."

Torren grinned, shaking his head. "Don't get sweet on me now, Jax. It's embarrassing."

Jax snorted faintly, but before he could reply, Torren's smile faded just enough to reveal the sincerity underneath. "Look, you never told me the whole story. I don't know what got you here, or what you've done, but I trust you. I believe you had your reasons for all of it."

Jax's chest tightened at the words, but he didn't respond right away. He nodded once, the gratitude clear in his expression, though he didn't let it linger too long. Glancing at the door, Jax spotted a young man of bronze skin and dark hair coming in, a foreigner by the look of him, with a cocky spring to his walk and twirling a cloth cap on one finger. The young man's eyes swept jauntily around the room, but when they lit on Jax and Torren, the cap fell of his finger He stared at them for a full minute before snatching the cap from the floor, then stared some more, running his fingers through his thick head of dark hair. Finally he came over to their table, his feet dragging.

He was older than Jax, but he stood looking down at them diffidently "Mind if I sit down?" he asked, and immediately swallowed hard as if he might have said the wrong thing.

Jax thought he might be hoping to get a drink out of them, though he looked able to buy his own. His blue shirt was embroidered around the collar, and his dark blue cloak all around the hem. His leather boots had never been near any work that scuffed them, that Jax could see. He nodded to a chair.

Torren stared at the fellow as he drew the chair to the table. Jax could not tell if he was glaring or just trying to see clearly. In any case, Torren's frown had an effect. The young man froze halfway to sitting, and did not lower himself all the way until Jax nodded again.

"What's your name?" Jax asked.

"My name? My name. Ah… call me Ryuu." His eyes shifted nervously. "Ah… this is not my idea, you understand. I have to do it. I didn't want to, but they made me. You have to understand I don't–"

Torren raised an eyebrow when Jax growled, "You're one of them."

Ryuu gave a jerk and half lifted out of his chair, staring wildly around the room as if there were fifty people listening to their conversation. The other patrons were still lost in their conversations, meals, and drinks. Ryuu sad back down and looked from Torren to Jax uncertainly. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.

Jax shook his head slowly. He had learned that these people didn't wear any obvious marks to set them apart. They could come from any walk of life, blending into all social classes. Except for his clothes this Ryuu could have fit right into the regular crowd. Nothing about him hinted at murder or worse. Nobody would have remarked him twice. At least Barov was… different.

"Leave me alone," Jax said. "And tell your friends to leave me alone. I want nothing from them, and they'll get nothing from me. If you don't…" He shifted slightly, revealing the tip of the hilt resting beneath the table.

Ryuu's eyes flicked to the blade, his face growing pale as he took the threat seriously.. "I… I heard what happened at Kyora. And to Ulric too," that last bit caught Torren by surprise. His brow furrowed as he glanced from Jax to Ryuu, then back to Jax. "Some of it, anyway. Word travels. We have ways of hearing thigns. But there's nobody here to trap you. I'm alone, and… and I just want to talk."

"About what?" Jax asked, "I told you, I don't want anything with you people."

Ryuu opened and closed his mouth, trying to form words, but nothing came out. He looked like a fish gasping for air. Jax turned to Torren, tapping him on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's leave this place," he said, his voice tight with irritation. His gaze flicked back to Ryuu. "And you—leave me alone. I won't say it again."

As they moved toward the door, Ryuu suddenly leapt to his feet. "Wait!" he called out desperately. "You have to wait!"

Jax didn't look back, his steps deliberate as they neared the exit.

"Just listen to me!" Ryuu shouted, his voice breaking. He lunged forward, his hand grabbing Jax's shoulder to stop him.

Images flashed in Jax's mind in rapid succession. The workshop fire, the heat and ash searing his lungs. Ulric, with his cryptic warnings. Barov's voice, calm but heavy with intent, urging him to open the door. Men chasing him through the streets, the pounding of their boots echoing in his ears. Pursuit. Escape. Fear. Always fear. It all came rushing back in an instant. He whirled without thinking, his fist already balling up. "I said, leave me alone!" he roared, and his punch landed square on Ryuu's nose.

The crack was audible. Ryuu fell back onto the floor with a grunt, landing hard on his backside. Blood trickled down his face, bright against his pale skin, as he stared up at Jax in shock.

"You won't get away," Ryuu spat angrily, his voice trembling with fury. "No matter how strong you are, the Prophet is stronger. The Void will swallow you!"

At that moment, the entire tavern seemed to hold its breath. The hum of voices, the clinking of mugs, the scrape of chairs—all of it stopped as if the air itself had frozen. The paper lanterns above swayed gently, their light casting uneasy shadows on the stunned faces of the patrons.

Jax felt their eyes on him, the weight of their stares pressing in from all directions. Some looked confused, others fearful. A few leaned forward slightly, as if eager to hear what would happen next. The Bilgewater sailors by the bar had stopped mid-toast, their mugs hanging frozen in the air. The Shuriman merchants near the hearth exchanged uneasy glances, while the Piltovans in the corner whispered to one another, their voices barely audible.

The barkeep, a stout Ionian man wiping down a glass, paused mid-motion, his brows furrowed. Even the crackle of the hearthfire seemed muted, as though the entire room was waiting for Jax's next move.

Jax's chest heaved as he stared down at Ryuu, his own anger still simmering, but he forced himself to pull back. His fists unclenched, his breathing steadied, and he turned sharply to Torren. "Let's go," he muttered. The noise of the tavern didn't return right away. Even as Jax and Torren pushed open the door and stepped out into the afternoon light, the tension inside lingered like an unspoken question hanging in the air.

Jax led Torren out of the tavern and into a narrow alley. The sounds of the bustling street faded as the shadows of the buildings swallowed them. He turned a corner, his boots crunching softly on the uneven ground, and finally stopped near a stack of crates, his back against the wall. He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, but before he could collect his thoughts, Torren grabbed his arm.

"Remember when I said I wanted to know what you were running from?" Torren hissed, his voice low but sharp with tension. "This is not what I expected! Why did that guy know about Ulric? And who the hell is this 'Prophet' he was going on about?" He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "Bloody hell, I don't even know if I want to know anymore."

Jax didn't answer, his jaw tightening as he stared down at the ground.

Torren stepped closer, his tone growing more insistent. "Jax, I need you to start talking. That wasn't just some random encounter in there. You knew something. I saw it in your face when he mentioned Ulric. What's going on? Why are these people chasing you? Who is the Prophet?"

"I don't know!" Jax snapped, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space. He pushed off the wall, turning sharply toward Torren, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper—fear. "I don't know anything, Torren! I don't know why they're after me, or what they want, or who this Prophet even is!"

Torren took a step back, his hands raised slightly, but his expression didn't soften. "You're telling me you have no idea why these people are chasing you across Ionia? Why they're name-dropping Ulric and talking about swallowing you into the Void? You expect me to believe that? What even is this Void? Some kind of cult?"

"Maybe it is. Looks like it is," Jax said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

Torren shook his head, pacing a few steps away before turning back. "You don't know, or you don't want to say?"

Jax clenched his fists at his sides, his breath coming quicker. "I don't know, Torren. All I know is that ever since I left Zaun, I've been running. Running from these people, from… whatever this is. That's it. That's all I have."

Torren ran a hand through his hair, his frustration clear. "Why didn't you tell me, Jax? All these years we spent training and fighting together, and you never say anything about this?"

Jax shrugged, his gaze dropping to the ground. "It's not exactly something I wanted to talk about."

Torren let out a sharp exhale, his hands settling on his hips as he shook his head. "Not something you wanted to talk about? Jax, you've got people after you, spouting cryptic stuff about prophets and some voids, and you just thought it wasn't worth mentioning?"

Jax met Torren's eyes, his expression firm but tinged with weariness. "What would I have said? 'Oh, by the way, there's a bunch of people out there who chase me for reasons I don't understand'?"

Torren sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall of the alley and rubbing his temples. "This is way too crazy for a regular soldier like me. I signed up to fight battles I understand, not…" He gestured vaguely toward the direction of the tavern. "…this."

Jax gave a humorless chuckle. "Tell me about it."

Torren shot him a look, caught off guard by the dry remark, but his expression softened after a moment. "Let's find you a ship, and get you out of this place. We've wasted enough time here."

Jax led the way through the narrow alleys, his steps purposeful and quiet, though his thoughts churned restlessly. Torren followed close behind, his boots scuffing softly on the stone. The sound of the bustling street grew louder as they approached the end of the alley, and soon enough, they stepped into the chaos of Haruma's main thoroughfare.

The street was alive with activity. Merchants called out their wares from colorful stalls, their voices blending into a melodic chaos. The air was thick with the mingling aromas of grilled fish, sweet pastries, and fresh herbs, making the bustling street feel like a feast for the senses. Children darted through the crowd, laughing as they chased each other around carts stacked high with goods. Ionian monks, draped in flowing robes, moved serenely through the chaos, their heads bowed as if untouched by the clamor around them. The harmony of the town was palpable, even amidst the noise, a living reminder of Ionia's delicate balance between tranquility and vitality.

Jax kept his hood low, weaving through the throng, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword beneath his cloak. His movements were instinctive, a habit formed over months of staying just out of sight, always ready for the next ambush. Beside him, Torren seemed far less concerned, his eyes wandering as he took in the sights with an almost childlike curiosity.

As they moved downhill, the ocean came into view, sprawling and vast, its shimmering surface stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The salty tang of the sea air mixed with the scents of the marketplace, carried on the breeze that rustled through the narrow streets. The harbor below was dotted with masts of docked ships swaying gently with the tide. Haruma seemed like a vibrant trade center for this part of Ionia, its streets and docks filled with life and goods from across the region. Yet, beneath the surface, Jax felt the faintest tension in the air. It was subtle, easy to miss in the lively chaos, but it was there—a quiet unease, as if the town itself knew the peace wouldn't last.

Jax's thoughts drifted to the inevitable arrival of the Noxian army, a shadow creeping closer to the town's doorstep with every passing day. He wondered how the mood would shift once the first crimson banners appeared on the horizon. Would the streets still hum with life, or would the town's unique harmony shatter beneath the weight of occupation? The merchants, the children, the monks—what would become of them when the war truly arrived?

He pulled his hood lower, forcing the thought from his mind. There was no time to dwell on what-ifs.

"I have to say," Torren began, his tone far too casual for the situation they were in, "Ionian girls are really something else."

Jax sighed, shaking his head but unable to hide the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. "This is what you're thinking about right now?"

Torren shrugged, grinning. "What can I say? A man's got to appreciate beauty where he finds it."

Jax didn't respond, though the smirk lingered as they moved further down the street. Torren's ability to lighten the mood, even with his offhand remarks, was a strange comfort amidst the constant tension that had gripped Jax's life lately.

People called out as they passed, offering fresh seafood from their stalls—grilled fish on skewers, roasted shellfish, and raw delicacies laid over beds of crushed ice. Jax barely acknowledged the voices, his focus pinned to the path ahead as they pressed toward the docks.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement that made his stomach drop. Ryuu.

Emerging from a narrow street that merged into theirs, Ryuu walked briskly, his head swiveling as he scanned the crowds. Behind him followed a small group of men, their presence deliberate and purposeful.

Jax acted immediately. Without a word, he grabbed Torren by the arm and tugged him sharply behind one of the market stalls, pulling his hood further over his face to obscure his features. He nodded subtly in Ryuu's direction, and Torren's eyes widened as he spotted them.

The stall owner, an older man with a thick Ionian accent, mistook their sudden movement as interest in his wares. He immediately broke into a string of hurried words, gesturing enthusiastically at the wide array of food spread out before them—raw fish glistening on platters, skewered squid grilling over open flames, and bundles of herbs hanging above like decorations. The man's hands moved quickly as he pointed from dish to dish, offering deals they didn't hear or care to understand.

Jax forced a quick, polite shake of his head, muttering a low, "No, thank you," before glancing toward the street again. He kept his posture casual but his gaze sharp, watching as Ryuu and his men disappeared into the crowd, their figures swallowed by the chaos of the marketplace.

Only then did Jax relax slightly. He gave the stall owner a curt nod in thanks, and moved back into the street. Torren exhaled audibly as they started moving again, his tone laced with relief. "Close call."

Just as they were about to move on, Torren grabbed Jax's arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait," he muttered, his voice low. "It's her."

Jax stiffened, his head snapping toward the direction Torren had nodded. There she was—Riven. She moved through the crowd with a purposeful stride, her eyes scanning the street, sharp and unrelenting. Her runeblade was concealed beneath her cloak, but its distinctive shape pressed against the fabric, unmistakable to those who knew it.

Jax felt his chest tighten. She's too close.

"I'll get her attention," Torren whispered, his tone surprisingly calm despite the situation. "Just enough for you to slip away. Head for the docks."

Jax frowned, his instincts flaring against the plan. "Torren, wait—"

But Torren was already moving, his pace smooth and casual as if he didn't have a care in the world. Jax watched helplessly as Torren weaved his way through the bustling crowd and approached Riven directly. He couldn't hear what Torren said, but he could see him slipping into his usual bravado—gesturing wildly with his hands, his tone animated as though recounting some outlandish story. Riven stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she turned her full attention to him.

Jax didn't waste the opening.

He pulled his hood lower, blending into the steady stream of people flowing downhill toward the docks. Every step was careful, deliberate, his body coiled tight as he wove through merchants, customers, and sailors. He resisted the urge to glance back, forcing his focus forward as the salty breeze of the ocean grew stronger and the crowd thinned.

As he descended, the sounds of the bustling street above faded, replaced by the creak of wooden docks and the cries of gulls circling overhead. Jax's boots hit the cobbled edge of the harbor, his pulse finally slowing just a fraction.

The sun drifted steadily toward the western horizon, its golden light spilling across the water and glinting off the masts and rigging of the ships anchored in the harbor. What had been a pleasant sea breeze earlier now carried a sharper edge, turning colder as it swept in from the ocean, tugging at their coats and rippling the waves against the wooden piers.

The once-busy docks had begun to wind down, the frenzy of the day giving way to a slower, more measured rhythm as night crept closer. Sailors moved with purpose now, wrapping up their duties for the day—tying off lines, securing crates, and double-checking their cargo manifests. A few lanterns flickered to life along the piers, casting pools of light onto the worn wooden planks.

Jax moved quietly through the thinning crowd, his gaze sweeping across the harbor. Some crews were clearly preparing to leave, the signs unmistakable—men tightening rigging, checking supplies, and shouting final orders. A few captains stood near their gangplanks, overseeing their ships with a sharp eye as dockhands finished loading barrels and cargo. Sails were being unfurled, ropes were coiled, and the low groan of wooden hulls against the tide filled the air. These were the ships ready to embark, their crews moving with the focused urgency of those eager to catch the evening tide.

Jax's heart quickened. This is my chance.

He approached the first ship he saw, where a broad-shouldered man oversaw the stacking of the final crates. "Captain?" Jax asked, stepping forward, his voice polite but firm.

The man gave a rough snort, barely glancing up as he waved to his crew. "Do I look like the captain?" he barked, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "I'm a stevedore. Go pester someone else."

Jax muttered an apology and moved on, his eyes scanning for anyone who looked like they had authority. At another ship, where men hauled in the last barrels of provisions, he found a thin man with a waxed mustache and a clean, tailored coat—definitely a captain.

"I'm looking for passage out of Ionia," Jax said quickly. "How much?"

The man turned to look at him, his gaze sweeping Jax from head to toe, calculating. A smirk curled his lips. "Twenty gold. Minimum."

Jax froze. "Twenty? That's robbery."

The captain shrugged, unbothered. "It's wartime, boy. Prices go up. Pay it, or stay here."

Biting back a curse, Jax turned away, frustration mounting. The docks were dimming with each passing minute, shadows stretching long across the planks. Keep moving. Someone's got to say yes.

He spotted a third ship further down, a sleek vessel where a stern-looking woman stood at the gangplank, overseeing her crew. Unlike the others, her crew's pace was efficient and focused—they were preparing to embark, sails already half-unfurled and ropes being cinched tight.

Jax approached cautiously, sensing she might be his last good chance. "Captain," he said, dipping his head slightly in respect. "I'm looking for passage out. I'll work for it—maintenance, cleaning, whatever you need. I'll sleep on the floor."

The woman turned to him slowly, her hard gaze pinning him in place. She looked him up and down, then shook her head. "We're not taking strays," she said firmly. "The ship's full."

"Please," Jax pressed, trying to sound steady but not desperate. "I'll earn my keep. I don't need much."

Her expression didn't waver. "My answer's no. I can't afford the trouble."

She turned her attention back to her crew, the dismissal clear. Jax let out a slow breath, stepping back onto the docks as the realization began to set in. The night was closing in, and while the harbor prepared to send ships out to sea, none of them were taking him with them.

Jax's frustration mounted with each failed attempt to secure passage. He approached ship after ship, but every conversation ended in rejection. Most captains gave the same excuses—they weren't taking on strangers, didn't have the room, or couldn't afford to deal with a potential problem aboard. Others named prices so absurd that Jax nearly laughed out of disbelief.

If he'd had the coin, he would have paid it without hesitation. But what little he had wasn't nearly enough. One captain had the audacity to laugh outright when Jax offered the last of the money Torren had given him. "That's barely enough for a decent plate of dinner in a good tavern, let alone passage across the sea," the man scoffed, shaking his head as he turned away.

Jax clenched his fists, stuffing the pouch of coins back into his cloak. His options were dwindling fast, and the tide wasn't going to wait for him. He needed a way out, and every rejection made it feel like the walls of Haruma were closing in.

"Going somewhere?"

The familiar voice cut through the noise of the docks, freezing Jax in place. He turned his head sharply and saw her—Riven—standing just a few paces away. Her expression was hard, her eyes sharp and unyielding as she stared him down. Jax's heart skipped a beat, a cold weight settling in his chest.

How did I not hear her coming?

Her gaze carried unspoken accusation, heavy enough to make his shoulders tense. But Jax didn't back down. Instinctively, his hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, his pulse quickening.

"Not anymore, it seems. I don't want to fight you, Riven," he said, his voice steady despite the tension coiling through his body.

"Then you shouldn't have assassinated our Commander," she replied, cold and measured.

Riven's hand moved to the hilt of her runeblade, and as she drew it, the weapon flared with a faint, pulsating green light. The runes glowed like an ember in the growing dusk, the fractured runes along its length humming softly, as if resonating with the moment's tension.

Jax caught the movement of sailors out of the corner of his eye—men still lingering on the docks, now stopping mid-task to watch. Some muttered to one another, their surprise evident as they glanced at Riven.

"Noxian," Jax heard one of them murmur, the word rippling through the onlookers. They edged back instinctively, creating space, unwilling to get too close to the unfolding confrontation.

Riven stepped forward, the soft thud of her boots on the dock carrying more weight than the sound should have. Her expression didn't waver, her piercing gaze locked onto Jax. The pulsing glow of her blade seemed to sync with their heartbeats—his, rapid and erratic; hers, steady and unshaken.

"You're not walking away from this," she said softly, though her words carried the edge of a blade.

Jax's jaw tightened as he shifted his stance, his instincts screaming to move, to prepare. He'd known this confrontation was coming, but now that it was here, the reality of it struck him harder than he'd expected. He met her gaze, refusing to look away. "I didn't want this, Riven."

The glow of her blade flared slightly brighter, casting fractured shadows across the dock. Riven's grip on her weapon was steady as stone. "You don't get to decide that," she said.

"My hand was forced—Ulric was not the man you think he was," Jax explained, though his tone was edged with frustration as he tried to reason with her.

Riven's frown deepened, her grip tightening on her runeblade. "He might've been ruthless, but he was a commander of Noxian armies."

Jax's patience cracked, and his voice rose as he snapped back. "He didn't care about Noxus!"

The words hung in the air like a slap. For just a moment, Riven faltered, her gaze narrowing in surprise, but the hesitation was fleeting. "If you stopped being so blindly loyal," Jax pushed, his tone sharp, "maybe you'd be able to see the truth."

Riven's expression hardened into a glare, her voice like ice as she hissed, "The only truth that matters is that you're the traitor."

It struck him then—no matter what he said or did, it wouldn't make a difference. Riven's mind was made up. To her, he was a traitor, and nothing could convince her otherwise. The irony of it all wasn't lost on him. Riven had always been clear about her ambitions—her goal to rise through the ranks of Noxus, to carve out a name for herself. Noxian ideals thrived on strength, on sacrifice, and, more often than not, on betrayal. Backstabbing and cheating one's way to power was practically expected. And yet here she was, clinging to blind loyalty for a man she hadn't truly known. And it wasn't just her loyalty that was unwavering—it was her belief in what Noxus represented, what Ulric had stood for in her mind. And that belief had made her deaf to reason. To her, the truth didn't matter, because her version of it was already set in stone.

The sound of pounding footsteps broke through the tension. Both of them turned their heads toward the commotion. Torren appeared, weaving through the scattered crowd and running toward them, now gripping his spear tightly in his hand. Kelan followed close behind, looking winded but resolute.

"Sorry, Jax," Torren called, his tone carrying a mix of frustration and exasperation. "I left her out of my sight for one second, and she was gone."

Riven's eyes widened, flicking from Torren to Jax and back again, realization dawning on her. "You're with him?" she demanded, her voice a sharp accusation.

Kelan stopped beside Torren, his hesitation clear. He looked at Riven as though searching for the right words, but his silence spoke louder than any excuse. Meanwhile, the sparse crowd that had gathered at a safe distance continued to watch, murmuring quietly among themselves.

Torren, ever the improviser, lifted a hand in a half-hearted shrug. "Oh, you know how it is. I found myself at the wrong place in the wrong time." But his tone shifted as he looked her in the eye, more serious now. "Still, you need to back off. This isn't what you think it is."

Riven's blade flared to life, its runes blazing with a furious, green glow that lit up her face in fractured patterns. "Back off?" she snapped, her voice dripping with anger as her blade hummed with energy. "You think I'll stand here and listen to your excuses while he gets away?"

The crowd's murmurs grew quieter, the people sensing the storm that was about to break. Torren's knuckles whitened around his spear, and Kelan shifted uneasily, his loyalty visibly split between his comrades. Jax shifted his weight, his fingers flexing near the hilt of his blade. He could see it now—Riven wasn't just angry. She was hurt.

"I'll give you one chance to surrender," Riven said, her voice sharp as steel.

Jax exhaled slowly, his hand steady as he drew his own blade, the quiet scrape of metal ringing through the tension. "I can't do that," he replied.

"Then you'll have to die," Riven said coldly, her tone unyielding, as though she were simply stating a fact.

"Riven, stop!" Torren stepped forward, frustration bleeding into his voice as he held up a hand. "You don't have to do this. Just listen for a moment—"

"Enough, Torren," she snapped, her eyes cutting toward him like daggers.

But before she could turn back to Jax, Kelan spoke up, surprising them all. "Wait," he said, stepping hesitantly between them, his voice unsteady but loud enough to be heard. "Riven… think about this."

Riven's eyes narrowed as she regarded him, but she just kept walking as if he wasn't there.

"There has to be an explanation," Kelan pressed, his tone earnest, almost pleading. His thin, wiry frame seemed smaller than ever under Riven's imposing presence, but he stood his ground. "You know Jax—better than anyone. We all do. We trained together. We fought side by side for years. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Riven's jaw tightened and she kept walking, but Kelan didn't falter. Jax had never seen him so impassioned about anything before, and for a moment, even the gathered crowd seemed to hold its breath.

"You taught us to question," Kelan continued, his voice trembling but resolute. "To think. Maybe we've judged too quickly. Maybe this isn't what we think it is."

Riven's gaze lingered on Kelan for a long, silent moment. Her knuckles tightened on the hilt of her blade, and her expression remained a mask of cold determination. Whatever war was raging inside her, she didn't let it show. Jax watched Kelan with a bit of surprise. The thin man stood there like a brittle reed, outmatched and outgunned, yet unbending. But even as he pleaded, Riven stood firm, her blade unwavering.

"No," she said finally, her voice quiet but final, like a judge passing sentence. "This ends here."

Jax closed his eyes for a brief moment, his chest rising and falling with a slow, weary exhale. When he opened them again, his gaze locked onto Riven's, steady and unflinching.

"So be it," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability. With deliberate calm, he lifted his sword and pressed his lips to the blade, the motion both solemn and final. The faint light of the setting sun glinted off the steel, illuminating the delicate Ionian inscriptions etched along its surface.

"This ends here," he murmured, more to himself, the words a quiet promise as he lowered the sword into a ready stance.

Jax moved quickly, his blade a blur as he struck with precision and speed—short, testing thrusts from the sides, sharp slashes from above and below. He'd had a few weeks to grow accustomed to the weight and balance of his new sword, and now he relied on every ounce of that familiarity.

But Riven's runeblade met his attacks with shocking ease, the massive weapon deflecting his strikes as if they were inconsequential. Jax's jaw tightened in disbelief as he watched her movements. How is she this fast? The sheer size of her sword should have slowed her down, yet she handled it with alarming fluidity, each parry precise, and fast.

He pressed harder, trying to keep her on the defensive for as long as possible, forcing her to focus on blocking and preventing her from setting the pace. But deep down, Jax knew. Riven wasn't overwhelmed. She was waiting. He could see it in her stance, the faint shifts of her weight, the sharpness of her eyes as they followed every move he made. She wasn't being defensive—she was studying him, weighing his skill, searching for the perfect moment to strike back.

And when the counter came, it came faster than he'd anticipated.

Riven stepped into him with a sudden burst of power, her sword swinging in a wide arc that seemed to cut the air itself. Jax threw himself to the side just in time, the edge of the blade missing him by inches. The force of the swing alone sent a gust of wind against his face, and as the runeblade crashed into the ground behind him, the shock of the impact nearly knocked him off balance. He staggered backward, catching himself just before his footing gave way.

His heart pounded in his chest. That was too close.

Riven straightened, her expression hard and unwavering as her blade pulsed with its eerie green glow. Jax tightened his grip on his sword. She wasn't just stronger—she was sharper, faster, and completely in control. She wasn't going to let him recover easily.

And she didn't.

What followed was a relentless storm of attacks, a blur of motion that Jax barely managed to evade. Riven's blade swung with terrifying speed and power, each strike accompanied by the pulsing flare of green runes along its edge. It was as though the weapon itself fueled her fury, adding a force to her blows that could end him in a single strike if one ever landed cleanly.

Jax twisted and ducked, every instinct screaming as he narrowly avoided the deadly arcs of her blade. One strike—a vicious sidesweep—came so close that he had no time to fully dodge. He threw his weight backward, leaning away just in time to save himself from the worst of it. But the edge of her runeblade still found him, grazing across his left cheek.

The sharp sting of the cut was immediate, followed by the slow trickle of blood running down his face. Jax winced, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the cold dread pooling in his gut. She's too fast. Riven pressed on, unrelenting, her blade's glow flaring brighter with every swing, as if the weapon itself shared her resolve to break him. Jax grit his teeth, feeling the weight of the fight beginning to bear down on him.

Jax knew he couldn't afford to stay on the defensive—not if he had any hope of turning the tide of the duel. Falling back onto the docks, he moved with quick, calculated steps, zigzagging to avoid the water's edge while deflecting the strikes of Riven's runeblade as best he could. He let her settle into the rhythm of his retreat, her confidence building as she pressed harder.

Then he struck.

As Riven swept her blade in another wide arc, Jax shifted his weight at the last possible moment, pivoting sharply from his left foot to his right. Before she could complete the motion, he lunged forward in a burst of speed, his blade thrusting toward her wrist—an attempt to disarm her before she could recover. For a split second, he thought he had her. But Riven's reflexes were faster than he'd anticipated. With startling control, she halted the sweep mid-motion, snapping her blade upward in a vertical block that caught his strike with a sharp clang.

Jax's blade ricocheted off her runeblade, the impact jolting up his arms and throwing off his balance. He grunted, quickly stepping back to regain distance, his boots skidding slightly on the damp wooden planks. Riven didn't press immediately, her blade still glowing as she watched him carefully, a flicker of recognition in her gaze—she knew he wasn't just running anymore.

Jax exhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he tightened his grip on his sword. She's better than I remember. Stronger, faster… He wasn't going to win this by brute force or luck alone. He needed to think.

Not a single drop of sweat marked Riven's brow, her expression as cold and focused as ever, while Jax felt as though he'd run a marathon. His chest rose and fell heavily, every breath dragging through him like fire. Gritting his teeth, he gripped his sword tightly with both hands and spread his stance, balancing himself in preparation to move—ready to strike or defend at a moment's notice.

To his surprise, Riven retreated away from him. Her movements were measured, her face set in a look of dark determination that sent a chill down his spine. She stopped once she'd created some distance between them, her blade still glowing faintly as she lowered it to her hips, the tip pointing downward. Jax's eyes narrowed as he watched her carefully. What's she planning? Her blade's couldn't reach him from there, but he knew better than to grow comfortable. Riven never did anything without a reason.

And then she moved.

Tightening her grip on the hilt of her blade, she slid her left foot forward, her body shifting fluidly into motion. With a surge of power, she swung the blade upward in a sweeping undercut. The runes along the sword blazed furiously, the glow erupting into a wave of energy shaped like a rising half-moon. It shot forward with a deafening whoosh, the air crackling as it carved a path straight toward him. Jax barely had time to react. Instinct took over as he brought his sword up in a desperate attempt to shield himself.

The wave hit him like a battering ram.

The force exploded against him, a shockwave of searing energy that slammed into his guard and sent a violent tremor up his arms. The impact was unbearable—like being hit by a wall of raw power. His sword wrenched free from his grip with a sharp clang as it spun out of his hands, flying through the air before skidding across the dock.

Jax felt himself lifted off his feet, the energy tearing through him like a wave crashing against a cliff. He hit the ground hard, his back slamming into the planks of the dock with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. For a moment, the world spun—his ears ringing, his limbs numb.

The glow of Riven's blade burned in the corner of his vision as he struggled to push himself up, the taste of salt and iron filling his mouth. Pain flared through his body, sharp and unforgiving, and he realized he was defenseless—his sword was gone, and Riven was still standing. Once his vision cleared, the world slowly coming back into focus, Jax saw her—a dark silhouette against the dimming sky, standing above him with her runeblade pointed directly at his chest. He felt its raw power humming in the air, an oppressive weight pressing down on him as if the weapon itself was alive.

Riven's expression was unchanging, hard as stone, but her eyes betrayed her. There it was, a flicker of something—uncertainty, regret, or perhaps disappointment. "Hesitated," she said quietly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Like always, you hesitated."

Jax sighed, his chest rising and falling slowly, the tension in his limbs fading as he let his head drop back against the wooden dock. He didn't argue. She wasn't wrong.

Riven didn't lower her blade, its runes still pulsing faintly as if feeding off the moment. "Do you see now?" she continued, her voice steady, almost calm, but sharp enough to sting. "This was a fight you couldn't win. Not without killing me. And that's why you lost."

Jax blinked up at her, saying nothing, but her words carved into him like chisel marks on stone.

"You fight like you always have—holding back," she said, her tone heavier now, layered with something unspoken. "You let your guilt weigh you down, let it stop you from doing what needs to be done. That hesitation cost you this fight."

Jax opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn't come fast enough. Riven gasped sharply, her body jerking forward as she staggered over him, her runeblade nearly slipping from her grasp. Jax's eyes followed her movement, his stomach sinking as he noticed the arrow protruding from her shoulder, blood beginning to seep into her cloak.

He turned his head in the opposite direction, wincing as his gaze shifted toward the source of the attack. Through the dim light of the docks, Ryuu emerged, flanked by several dozen others. Their figures moved through the gathered crowd, weapons drawn, glinting faintly in the growing darkness as they closed the distance between them.

Torren and Kelan reacted immediately. Kelan drew his short sword, his face pale but determined. Torren hefted his spear with ease, stepping into a defensive stance. Both turned to face the approaching group.

"Looks like your friends have found you, Jax," Torren said with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His voice trembled slightly, betraying his unease.

"Friends?" Kelan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Jax glanced at them for only a moment before he moved toward Riven. She was down on one knee, her face pale and twisted in pain, one hand gripping the arrow embedded in her shoulder. When he approached, she snapped at him.

"Stay back!" she hissed, her tone sharp despite the strain in her voice.

Jax ignored her, crouching down to examine the wound. His stomach turned as he noticed the black veins already forming around the arrow. Poison. It looked bad. Really bad.

"You can't die yet," Ryuu called out, his voice uncertain but his expression dark. "You have to come with us."

Jax turned to face Ryuu and the group behind him. They were an eclectic mix—most with tanned skin and dark hair, wearing the plain, practical clothes of traders or travelers. But there was nothing ordinary about the way they moved, closing in with quiet confidence, their weapons at the ready. They stopped just shy of striking range, a clear warning in their formation.

Jax glanced back at Riven. She was sweating heavily now, her breathing shallow, her complexion growing paler with each passing moment.

"Jax?" Torren's voice cracked slightly as he backed closer to them, his spear steady but his nerves visible. "This isn't looking good."

Jax didn't need the reminder. He could see it clearly—too many of them, far too many to fight off. Thirty against three wasn't a fight; it was a massacre. Even with Riven's runeblade, their chances were slim, and she was in no condition to fight.

"Come with us," Ryuu repeated, his tone more insistent. "And your friends can walk away."

Riven's head lifted weakly, her eyes meeting Jax's. For a brief moment, it felt like she was asking him a silent question. The remaining onlookers began to scatter, sensing the danger. But a few lingered, watching the standoff unfold, and Jax could feel the weight of their gazes. Some were likely already running to inform the guards.

Jax held Riven's gaze for a moment longer, then turned and retrieved his sword from where it had fallen. He stood upright, his shoulders squared as he stepped between Kelan and Torren.

"How are we doing this, Jax?" Kelan asked, his grip tightening on his short sword.

"We gotta do this smart," Torren said, his usual bravado replaced by a grim seriousness.

Jax turned to them, his decision already made. "Take her to a healer," he said firmly, nodding toward Riven. "She needs that poison drawn out. Make it quick."

He sheathed his sword deliberately and stepped forward to face Ryuu and his group. "Come on, then. Let's go."

Torren nearly stumbled, his face a mix of disbelief and panic. "What? What do you mean, 'let's go'? You're not seriously giving yourself up to them, are you?"

"Do what I said, Torren," Jax said, his tone soft but resolute. His eyes held a sadness that seemed to weigh him down. "I don't want any of you to die. I'm tired of being a disappointment to the people I care about."

"Jax—" Kelan started, but Jax cut him off with a raised hand.

"No arguments," Jax said, his voice steady. "Take her and go."

Torren and Kelan exchanged hesitant glances, both clearly wanting to protest but understanding there was no changing his mind.

Jax turned back to Ryuu, walking toward him with measured steps. The group parted slightly to let him through, their gazes wary but triumphant. Behind him, Torren cursed under his breath, gripping his spear so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Damn it, Jax," he muttered, before moving to Riven's side with Kelan to carry out his orders. Jax didn't look back. He kept walking toward Ryuu and the others, his shoulders straight, his expression calm, though inside, his heart felt heavier with every step.

Did he really want to give himself up to this cult? Not in the slightest. But did he want to use whatever strange power he might possess to save himself and his friends? Absolutely. The problem was, he had no idea how.

"You're finally thinking straight," Ryuu said, his voice warm with relief, a smile spreading across his face. It was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We will take you to the Prophet, and you will finally understand. He says you must see. And when you do, you'll realize there's no point in running. There never was." Ryuu's voice dropped lower, almost reverent. "Barov, Ulric, everyone else… their deaths were necessary. Their sacrifices will fade into the Void that will swallow us all. And you—" Ryuu's gaze locked onto Jax, intense and unwavering, "—you are the key to that."

Jax blinked, thrown off by the certainty in Ryuu's tone. "I'm the key?" he asked, his voice uncertain, the words feeling alien in his mouth.

"Yes," Ryuu said, nodding earnestly. "And soon enough, you'll know everything."

Jax sighed heavily, the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders. "Well," he muttered, a faint bitterness creeping into his voice, "when you put it that way…"

He turned slowly, his gaze drifting to the three people who had stayed behind. Torren and Kelan stood stiffly, their weapons drawn but lowered, their faces painted with frustration and helplessness. And then there was Riven. Her wide eyes locked onto his, her expression raw and unguarded. For the first time, she looked shaken—not with anger or vengeance, but with something deeper. Her beliefs, her convictions, seemed to teeter on the edge of crumbling. He felt the weight of her unspoken questions, the tension thick between them. And then, he gave her a faint, almost apologetic smile before turning back to Ryuu and the cultists.

The cultists closed in around Jax, their presence suffocating and oppressive, like a noose tightening with every step. Their expressions were a mix of zeal and grim determination, as if the mere weight of their numbers would keep him compliant. Ryuu led the way, his posture commanding, his tone low and almost reverent as he addressed Jax.

"You've made the right choice, Jax," Ryuu said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves lapping against the docks. "Soon, the Prophet will show you everything. You'll see the truth, and it will all make sense."

Jax said nothing, his jaw tight, his hands flexing at his sides as he fought the rising urge to resist. His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat loud and insistent, a reminder that he was still alive—and that he wanted to stay that way. But each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him like an iron chain. Despair began to creep in, cold and suffocating. For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind: Maybe this is it. Maybe there's no escape.

But then, as they approached a cluster of warehouses and storage sheds at the edge of the docks, something caught his eye. Stacks of barrels, crates piled high, and the faint, acrid scent of oil in the air. Lanterns hung from posts nearby, their flickering flames casting long, distorted shadows across the wooden planks. The breeze carried with it the faint tang of flammable substances, and suddenly, Jax saw it—a chance, slim but real.

He straightened slightly, forcing his shoulders to relax, feigning compliance as the cultists marched him closer to the docks. Ryuu's voice droned on, but Jax barely heard it. His focus narrowed, his mind racing as he calculated the steps he would need to take.

The group slowed near the barrels, the flames of the lanterns glinting off the polished metal of the cultists' weapons. Jax deliberately let his pace falter, lagging just enough for Ryuu to notice.

"Keep moving," Ryuu snapped, his tone sharp and impatient.

Jax nodded quickly, lowering his gaze in a show of submission. But as Ryuu turned back, Jax exploded into motion.

In one fluid motion, Jax lunged forward, his shoulder slamming into Ryuu's back with enough force to send him stumbling into a crate. The cultists hesitated for a crucial second, startled by the sudden movement. Jax used the opening to duck under a grasping hand and twist toward a nearby lantern.

"What are you doing?!" Ryuu shouted, his voice laced with fury and disbelief.

Jax didn't answer. His fingers closed around the lantern's handle, and he hurled it with all his strength toward the nearest stack of barrels. The glass shattered on impact, and flames erupted instantly, licking hungrily at the barrels and spreading across the wooden planks. The fire grew faster than Jax anticipated, fueled by the oil's volatility. The heat was immediate and intense, the flames roaring as they consumed everything in their path.

"Stop him!" Ryuu shouted, his voice rising in panic as the cultists scrambled to contain the chaos.

Jax didn't stop. Spotting a stack of powder kegs farther down, he sprinted toward them, the heat of the growing fire nipping at his heels. He grabbed another lantern, his breath ragged, and flung it with deadly precision.

The explosion came a heartbeat later.

The world erupted in a deafening roar, a wall of heat and light slamming into Jax with the force of a battering ram. He was thrown backward, the impact knocking the air from his lungs as he hit the ground hard. For a moment, everything was white—his ears ringing, his body numb.

This is it, he thought distantly. Better this than them.

But then, as if the very fabric of reality shifted, the world came back into focus. Jax blinked, his vision clearing to reveal the burning docks before him, a hellscape of fire and smoke. Flames consumed the wooden planks, sending thick, black columns of smoke spiraling into the night sky.

He stood a short distance away now, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He didn't remember moving—didn't remember anything after the explosion—but here he was, watching the chaos unfold.

Ryuu's voice rose above the roaring flames, frantic and raw with panic. "You fools! You absolute idiots! Do you have any idea what you've done?!" His movements were erratic as he shoved a cultist aside, his face contorted in a mix of rage and fear. "He's dead! Do you understand?! Dead!" His voice cracked, growing more unhinged with every word. "The Prophet—he'll punish every single one of you! He'll make us all pay for losing him!"

Ryuu's wide eyes darted around the chaos, his breathing uneven as if the weight of the consequences was already crushing him. "This is a disaster!" he screamed, his hands clenching into fists. "You've doomed us all!"

Jax watched from the shadows, his body trembling, his fingers still gripping the hilt of his sword. The heat from the flames warmed his face, and the distant cries of panic echoed in his ears. He saw bodies engulfed in flames—some writhing, others still, already claimed by the inferno. The fire had spread quickly, consuming a large portion of the docks. Smoke billowed into the night sky, the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh choking the air. Sailors who hadn't already fled scrambled to contain the blaze, forming frantic bucket lines and shouting orders to prevent the fire from spreading to their ships and warehouses.

Amid the chaos, Jax's eyes darted to Ryuu and the surviving cultists. Their initial panic was now laced with fear as distant shouts and the clanging of weapons signaled the approach of the town guard. Ryuu barked orders, his voice rising above the roar of the flames. "Move! Get out of here!" he yelled, shoving one of the cultists forward as they began to scatter like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

Jax watched as they stumbled through the burning wreckage, some tripping over debris in their haste to escape. Ryuu glanced back briefly, his face twisted in frustration and fury, before he too turned and disappeared into the shadows with the others.

The confusion and destruction provided the perfect cover. With the fire and fleeing cultists drawing attention, Jax slipped into the darkness, blending seamlessly with the night. The cries of the sailors and the barked commands of the guards faded behind him as he vanished, leaving the chaos in his wake.

x

Jax sat quietly in the chair next to Riven's bed, his fingers loosely intertwined as he stared at the floor. The soft rustle of fabric caught his attention, and he glanced up just as Riven's eyes fluttered open. She looked disoriented, her gaze darting around the room until it landed on him. Her eyes widened, and she tensed, trying to push herself up.

Jax leaned forward, placing a hand on her shoulder to gently ease her back down. "Take it easy," he said, his tone calm but firm.

Riven hesitated, still visibly confused, but relented. She let her head sink back into the pillow, though her expression remained guarded. Jax had never seen her look so vulnerable before. The hardened warrior was now swathed in a soft Ionian robe, her armor replaced by bandages beneath the light fabric. The blanket was pulled up to her waist.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice hoarse but sharp.

"Making sure you're okay," he replied simply.

"I'll be fine," she scoffed, though the weakness in her voice betrayed her words.

From the corner of the room, Kelan cleared his throat. He had been sitting quietly, leaning against the wall. "You're lucky," he said. "That poison came from a local plant. The healer had an antidote. If it were anything else…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"What happened?" Riven asked, her voice steadier now, though confusion lingered in her eyes.

The sliding door creaked open, and Torren stepped in, balancing three cups in his hands. He sighed dramatically when he saw Riven awake. "If I'd known you were up, I would've brought another one," he quipped, setting the drinks on the table.

"Next time, bring food," Kelan muttered from his spot against the wall. "I'm starving."

Torren shot him a look. "You're always starving."

"Because I'm always doing all the hard work."

Riven groaned softly, cutting through their banter. "I don't need you two bickering in my room."

Torren grinned. "See? She's already back to normal."

Jax turned his gaze back to Riven. "I don't know what happened exactly," he admitted. "One moment I was there, and the next I'm watching from afar."

Riven scoffed at that, her expression skeptical.

"You still don't trust me," Jax added, more as a statement than a question.

"If you're fishing for an apology, you won't get one," Riven shot back, her voice sharper now.

Jax smiled faintly. "Didn't expect one," he said. "But I am glad we're all still alive."

Kelan chimed in, his voice lighter, "I'm glad you're alive. For a moment, I thought you were a goner for sure."

Torren chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "All it took was burning half the docks to a crisp to make it happen," he said, his tone dripping with mock exasperation.

Riven's eyes widened as she stared at him, her expression unreadable. Jax couldn't tell if she was shocked, impressed, or both.

Kelan glanced at Jax, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Who were those people, anyway?"

Jax shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "They wanted to take me to some Prophet, whoever that is. From the way they looked, I'd guess they were Shuriman."

Torren raised an eyebrow. "Ulric wasn't Shuriman," he pointed out, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Though his skin was a bit tanned."

Riven didn't respond to the joke. Her gaze dropped to her lap, her expression unreadable, though the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease slightly.

Jax leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at Riven. Her silence, her distant gaze, gave him the opening he needed. "You saw those people last night This is why I killed Ulric," he said quietly, his voice steady but heavy with emotion.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and though she said nothing, he pressed on. "He wasn't the man you thought he was. The man any of us thought he was. He started spewing cryptic stuff, talking about things that didn't make sense at first. Then he showed me visions—things I can't even describe." Jax's hands tightened into fists on his thighs. "It terrified me. Whatever he was doing, whatever he planned, it was something terrible. Something that had to be stopped."

Riven stayed silent, her piercing gaze fixed on him. Jax thought he saw something shift in her expression—a flicker of guilt, maybe even regret—but she didn't voice it. Her lips parted slightly, as if she was about to say something, but then she closed her mouth again and looked down. For Jax, that was enough.

"How did you find us?" Riven asked, her voice edged with suspicion, though her exhaustion dulled its usual sharpness.

Jax hesitated for a moment, his mind working quickly to craft a plausible answer. "It wasn't easy," he said finally, his tone calm and measured. "I knew you'd head to a healer after what happened at the docks, and there aren't too many in this area who could treat a wound like yours. I asked around, kept my head low. Luckily for me, someone mentioned seeing a group matching your description."

Riven's eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing the truth of his words. "You're saying it was just luck?"

Jax shrugged, his expression neutral. "Luck, persistence—take your pick."

She studied him for a long moment but didn't press further. Instead, she leaned back against the pillow, her guard still up, though her exhaustion was starting to win out. The silence lingered until Kelan finally spoke, his voice breaking the tension. "So… what now?"

Jax straightened, his demeanor shifting to something more resolute. "Now?" He exhaled, standing up. "Now it's time to vanish. Use the opportunity while they think I'm dead."

Torren raised an eyebrow. "Vanish? Just like that?"

Jax smirked faintly, his tone lightening. "I mean, I'm getting pretty good at faking my death."

Kelan blinked in confusion. "Wait, what?"

Torren tilted his head, just as perplexed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jax waved a hand dismissively, the smirk still lingering on his lips. "Long story. Maybe I'll tell you another time."

The confusion on their faces remained, but Jax didn't elaborate. The truth—the story of Zaun, Powder, and the life he had left behind—wasn't something he was ready to share. Not yet. Instead, he stood up, adjusting his unbuttoned coat before pulling a poncho over his head, the fabric draping loosely around him. Then he slung the sheathed blade over his shoulder, securing it firmly across his back.

Torren raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Not bad. The new look suits you."

Jax glanced down at himself and shrugged. "Had to find something else to wear," he said casually. "Can't exactly go walking around looking like… well, me."

Torren chuckled. "Fair point. You make a good mysterious traveler, though."

Jax snorted softly, shaking his head as he adjusted the blade on his back. "Let's hope it stays that way."

"You're really leaving," Kelan said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "We just got to see you, and now you're leaving again."

Jax glanced at them, his smirk fading into something more solemn, though his resolve remained clear. "Yeah," he admitted. "I've already caused enough trouble for all of you."

Kelan stepped forward, his usual awkwardness replaced by genuine emotion. He pulled Jax into a tight hug, clapping him on the back. "Take care of yourself, all right?"

Jax chuckled lightly, returning the hug. "No promises," he said, but there was warmth in his voice.

Torren was next, grinning as he extended his hand, then yanking Jax into a quick embrace instead. "You've got this whole 'mysterious hero' thing going for you now," he teased. "Don't mess it up."

Jax smirked. "I'll try not to."

Torren's grin faded slightly, his tone growing more sincere. "Stay safe out there. Seriously."

Jax nodded, stepping back as he adjusted the strap of his blade. Then, he caught Riven watching him, her expression conflicted.

"You're really leaving," she said, echoing Kelan's words, though her tone was steadier.

Jax met her gaze, but she didn't look away. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her posture rigid, as if she were holding back something she couldn't bring herself to say.

Then, after a pause, she asked, her voice soft but laced with curiosity, "Where will you go?"

Jax sighed, his shoulders rising and falling heavily. He turned toward the window, his gaze drifting to the ocean beyond and its endless expanse. The sight pulled at something deep within him, a mix of longing and resolve. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression distant. Then, with a tone heavier than usual, he finally spoke. "Zaun," he said, the word carrying the weight of years. "There's something I have to do there. It's been too long."

He turned back to face her, to face everyone. "I'm going home."

END OF ARC II

Chapter End Notes

And that's it, folks—the second arc is officially wrapped up! To be honest, I'm not very satisfied with how the second arc turned out. I'm even considering rewriting it. What started as a specific idea spiraled out of control and became something I feel didn't contribute much to the story. I'll take some time to think it over and decide whether or not to rewrite Arc 2.

I also want to apologize for the longer wait between updates. Life decided to throw everything at me all at once—responsibilities piling up, and then my laptop decided it needed some attention too. Thankfully, things seem to have settled down now.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! What did you think of the conclusion to this arc, and what are your theories about what's next for Jax? Let me know, I always enjoy reading your comments and speculations!

Just Another Voice

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

ARC III - THE GHOSTS OF THE UNDERCITY

The hum of Zaun was different now. Jinx wandered through the streets she used to know so well, her boots scuffing against the grimy cobblestones. The neon lights still buzzed, their colors painting the smog-filled air, but they seemed duller - duller than she ever thought possible in a city already steeped in shadows.

Her head tilted as she watched a group of scrawny kids dart past, their faces hollow and wary. Once, she might've been one of them, but it's been a long time since she was just a young kid running errands for Silco, or even before that, when she played with her siblings and friends.

Zaun wasn't the same anymore.

Silco's presence had given the city a heartbeat, a rhythm that kept the chaos of the Undercity from consuming itself. Flawed, but dependable. He hadn't been a savior – far from it. Shimmer had spread like a plague under his reign, poisoning both bodies and minds, and he ruled with fear and ruthlessness, snuffing out dissent with a calculated hand. But there was an order in that fear, a brutal kind of stability that held Zaun together. Now? The streets felt like a bad remix, disjointed and aimless. Too many gangs fighting over too lite. Too many Enforcers cracking down harder than ever. The fragile balance Silco had carved out of the Undercity's chaos was shattered, leaving nothing but jagged edges in its wake.

Jinx pulled her hood tighter over her head as she approached The Last Drop, the once-bustling heart of Zaun's underworld. The cloak was heavy, and she hated how it muted her usual flair. But the streets weren't safe for her anymore, not even in Zaun. Not since the Council attack. The bar loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering weakly, as though it too was unsure if it wanted to keep going.

"You were always his favorite."

Sevika's voice echoed in her head. She could almost see that cybernetic arm gesturing dismissively, the usual sneer on her face. Jinx shook her head violently, as if trying to scatter the ghosts, and shoved the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. Her boots clicked against the floor as she walked toward the bar, her movements deliberately casual, her hands tucked beneath her cloak.

The place was a hollow echo of what it used to be. The air was still thick with smoke, but it lacked the energy, the vibrancy, that had once made The Last Drop the beating heart of Zaun. Back when Vander ran things, the air buzzed with life—voices rising and falling in raucous laughter, the clinking of glasses, the sound of boots stomping to the rhythm of music that poured from every corner. It had felt alive, like the Undercity itself had a pulse.

When Silco took over, the atmosphere had changed, but it was no less electric. The laughter turned quieter, more calculated, replaced by the murmurs of plans and deals whispered over drinks. The air carried tension, but it was sharp, purposeful. The place had meant something then—a hub of power and ambition, a place where Zaun's future was decided.

Now, though? It was just... empty. The tables were sparsely occupied by rough-looking thugs nursing cheap drinks, their voices low, wary, as if afraid to draw attention. The music was barely a hum in the background, no longer commanding the room but fading into it. The walls, once vibrant with life and defiance, felt smaller, like they were caving in under the weight of neglect.

The Last Drop wasn't a haven anymore. It wasn't even a place to dream. It was just another crumbling corner of a city that had lost its way.

Jinx's lip curled under her hood as she approached the bar. "So, I heard the place has new management," she said, her voice light but loud enough to draw attention. "Can't say I'm impressed. What happened? This place used to have life! Now it's just..." She flicked her fingers dismissively. "Boring."

The bartender barely glanced at her, a grizzled man with a patch over one eye. "Sod off," he muttered, wiping the counter with a stained rag. "Ain't servin' wanderin' troublemakers."

Jinx froze for half a beat, her head tilting under the hood. Then, slowly, she reached up and pulled it back, letting her vibrant blue braids spill out. Her manic grin spread across her face like a predator's snarl.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked, her voice sugary and sharp all at once. The room fell silent as every patron turned to look at her.

Recognition rippled through the crowd, followed by nervous shifting. Jinx's reputation preceded her, and no one wanted to be the first to make a wrong move.

The bartender's one good eye widened for a split second before he scowled, though his grip on the rag tightened. "You."

"Me!" Jinx chirped, throwing her arms out in mock delight. "So, tell me—who's the new boss around here? I wanna have a little chat."

"You don't want to mess with them," the bartender warned, his tone low and wary. "Just leave while you still can."

The bartender hesitated, his one good eye flicking toward the far corner of the room before settling back on her. "Not here," he said gruffly, his tone flat, trying and failing to mask the edge of nervousness. From the corner, a patron muttered something under his breath.

Jinx's ears twitched, and she snapped her head toward the sound. "What was that?" she asked, her tone lilting dangerously, her eyes locking onto the speaker.

The man hesitated, then sneered. "I said, Silco's gone, sweetheart. Nobody's scared of you without him holding your leash."

The air in the bar turned electric. Jinx's grin widened, impossibly so, her teeth gleaming. "Oh, that's funny," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Because last I checked, I don't need a leash to blow up your stupid face."

Before anyone could react, Jinx whipped out one of her gadgets—a tiny grenade with a bright pink casing and a sparking fuse. She lobbed it toward the thug's table, cackling as the room erupted into chaos.

The explosion was more smoke and glitter than shrapnel, but it was enough to send chairs crashing and drinks spilling. The thugs scrambled, coughing and clawing at the neon pink dust coating their faces.

"Oopsie!" Jinx chirped, spinning on her heel and hopping onto the bar. She held her pistol aloft, twirling the crackling weapon like a baton. "Now, about that boss of yours—oh, wait, never mind. I think I'll find them myself!"

A thug snarled and lunged at her, but Jinx's eyes lit up with glee as she squeezed the trigger. A sharp hiss filled the air as a bullet burst from the pressurized chamber, tearing through the man's chest with enough force to send him sprawling backward. He hit the ground with a thud, blood pooling beneath him. The others roared in panic, drawing their weapons and opening fire. Jinx jumped off the bar, laughing maniacally as bullets zipped past her. "You boys are terrible at this!" she teased, popping up behind an overturned table. She fired again, the compressed air hissing with each pull of the trigger. One thug dropped instantly, clutching his throat, while another staggered, a bullet ripping through his shoulder.

The Last Drop descended into complete bedlam. Tables splintered, glass shattered, and screams echoed off the walls. Jinx danced through the chaos, her weapon hissing with each precise shot.

"Pew-pew, you boring sacks of sludge!" she howled, her voice carrying over the din. "This is my kind of party!"

Amid the chaos, she reached for another grenade, this one heavier, with jagged pink streaks painted ominously against its black casing, lobbing it toward the center of the room. The explosion was devastating. A deafening roar tore through the tavern as a portion of the Last Drop's walls crumbled, the blast throwing debris, bodies, and a billowing cloud of vibrant pink smoke in every direction. The air shimmered with the glow of neon sparks dancing through the haze, casting an eerie, chaotic beauty over the destruction. Jinx stood in the wreckage, her hair wild and her grin sharp as she surveyed her handiwork, the pink smoke swirling around her like a manic halo.

"Guess I overdid it a little. My bad!" she said, her tone mockingly sweet as she slung her pistol over her shoulder.

Skipping through the smoldering rubble, she paused by one of the few survivors—a thug pinned beneath a broken beam. She crouched next to him, tilting her head as he whimpered in terror. "Tell your boss," she growled, her voice suddenly low and menacing, "that no one gets to have The Last Drop. Not anyone. This place? It's mine."

Satisfied with the fear in their eyes, she holstered the pistol and skipped toward the door. With a flourish, she kicked it open and turned back to the wreckage. "Oh, and one more thing—tell your boss they're boring!" she called, waving a hand. "And tell them Jinx is back to liven things up!"

Outside, she paused to spray-paint a twisted mural on the tavern's exterior. Silco's face stared out from the wall, but his trademark red eye had been replaced by a grinning Jinx skull. Below it, she scrawled in jagged letters:

"WELCOME TO MY PARTY!"

She stepped back to admire her work, the neon lights above her flickering weakly in the smog-filled air.

"Guess they really can't keep it together without you, huh, Silco?" she muttered, her grin faltering for just a moment. Then she shook off the thought, the grin snapping back into place. "Good thing I'm here to keep things fun."

"I don't think he'd be happy with how you messed the place up," a voice called out from behind.

Jinx spun around in an instant, the pistol crackling to life in her hand. The pistol gleamed in the fading light as she aimed it at the source. Sevika stepped out of the shadows, walking toward her slowly.

Jinx's eyes flicked over her, her manic grin faltering slightly as she took in the details. Sevika's mechanical arm was gone, replace by a crude stub where the imposing cybernetic limb has once been. The next thing she saw was how tired Sevika looked – her once-sharp eyes dulled, her face lined with exhaustion. She didn't look like the woman Jinx remembered. She looked… beaten.

Jinx's grin snapped back into the place, sharper than ever. "Who, me? Mess this place up?" she said with mock innocence, her tone sugar-sweet. "I didn't do anything. Just gave this place a little… pizzazz!" She twirled her free hand dramatically toward her mural. "Pretty sure he'd love it."

Sevika stopped a few paces away, her gaze fixed on Jinx. "What are you doing here?" she asked, not in mood for her games.

Jinx adjusted the edge of her hood which she tugged slightly forward as her eyes narrowed with a playful gleam. "Didn't expect to see you skulking around here, Sevvy. What gives? I thought you'd retired or something. You know, after… well…" She gestured vaguely to Sevika's missing arm with a sly smirk. "You get the idea."

Sevika ignored the jab, her jaw tightening. "I came to grab some of my old stuff from Silco's office."

Jinx raised her eyebrows, her grin widening. "Ohhh, that's why you're here." She tilted her head, tapping her temple with a finger. "Well, hate to break it to you, Sevvy, but it's not his office anymore."

Sevika's lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced toward the broken neon sign of The Last Drop, its glow sputtering weakly against the smog-filled air. "I know a gang moved in," she said, her voice carrying a trace of bitterness. "Not surprised they're squatting in what's left of his empire. Is that why you're here, Jinx? Picking fights with anyone who claims the place?"

Jinx laughed, high and sharp, holstering her weapon with a dramatic flourish. "Me? Pick fights? Pfft, nooo," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "I was just… visiting. Spreading a little love. Making sure they remember not to get too comfy in Silco's old digs." Her grin twisted. "Gotta keep 'em on their toes, you know?"

Sevika sighed, her frustration bleeding through her usual stoicism. "You're gonna make things worse for everyone," she muttered, her voice low. "This city's barely holding itself together, and you're out here making sure it falls apart faster."

Jinx turned to her mural, admiring the chaotic splash of colors. "Eh," she said nonchalantly, "it was already falling apart. I'm just making it louder." She threw her arms wide, as if presenting the broken streets and flickering lights around them. "Zaun's a mess, Sevvy. Always has been. You can't fix what's already broken. But you can have fun with it."

Sevika's gaze darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Fun, huh?" she said bitterly. "You think Silco died so you could play games with what's left?"

Jinx's grin stretched wide, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of something buried deep, raw and unspoken. Her fingers fidgeted with the edges of her hood as she turned back to Sevika, who watched her with that same bitter, tired expression.

"Games? Oh, Sevvy, this isn't a game," Jinx said, her voice light and teasing, though a faint edge of something darker lingered beneath the surface. She gestured to the chaos around them—the mural, the shattered windows, the muffled sounds of commotion still drifting out of The Last Drop. "You think this is me trying?"

Sevika's brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jinx tilted her head, the motion almost playful, but her grin didn't quite reach her eyes. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost confessional tone. "It means," she said, slowly and deliberately, "that I've been holding back."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken weight.

Sevika frowned, her expression skeptical but cautious. "Holding back?" she echoed.

Jinx straightened abruptly, her laughter sharp and hollow, ringing out like a broken bell. "Of course I have! Silco wouldn't let me really go wild. Always so serious, always so careful." She crossed her arms and mimicked his stern expression, her voice deepening in mockery. "'Jinx, don't blow up the shipment. Jinx, we need the Enforcers distracted, not vaporized.'"

Her laughter faded, her grin faltering for just a moment before she forced it back into place. She turned away slightly, her gaze flicking toward the mural she'd painted. "But now... now he's gone. No one's telling me what to do. No one's pulling the leash." She waved a hand at the city around them, her voice softening. "So guess what, Sevvy? It's my turn now. And I'm gonna really, really screw things up."

Sevika's jaw tightened, her frustration breaking through the weariness in her voice. "You think destroying everything is gonna make you feel better? Silco wanted something better for Zaun, and all you're doing is tearing it apart."

Jinx froze mid-step, her shoulders stiffening. For a long moment, she said nothing, her back still turned. Then she glanced over her shoulder, her grin smaller now, quieter, like a mask she wasn't quite sure she needed anymore. "Feel better?" she echoed softly, the teasing lilt in her voice almost gone. She turned back to Sevika fully, her eyes bright but not with glee. They shimmered with something heavier, something she wasn't ready to name.

"Fixing things didn't save him, Sevvy," Jinx murmured. "And it didn't save me. So what's the point of trying?" Her voice cracked, just slightly, before she swallowed hard and forced her grin to widen again, a too-bright spark of manic energy reigniting. "Nah, I'm not here to fix anything. I'm just making sure nobody forgets him. Or me."

She stepped closer, reaching out to tap Sevika lightly on the chest with her finger. "And when I'm done, they won't remember how Zaun used to be. They'll just remember us."

Sevika stared at her, her lips pressed into a hard line. For a moment, it looked like she might say something, but Jinx didn't wait. She turned on her heel, pulling her hood up over her head and walking away.

"Enjoy the show, Sevvy," she called over her shoulder, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. "It's gonna be... unforgettable."

Her laughter rang out, hollow and fleeting, as she disappeared into the shadows, leaving Sevika standing in the flickering neon light. She slid into the narrow alleys of Zaun, the flickering neon lights casting jagged shadows on the grimy walls. The din of the city wrapped around her—the distant clang of metal, muffled voices, and the low hum of factories—but she barely noticed.

The further she went, the quieter it grew. The chaos of The Last Drop faded behind her, replaced by the soft drip of water leaking from rusted pipes and the occasional scurry of a rat. The alleyways twisted and turned, their narrow paths growing darker with each step.

When she was far enough away, when the smog and the shadows swallowed everything else, she stopped. She leaned against the cold, grimy wall, her back sliding down until she was sitting on the damp ground. Her knees pulled up to her chest, and she rested her arms on them, her head dropping forward as the weight of everything pressed down on her. The voices – she always heard them, always there, always talking. They've haunted her for so long now. First it was Vander, then Mylo and Claggor. They lingered in the silence, constant reminders of what she'd done. For years, she carried the weight of their deaths, blaming herself. She still did.

And now Silco's voice had joined them. She couldn't ignore it, couldn't shut it out. "You're perfect, Jinx." Perfect. It rang hollow now, like a cruel joke. Because in the end, she hadn't been perfect. Not for him. Not for anyone. She was always a failure. So she had to change. She couldn't stay the scared little girl who everyone thought was too weak, too useless, too much of a burden. She became someone else, someone louder, brighter, stronger. Someone who could stand tall in the chaos and laugh at the wreckage. But even that didn't change a single thing.

"You're perfect, Jinx."

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. Perfect? Then why wasn't it enough? It was her fault. All over again. Everyone leaves. The voices swirled louder, a storm she couldn't escape.

"You're not meant to be fixed."

For a moment, she just stared at the wall. Silco was gone, and his dream with him. Vander was gone, too, along with whatever hope he'd had for Zaun. Everyone always thought they could make things better, build something stronger. And in the end, they all ended up dead.

She let out a slow breath, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. Her hands twitched at her sides. She didn't know what she wanted or what she was supposed to do next, but one thought stuck in her mind, sharper than the rest.

She didn't want to be forgotten.

Zaun wasn't her dream, and Piltover? Piltover was nothing but a glowing tower of lies, but hate alone wasn't enough. This wasn't about building or tearing something down. It was about making sure her name was carved into the world in a way no one could ever erase. She wanted to leave a mark—something loud, undeniable, impossible to ignore. Proof that she'd been here, that she mattered, even if everything else had crumbled.

"They're all gone," she murmured, her voice quiet and raw. "But I'm still here."

Her gaze lingered on the wall for another moment before she turned away, disappearing into the twisting alleys of Zaun. She didn't know what her ultimate goal was, but she knew where she'd start: by taking back what was hers and making sure the people who wronged her paid for it. One way or another, they'd remember her.

Chapter End Notes

The third arc officially begins! I'm so excited to share this new chapter, and it felt amazing to finally write from Jinx's perspective. I can only hope I've managed to capture her character faithfully, her chaos, her complexity, and that haunting edge that makes her so compelling. Also, this is the first chapter where Jax is completely absent, but don't worry—he'll be back in the next one! He's making his way back to Zaun and is about to face just how much the place he once called home has changed.

I wanted to take a moment to share some thoughts about this arc and where the story is headed. While it picks up after Jinx's attack on the Council (roughly around the start of Arcane Season 2), it's important to note that not everything prior to this aligns perfectly with the events of Season 1. Some details of the story have shifted, and any differences will be revealed gradually as the arc unfolds.

From this point forward, the narrative takes a new direction. The most obvious addition is Jax, whose presence will ripple through the story in interesting ways. Another key character undergoing significant changes is Viktor. While I appreciate his character in the original, I wasn't particularly drawn to the "Space Jesus" aspect of his arc (forgive the bad joke). Instead, I'll be exploring a more grounded, mechanical evolution for him, focusing on themes of invention and ambition without leaning too heavily into mysticism.

Of course, one of the central figures of this arc is Jinx. In the show, we see her embrace who she's become after Silco's death, but here, it's happening a little differently. Her acceptance of herself is deeply tied to guilt and remorse, which pushes her to become even more unhinged. Her chaos will spill over into both Piltover and Zaun, and we'll see her wreaking havoc in ways that only Jinx can. That said, I don't intend to make things too heavy or depressive—the goal is to balance her instability with the unpredictability and sharp wit that makes her such a standout character.

Please let me know what you think about Jinx in this chapter, and what I could do to make her more faithful to the original character from the TV show. Enjoy the chapter!

Homecoming

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The Spray moved steadily through the calm waters of the Tyrian Gulf, straining against the sluggish winds. Two days had passed since they sailed past Holdrum, the independent city-state whose towers were still fresh in Jax's memory. The waters around it had been calmer, a stark contrast to the chaotic edges of the gulf closer to Bilgewater. But as they pressed onward, leaving Holdrum behind, the winds grew fickle, and the voyage slowed to a crawl.

Jax stood at the bow, leaned against the railing with his eyes fixed on the horizon. The Tyrian Gulf narrowed as they drew closer to Piltover, the waters darkening beneath the heavy gray sky. The towering cliffs that marked the cities of Piltover and Zaun were barely visible, faint dots rising out of the haze.

Captain Aldric drove boat and crew alike hard, railing at the contrary winds, cursing the slow pace. He blistered the crew for sluggards at the oars and flayed them with his tongue for every mishandled line. For the last three weeks since they sailed from Ionia, his yelling was enough to send every man leaping. Then there was that pirate attack a week and a half ago, which still left the crew restless and keeping their grumbles quiet, watching out of the corners of their eyes to make sure Captain Aldric was not close enough to hear, but he seemed to hear everything said on his boat. Each time the grumblings began, he silently brought out the pistol and cruelly hooked knife that had been found on the deck after the pirate attack.

Here, the waters were safe, subdued by Piltover's control. Distant patrol ships, their banners snapping crisply in the wind, marked the growing influence of the city-state. But the safety here carried a different weight—one that felt colder, more controlled.

The rhythmic creaking of the Spray's hull was accompanied by the occasional snap of its sails struggling against the winds. The salty breeze that brushed past Jax's face carried little comfort – it had been two days of crawling progress, and his patience was wearing thin. Behind him, the steady thud of boots against the wooden deck broke the rhythm of the sea. Jax didn't have to turn to know who it was. Captain Aldric's presence was hard to miss – his heavy stride and gruff demeanor gave him away even before he spoke.

"Lad," Aldric grumbled as he stopped beside Jax, his voice as rough as the weathered wood of his ship. He was the merchant Jax had overheard in the Haruma tavern, discussing Noxian activities in Piltover and other matters. "Don't suppose you've got a trick in one of those fancy gadgets of yours to summon a bloody breeze, do you?"

Jax tilted his head slightly, his fingers idly brushing against the grappling hook at his belt. His gaze dropped to the device – a crude yet effective tool he'd claimed from one of the pirates during the attack. He remembered the man swinging toward him, screaming like a wild beast, only to meet the sharp end of Jax's sword mid-arc. What a fool.

Jax tilted his head slightly, catching Aldric's frustrated expression from the corner of his eye. "No tricks for that," he replied flatly. "Maybe you should've prayed harder before we left Haruma."

Aldric snorted, running a hand through his graying hair. "Hah! Winds have been dead since we passed Holdrum, and the crew's starting to lose patience. They didn't sign up for this kind of crawl, and neither did I."

"You'll get us there," Jax said, his voice quieter. "Piltover's not going anywhere."

Aldric huffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, let's hope the winds remember how to blow before the crew mutinies or my patience gives out. You ever think about staying on?"

Jax glanced sideways at him, unsure what the captain meant. "On the ship?"

"On the sea," Aldric clarified, motioning toward the horizon. "You're good with that sword of yours, better than anyone I've seen on my crew. A man like you could earn a decent wage sailing with us. Life out here's not so bad – freedom, steady work, and a share of whatever we make."

Jax smiled faintly and shook his head. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm not much for a sailor's life."

Aldric huffed, undeterred. "You sure? A few more voyages, and you'll find your sea legs. You'd fit in well – more than some of these landlubbers pretending to be crew." He grinned, then added, "You've already done your share, after all."

Jax turned his gaze back to the horizon. "And you already thanked me by giving me your room," he said politely, his tone carrying a subtle edge of finality.

The captain barked a short laugh. "Aye, but you earned it. The way you dealt with those bastards, you deserved more than that." He rubbed at his beard, his expression turning thoughtful.

Jax didn't reply right away. He hadn't hesitated – he rarely did – but the fight had been almost too easy. The pirates had been unlike anything he heard about them, especially those from Bilgewater. They had been disorganized, attacking the Spray in a frenzy that bordered on desperation. They didn't even have a real plan. When the first grappling hooks clattered onto the Spray's deck, he remembered using the one he took from that pirate to get to the other side. The chaos on their deck had been laughable—sailors shouting over one another, tripping over loose rigging. Their captain had barely drawn his sword before Jax's blade cut him down. The moment the captain fell, the rest of the pirates crumbled. Their morale vanished as quickly as their leader, and the tides of the battle shifted in the Spray's favor.

He shook the thoughts from his head and looked back at Aldric. "Like I said, captain, I'm not staying on. But thanks for the room. It was better than sleeping below deck."

Aldric gave him a knowing smile, clapping him on the shoulder. "As you wish, lad. As you wish. But if you ever change your mind, there's always a place for you aboard the Spray. Someone like you doesn't come along often."

Jax didn't answer, letting the captain walk away to bark orders at the crew. He stayed at the railing, watching the horizon. The pirate attack was already fading from his mind, just another skirmish in a life that seemed full of them. The cliffs of Piltover loomed closer now, and with them, the questions of what came next. For now, that was all he could focus on.

As the Spray weaved through the water, Piltover's tallest towers began to pierce through the mist, sending a shiver down Jax's spine. Eager to get a better view, he weaved through the bustling sailors – some grumbling at his haste, others casting wary glances – and swiftly climbed the mast. The intricate spires of the City of Progress stood as a testament to its status. In this part of the world, it was a cultural center, where art, craftsmanship, trade, and innovation walked hand in hand.

Jax's ascent was swift, his hands finding familiar holds on the rigging. The sailors below continued their tasks, some casting curious glances upwards as he climbed. He sat on the blunt end of the mast with his legs wrapped in the stays. The boat rolled gently on the water, but fifty feet above the water that easy roll made the top of the mast sway back and forth through wide arcs. Everything on deck, the sailors at the sweeps, men on their knees scrubbing the deck with smoothstones, men doing things with lines and hatchcovers, looked so odd when seen from right overhead, all squat and foreshortened.

As the Spray drew nearer, the mist gradually unveiled the entirety of PIltover. From his vantage point, he could see the bustling docks, the network of canals, and the rising towers that stood tall as though defying gravity. He saw a single particular structure that dominated the skyline. It was crowned with a massive, rotating globe that emitted a soft, ethereal glow. Gears and mechanical components adorned its façade, spinning together in harmony. Around it he saw the airships, flocking to and from it like birds. A marvelous sight, yet Jax's gaze penetrated beyond the opulent cityscape. Beneath the grandeur of the City of Progress lay the Undercity. Zaun. A grin spread across Jax's face, stretching from ear to ear.

On a sudden impulse he unwrapped his legs from the stays bracing the mast and held his arms and legs out to either side, balancing against the sway. For three complete arcs he kept his balance like that, then suddenly it was gone. Arms and legs windmilling, he toppled forward and grabbed the forestay. Legs splayed to either side of the mast, nothing holding him to his precarious perch but his two hands on the stay. And he laughed. Gulping huge breaths of fresh, cold wind, he laughed with the exhilaration of it.

"Lad," came Aldric's hoarse voice. "Lad, if you're trying to break your neck, don't do it by falling on me."

He looked down and was surprised to see all the faces staring up at him. Even the men at the oars had their eyes raised, letting their stroke go ragged. And no one was berating them for it. He turned back to grin at Aldric. "You want me to come down, then?"

The captain nodded vigorously. "I would appreciate it greatly."

"All right." Shifting his grip on the forestay, he sprang forward off the mast top. He heard Aldric bite off an oath as his fall was cut short he dangled from the forestay by his hands. The captain scowled at him, but Jax just grinned back. "I'm going down now."

Swinging his legs up, he hooked one knee over the thick line that ran from the mast to the bow, then caught it in the crook of his elbow and let go with his hands. Slowly, then with increasing speed, he slid down. Just short of the bow he dropped to his feet on the deck right in front of Aldric, took one step back to catch his balance. Half the crew shook their heads, silently deeming him reckless for such acrobatics, while the others paid him no mind. Captain Aldric merely sighed.

Glancing back toward the coast, Jax squinted his eyes as he looked upon the towering edifice once again. "What's that?"

Captain Aldric glanced at the structure and replied, "That's a Hexgate." He continued, "It's some fancy contraption that uses Hextech to teleport ships across long distances. Don't ask me how it works – something about magic crystals and science mumbo jumbo. I prefer sticking to good old sea voyage. At least you know what to expect."

Aldric then turned to Jax, curiosity evident in his eyes. "How come you don't know about Hexgates? Aren't you from the city?"

Jax's gaze remained fixed on the Hexgate as he responded, "I've been away for a very long time."

The captain nodded thoughtfuly. "Well, welcome back," he said gruffly, before turning his attention to the approaching harbor. Jax continued to observe the edifice, its mere presence a proof to how much had changed during his absence. The marvels of Hextech, although he heard bits and pieces about it, were foreign to him.

As the Spray navigated through Piltover's titanic sea-gates into the river known as the Gold Way, it was greeted by a bustling harbor teeming with activity. Dozens of ships from across Runeterra crowded the docks, their crews engaged in the organized chaos of loading and unloading goods. The air hummed with shouted orders, creaking timber, sailors hauling crates, merchants haggling with potential customers, and the distant noise of machinery, embodying the city's moniker as the City of Progress.

Captain Aldric skillfully maneuvered the Spray into an available berth, the crew swiftly securing the vessel to prepare for docking. Jax gathered his belongings and made his way to the gangplank. At the foot of the plank, he turned to Aldric, who stood overseeing the crew's activities.

"Thank you for the passage," Jax said, extending his hand.

Aldric clasped it firmly. "Safe travels, lad. Remember, if you change your mind..."

With a nod, Jax stepped onto the bustling dock of Piltover. He wove his way through the people crowding the docks, adjusting the frayed hood of his poncho to better obscure his face. He kept his head low, avoiding longer eye contact with anyone, especially Enforcers and the heavily armored Noxian guard or two he spotted. Each clink of their polished boots on the stone piers sent a jolt of unease through him. So, it was true. Noxus' reach indeed grazed PIltover. Every so often, his hand reached behind him to ensure his sword was still securely strapped to his back. The weapon was his lifeline, though he doubted he'd have to use it in this sea of people.

The docks were sprawling, a seemingly endless labyrinth of wooden planks, and ships of every shape and size. It felt as though the entire world had converged here, with traders from far-flung regions shouting in languages he didn't understand. He moved with purpose but couldn't shake the feeling of unfamiliarity. Here, the expanse of the docks stretched on forever, and finding the exit became an ordeal of its own. He slipped past a group of laborers unloading crates marked with Noxian insignias and finally caught sight of the arched gate leading to the town proper.

When he approached the arched gate, his steps faltered as the mass of bodies pressed in tighter. The crowd surged and jostled, and he had to weave carefully to avoid drawing attention. When he finally passed through the gate, the city unfolded before him like a vivid dream, and he felt as though he could finally breathe again. The oppressive weight of the docks was left behind, replaced by an open expanse of wonder.

He followed the broad avenue that stretched out before him, its cobblestone streets polished, smooth by countless footsteps. The architecture of Piltover was unlike anything he'd ever seen back in Zaun. Towering buildings reached skyward, their facades gleaming with carvings and golden accents that caught the sunlight. Every structure seemed to tell a different story, with elegant arches and spiraling columns adorned with various motifs.

Balconies peered out from many of the buildings, some lush with greenery spilling from ornate planters, others lined with wrought-iron railings polished to a gleam. The windows were long and vast, reflecting the sunlight. And above everything, airships hovered lazily in the sky, their designs casting shadows over the streets below. He remembered Powder saying she always wanted to ride in one of those.

Jax smiled at the memory and for a moment, he forgot his troubles, his hood slipping slightly as he craned his neck to take it all in. The sheer artistry of the city amazed him. Here, even the lamp posts were marvels. He wondered how all of this had been part of a distant, almost mythical view for him. From the shadowed depths of the Undercity, he had often looked up at Piltover. But those glimpses had been from far below. This was the first time he had set foot here, and it felt surreal. For a countless time since stepping out on the avenue, Jax couldn't help but marvel. It really is the City of Progress, he thought, a mix of awe and bitterness tightening in his chest. For as long as he could remember, Piltover had been a place of wonder, but also a place out of reach – a proof of the chasm between its gilded heights and the toxic depths of his home. Down there, life was patchwork and grime, a daily struggle to survive amidst rusted metal and flickering lights. Up here, everything seemed refined and perfect.

Still, standing here now, a part of him couldn't shake the feeling of being an intruder. This wasn't his world, no matter how much he admired it. It wasn't home. On his left, he noticed a park. Trees with canopies of emerald green swayed gently in the breeze. Benches lined the walkways, where well-dressed citizens sat reading or chatting. Rising above the park was a palace-like building. Jax's gaze climbed the building, drawn to its wondrous design. Its tall spires glistened with metallic inlays, depicting its technological triumphs. Yet amidst its splendor, a dark scar marred the perfection. High above, a gaping hole in the wall from the top chamber stood out.

He recognized it instantly – the aftermath of the attack on the Council. The sight sent a shiver down his spine. For all its beauty, Piltover was not invincible, and the damage above felt like a warning. A warning that trouble was just around the corner.

Jax stepped aside into the shadow of a tall lamppost, pulling his hood lower as a convoy of Noxian soldiers approached. Their heavy boots struck the ground in perfect unison. The soldiers, clad in their signature armor trimmed with crimson, moved with discipline he was well familiar with. Their expressions were steel, their gazes fixed forward, and Jax knew better than anyone that nothing in the bustling streets of Piltover could distract them from their purpose.

At the head of the column was a man who radiated authority. He was massive, his chest broad and encased in angular, battle-scarred armor that seemed to have endured more wars than Jax could imagine. The steel gleamed faintly under the sun, the scars on its surface less like imperfections and more like marks of pride. A dark red cloak draped over one shoulder, swaying with every step. Resting on his shoulder was a massive halberd, the blade glinting like a fang in the sunlight. This wasn't a man who rushed. He moved with the calm, unshakable confidence of someone who knew exactly how dangerous he was. His face was framed by a thick, dark beard, and his hair was shaved on the sides, leaving a short mohawk that somehow made him look even more menacing.

And then there were his eyes. Jax shifted nervously by how much they reminded him of Ulric. Perhaps the man wasn't the crazed cultist Ulric turned out to be, but that piercing, unrelenting stare was just as same. Jax's fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, a reflex more than anything. He wasn't foolish enough to think he could stand against a man like that.

As the convoy passed, Jax stayed perfectly still, his body strangely tense, his gaze fixed on the ground. Even after they were gone, the rhythmic thud of their boots seemed to echo in his ears. He stepped back into the flow of the crowd, his thoughts racing. Whoever that man was, Jax didn't know. But one thing was certain – his presence in Piltover spoke volumes. Noxus had its fingers wrapped tightly around the city, and whatever their purpose here, it wasn't driven by good intentions. Noxians never acted without ambition, and ambition rarely came without a cost to those caught in its path.

He found himself curious about the state of the war in Ionia. Had the tides shifted? Were the Noxians forced to fall back, or were they gaining even more ground? He had no answers. Since leaving Haruma, the Spray hadn't docked long enough at any port to hear news or gossip.

With the war still raging in Ionia, Jax couldn't help but wonder how far Noxus could stretch its reach. How many fronts could they fight on before they started to falter – or worse, before their grip on places like Piltover tightened even further? The thought unsettled him. Every place they touched seemed to bend or break under their weight, and Piltover, for all its wealth and progress, didn't seem immune. He knew it firsthand, after all. It was etched into him – into his instincts, his scars, and the way he carried himself and fought on the battlefield. Even though he was on the run, a part of him would always remain the Noxian he had become during the war.

Jax moved with the flow of the crowd, letting it guide him southward until the towering bridge came into view. The Bridge of Progress, the grand artery that connected Piltover to Zaun. Form where he stood, he could see the descending city on the other side of the river. That gradual slope, almost like a descent into another world, was how Zaun had earned its name: the Undercity.

But the bridge wasn't bustling with ordinary foot traffic he remembered from before. It was nearly empty, save for the armored figures of Enforcers and Noxian soldiers stationed along its length. They moved in tight patrols, and the barricades set up midway through the bridge made their message clear – this was no open passage. He couldn't cross here. Even with his hood up and his face hidden, he'd stand no chance of slipping by unnoticed.

He sighed, his gaze lingering on the bridge for a moment longer before turning away. If he wanted to make it back to Zaun, he'd have to find another way. His fingers brushed against the grappling hook hanging from his belt, and a sudden idea sparked in his mind. He separated from the crowd and slipped onto the bridge, hugging its edges where the shadows pooled, trying to remain unseen. His gaze darted up to the massive structure, tracing the arches and beams that supported the weight of the bridge. This could work, he thought as he slipped further into the shadows, crouching near one of the massive support pillars. The guards stationed ahead wouldn't notice him here, not with their focus fixed on what was coming from the other side of the bridge. He unhooked the grappling device, inspecting its filmsy joints and uneven wire. It wasn't ideal, but he didn't have time to second-guess it. He took a deep breath, aimed for one of the lower beams, and fired.

The hook soared through the air, the wire unfurling with a metallic his. For a brief, tense moment, it swung wildly, threating to miss entirely. But with a loud clang, the hook caught onto the edge of the beam, holding fast. Jax gave it a cautious tug to test its strength, and though the wire strained uncomfortably, it seemed secure enough.

"Let's hope this holds," he muttered, gripping the wire tightly.

He began to climb, hand over hand, the wire trembling under his weight as he pulled himself up. The wire creaked ominously, a reminder of just how fragile his grappling hook really was. As he ascended, his mind began to wonder – half distraction, half necessity to calm his nerves. He thought about how the hook could be improved: a stronger wire, maybe a better mechanism to anchor it more securely. Ideas flowed, but he pushed them aside for later. Right now, he had to focus on not plummeting to his death.

Reaching the beam, he carefully swung himself onto it, crouching low to avoid being spotted. From here, the underside of the bridge stretched out before him. He'd need to use the grappling hook again to cross the wide gaps between the beams and support pillars. He looked below at the guards just to make sure they weren't looking. Then he crouched, the wind whipping around him as he gripped the grappling hook in his hand, having rolled up the wire to prepare it for the next shot. His heart pounded in his chest as he eyed the adjacent pillar across the wide chasm. The gap was daunting, but there was no time to hesitate. Steeling himself, he aimed the crude device and pulled the trigger.

The hook shot through the air, and the wire rattled. It latched onto the beam of the opposite pillar. Once again, Jax gave it a hard tug to ensure it held, and braced himself.

"Please hold," he pleaded under his breath.

And then, he leapt from the pillar, the wire tightening as he swung wildly through the air. The wind roared past his ears, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he felt himself losing control. The wire groaned as it swung him in a wide, erratic arc. His hands burned as he gripped the line harder, his body twisting as he fought to stay upright.

The landing came faster than he expected. He slammed into the opposite pillar with a jarring force, his boots scraping against the steel as he scrambled to find a hold. His grip slipped, and for a terrifying moment, he dangled by one hand over the open chasm. With a desperate grunt, he swung himself upward, his legs catching the edge as he hauled himself onto the ledge.

His entire body ached from the impact, but there was no time to rest. Shouts echoed from below – guards had spotted him. Their voices carried over the bridge, growing louder as they moved in to investigate the noise.

Jax forced himself onto his feet, yanking the grappling hook back into his belt as he sprinted down a maintenance ladder on the opposite side of the pillar. He hit the ground running, disappearing into the maze-like streets of Zaun below. The guards shouts faded as the Undercity swallowed him, but his heart still pounded in his chest.

As he slowed to catch his breath, he glanced down at the grappling hook, its joints now loose and dangerously worn. He shook his head with a half-smile. "I'm lucky you held up," he gasped. "But I'll make you better."

Pushing the device back into his belt, Jax turned and melted deeper with the Undercity's shadows. He moved at a brisk pace, his boots pounding against the cobblestones as he put several blocks between himself and the Bridge of Progress. Only then did he finally slow his pace to a walk. The streets here were quiet, with only a few strugglers lurking in the shadows or moving hurriedly on their way. Jax wasn't surprised – this close to the bridge, with its barricades and the rising tensions, people tended to steer clear.

As he continued deeper into Zaun, the stark differences between the two cities became painfully obvious. Zaun was a complete contrast to the Upper City's perfection. Here, the buildings looked as though they were barely standing, their rusted frames held together more by desperation than design, stacked and crisscrossed with pipes that leaked steam or dripped unknown liquids. Where Piltover's streets bustled with merchants and inventors, Zaun's alleys teemed with scavengers and outcasts. It was raw, unpolished. And it was darker, and unforgiving. The deeper he descended into the Undercity, the air grew heavier. It carried that specific tang of chemicals and smoke, coating his lungs. He hadn't smelled anything like it in a long time, not since he'd left. His breathing hitched, and he coughed sharply. The taste of pollution was bitter on his tongue. Pulling his hood closer over his face, he slowed, trying to suppress another fit as he looked around. Something was different.

Zaun had never been a safe place – chaos and danger were a core part of it – but now it felt darker, heavier, as though the entire city was suffocating under an invisible weight. The streets, once alive with rough-edged energy, were eerily quiet. Far fewer people were out than he remembered, and those he did see moved with a wary, haunted air around them.

Zaunites had always been tough, hardened by the harsh life in the Undercity, but Jax remembered them having a spark – a defiant sort of resilience that could almost be called optimism in the face of everything stacked against them. Now, though, that spark was gone. The people he passed barely looked at each other except with suspicion, their eyes darting nervously, as if anticipating a knife in the back. The fear and paranoia in the air were so thick Jax could almost feel it seeping into his own lungs along with the smog.

In one dimly lit alley, something caught his attention. It was a man, slumped against the wall. His body was trembling with erratic movements. His clothes were filthy and torn, and his skin had an unnatural pallor, lined with thick purple veins that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. His sunken eyes darted around wildly as if seeing things that weren't there. Jax frowned, his gaze narrowing in concern and curiosity.

Two others stumbled out of the shadows and approached the man. They were in no better shape – hollow-eyed, jittery, their hands trembling as they carried strange glass syringes filled with purple liquid. Jax watched as they mumbled incoherently, their words slurred and fragmented, before injecting the substance into their veins. One of them let out a rasping gasp, his whole frame vibrating as though his body couldn't contain the substance's effects.

Jax felt a mixture of disgust and unease washing over him. He didn't know what the liquid was, but it clearly wasn't anything good. As he stood there staring, one of the vagrants noticed him. His eyes widened, and he tugged at the sleeve of the man beside him. The trio exchanged a panicked look before staggering to their feet, stumbling away into the darkness as fast as their shaky legs could carry them. Their fear struck Jax as strange – he wasn't threatening them, yet their paranoia seemed to extend even to a passing glance from a stranger. Just what had happened in Zaun in his absence?

He shook his head and continued on his way. The Lanes were close now, just a few blocks ahead. And within the heart of the Lanes stood The Last Drop. The thought of the familiar old bar sent a strange mix of anticipation and unease through Jax. Once he got there, he planned to ask Vander what had happened to the city, to understand how Zaun had changed so much since he'd left. And maybe, just maybe, he'd find Powder there too and ask her what's wrong, and…

The thought made him stop in his tracks. What was he supposed to say to her? Could he really just walk through the front door after all this time and act like nothing happened? Would Vander even recognize him? Would Powder? Would she even want to see him?

Jax frowned, his hands curling into fists as the weight of his doubts pressed down on him. He'd gone over this moment a thousand times in his head, imagining every possible scenario, but no matter how much he thought about it, he never found the right answer.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to keep moving. There was no point in overthinking it now. Whatever happened, he'd deal with it the same way he always did – improvising, going with his gut, and figuring it out as he went. It wasn't perfect, but it was the only way he knew how to face the unknown.

The Lanes stirred a sense of familiarity in Jax, one he hadn't felt in years. It was strange – so much of it felt the same, yet everything seemed drastically different. The same crooked buildings still leaned into one another, the same alleys twisted and wove through the district, and many of the same shops remained where he remembered them. But some were gone now, their places taken by newer ones. Those that had survived bore a striking emptiness, their once-vibrant displays now sparse and muted, as if the life had been drained form them.

As he passed through the market, Jax's eyes landed on a stall tucked into a corner. Despite the oppressive, grim weight of Zaun pressing down around him, he couldn't help but smile. He recognized it instantly – it hadn't changed a bit. The same worn wooden counter, the same hand-painted sign hanging crookedly above it. The goods were fewer now, the trinkets and street food she sold scattered thinly across the stall. The food looked different too, but there was no doubt in Jax's mind that it was still just as good as he remembered.

Old Grimrose, now noticeably more wrinkled, stood behind the counter, her hands moving with the same authority she'd always had. Her sharp eyes scanned the street as she shook her head, muttering at the lack of customers. Jax hesitated for a moment, feeling a sting of nostalgia. He remembered the warmth of her soup on cold nights, how she'd always ladle out an extra portion for him with a knowing smile, under the pretense that he always reminded her of her grandson. The urge to walk over, to say hello and ask for a bowl, hit him hard.

But as he took a step forward, a young couple approached the stall, their voices low as they examined the few trinkets on display. Jax paused, pulling his hood lower over his face. Then he stepped forward, stopping beside the couple already at the stall. His eyes scanned the odds and ends on display – trinkets, scraps of metal repurposed into jewelry, and small containers of street food. Grimrose glanced in his direction, her sharp eyes briefly assessing him, but her attention remained on the couple. She was in the middle of bartering for a necklace, a simple piece adorned with polished metal and glass beads that she insisted would look perfect on the young woman.

The lady seemed smitten with the necklace, her fingers brushing over the beads, but the man hesitated, his brow furrowing as he asked about the price. Jax's eyebrows rose slightly at the figure Grimrose named – higher than he'd expected, especially for something so simple. Even the man flinched, though the woman's eager expression seemed to override his hesitation. With a reluctant sigh, he handed over the money, and the couple left with the necklace, the woman clutching it as though it were a treasure.

As soon as they were gone, Grimrose turned her attention to Jax, greeting him with a gruff "What do you want?" Her tone was sharp, lacking the warmth he remembered from years ago. She could see parts of his face under the hood, but there was no recognition in her eyes. Not surprising, Jax thought. Eight years is a long time.

"You just going to stand there gawking, or are you actually planning to buy something?" she asked impatiently.

Jax glanced over the goods, and picked up a small metallic pendant, turning it over in his fingers. "Business seems quiet," he said casually, his tone neutral.

"It's always quiet these days," Grimrose replied bluntly, snatching the pendant from his hand and placing it back on the stall. "Now, are you buying or not? This isn't a museum."

Jax smiled, stepping back lightly. "I'm not buying," he admitted. "Just passing through."

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Then why stop here? If you're not spending coin, you're wasting time – mine and yours."

Jax hesitated a moment. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe I just wanted to ask how you're doing."

Grimrose paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. Her expression softened lightly, though her tone was still gruff. "How I'm doing?" she repeated, eyebrow raised. "No one bothers to ask that these days."

For a moment, she leaned closer, trying to get a better look at his face beneath the hood. Her gaze lingered, her brows knitting together in curiosity. "Wait a second–"

"It was nice seeing you," Jax cut her off, stepping back quickly. He gave her a quick, fleeting smile before turning on his heel and disappearing into the sparse crowd in the streets. He felt her gaze on his back, but he didn't want to tug at her memory any longer.

He followed the familiar street that led to The Last Drop. His steps were steady but his thoughts anything but. He remembered the last time he'd walked this path. That night felt like a lifetime ago – the night he left Zaun. The night he thought he'd say goodbye to her for good.

Jax had told himself a thousand times it was for her. That leaving was the only way to keep her safe. But the memory haunted him nonetheless. He saw it that night, the vision. And in the vision, he saw her. Powder, screaming at him, her voice raw with pain as she screamed "You promised!" The vision always ended the same. Her face dissolving into ash, consumed by the dark flames from the void. He'd left to make sure that nightmare would never become real. To make sure she stayed alive.

But now he was back. For her. Something was wrong – he could feel it in his gut, he saw it in the dream – and he couldn't ignore it any longer. The visions, the memories, the fears – they could all be damned. He had to see her, to make sure she way okay. That was what mattered.

And then… what? He asked himself the question knowing full well there was no easy answer. Would he disappear again, like before? It seemed like the most sensible option. Teasing fate by coming back felt reckless enough; staying any longer would be asking for trouble. He only came back because the Cult thought him dead. But it was just a matter of time before they found him again. No, he'd do what needed to be done – find her, make sure she was safe – and then he'd leave. Maybe it was selfish, but in his mind, it was right. Before her, loneliness was all he had ever known. She had transformed his world in ways she likely never even realized. She had her family, she knew love, and she probably didn't feel the same about him—but to Jax, she had always been the most important person in his life. He had grown, changed in countless ways since he was a kid, but that never changed. And he doubted it ever would.

He touched his pendant as he walked, the familiar sights of the Lanes blurring past him. All of it sounded so simple, but nothing about coming back to Zaun was ever simple. Not for him. Still, he forced himself to focus. One step at a time. One task at a time. Get to The Last Drop. Find her. Help her, make sure she's fine. And then… disappear again. That was the plan. It had to be.

When Jax reached his destination, his first thought was that he must have taken a wrong turn. In place of The Last Drop, there stood a building that looked different, yet familiar. One side of the structure was completely collapsed, the jagged edges of the ruin suggesting it had been torn apart by an explosion.

For a moment, he was sure he'd come to the wrong place. But then his eyes caught the faint glow of a sign above the doorway, flickering weakly. The Last Drop. Only half the letters still worked, their light barely strong enough to push back the growing shadows. This was it. Or at least, what was left of it.

Jax's eyes landed on the crude letters sprayed across the exterior of the bar: WELCOME TO MY PARTY. Beneath the graffiti was a roughly drawn face, its sharp features twisted into a sinister smirk. Whoever it depicted, Jax didn't recognize them, but the sight unsettled him. This wasn't The Last Drop he remembered.

A few rough-looking men milled around outside. As Jax approached, their attention snapped to him immediately. Four of them stopped what they were doing, their postures shifting, hands hovering near weapons as they sized him up. He examined them as well, instinctively noting their stances, their weapons, and the best way to proceed if the situation escalated. His grip shifted subtly, ready to reach for his blade if he had to. But for now, it was best to take the peaceful approach. Jax raised his hands slightly, his voice calm but firm. "I'm not looking for trouble. I just want to talk to Vander."

At his words, one of the men let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Vander? There's no Vander here."

"Last time I was here, Vander held the reins of The Last Drop," Jax said.

"Then you've been gone a long time," the biggest thug said, stepping forward. He crossed his arms, smirking. "This was Silco's place for a while. And now it's ours. Don't mind that hole in the wall. We'll get the bitch that did it soon enough."

Silco? Who's that? Jax thought, and kept his expression neutral. But he could feel the tension in the air, the way their eyes lingered on him, waiting for a reason to strike. Staying here and asking more questions would only lead to trouble, and he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. With a slight nod, he turned to walk away. Their jeers and mocking followed him as he left, but he didn't respond, his mind already shifting to his next move. If this was the state of the Last Drop now, the answers he sought wouldn't be easy to find.

The man said Vander was gone—but where? Was Powder with him? What about the others? Vi, Milo, and Claggor? Jax clung to the hope that they were safe, somewhere out there. Vander was strong, respected, and had the backing of the Lanes. Surely, he would have found a way to protect them. Powder, at least, Jax was certain was still alive. She had to be. That dream had told him as much, even though he never understood it truly.

Jax walked and walked, his steps starting to lose purpose. His aimless wandering carried him through the twisting streets of the Lanes, his mind grasping at fragments of memories and possibilities, until he stopped dead in his tracks, as his eyes fell on the scene before him.

A statute stood in the center of a small clearing, crudely constructed from metal scraps and welded together. It depicted a man, strong and proud, standing atop a pile of junk, his hand gripping a pipe. The end of the pipe glowed faintly, flickering like a candle, casting an eerie light over the weathered features of the figure's face.

Jax's breath caught. There was no mistaking it. The face, the stance, the smoking pipe – it was Vander.

For a long moment, he just stared, the realization washing over him like a tide. This was what the thug meant. Vander wasn't gone in the sense that he had left. Vander was truly gone. Dead.

The man who had been a pillar of the Lanes, who held everything together with his strength and resolve, was now nothing more than a memory immortalized in scraps of metal. Jax's knees felt weak, and his hands trembled slightly as he took a step closer. The questions in his mind swirled more frantically now. What happened to Powder? To Vi? To the others? Without Vander, what had become of them?

Jax clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to steady himself. He turned his back to the statue and slumped down at its base. He pressed his back against the cold metal, trying to gather himself. Vander – gone. Dead. It felt surreal.

The wind picked up, tugging at his poncho and tossing strands of his hair across his face, but he didn't bother brushing them away. Around him, the gust carried scraps of paper and pieces of junk, swirling them across the ground. He stared blankly ahead, lost in thought, the sounds of the city muffled by the storm of emotions inside him.

As the wind carried on, something caught his eye. A piece of paper fluttered against the wall across from him. At first, it was just another poster. But something about it drew his attention, a flicker of familiarity, perhaps, or just the way it stubbornly clung to the wall. Jax waited a moment, then pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the short distance to the poster, his boots crunching against the debris scattered by the wind. Staring at the poster, his gaze locked onto the face in it. The bold letters read:

JINX
PILTOVER WANTED

His eyes drifted over the name, unfamiliar to him, but the face stopped him cold.

Bright blue hair in twin braids, framing a pale, youthful face. Other features were just as familiar. The small nose, the shape of her jaw, the way her face carried both fragility and strength. He had spent years holding onto that image, remembering it from the countless hours they spent together. And now, here it was, staring back at him.

"Powder," he trembled out a whisper.

It was her, without a doubt. He'd recognize her anywhere. But something was wrong. Something that unsettled him. Her eyes, wide and wild, carried a manic intensity. This wasn't the Powder he knew. The girl he'd left behind was bright-eyed and hopeful, fragile but full of life. The face on the poster looked different. Hardened, chaotic… dangerous.

His hands shook as he reached out to touch the poster. He couldn't look away. It was her, but it wasn't. What was she wanted for? Why does the poster say Jinx and not Powder? How could this have happened? And why?

The dream came rushing back. He could still feel her agony, and the overwhelming sense of loss and desperation. It clung to him now, just as it had then. He tore the poster from the wall, crumpling it slightly in his hands as he stared at it for a moment longer, searching for something – some answer he knew it wouldn't give him. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he folded the poster and tucked it into his belt. The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered. But amidst all the chaos of his thoughts, one thing was clearer than the rest. He had to find her. No matter what.

Chapter End Notes

Alright, this chapter takes a bit of a slower pace—there's not much in the way of exciting action, but I really wanted to take the time to reintroduce Piltover and Zaun from the perspective of the main character. Honestly, writing this chapter felt pretty emotional for me. I've been looking forward to this part of the story since I first started, and it feels incredible to finally reach this point. :)

For those of you who don't remember, Old Grimrose was briefly mentioned back in Arc 1 during Jax's conversation with Vander. She was the lady who used to give Jax food from time to time when he was a kid. I was so excited to bring her back into the story, and trust me, I'm even more excited to reintroduce some of the other characters soon (I'm looking at you Vi)! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

Also. I often feel like I spend too much time delving into my character's inner thoughts and reflections. Let me know if you feel the same or if it works for you!

Piltover's Most Wanted

The meeting was held on the top floor of one of Zaun's rare high-rises. The wide, circular room was walled with cracked glass, offering a hazy view of the sprawling city below. Neon lights from nearby buildings flickered sporadically, casting distorted reflections. At the center of the room stood a large, uneven metal table, with chairs all around it. The Chem-Barons, Zaun's most ruthless power brokers, sat gathered. From her perch above, hidden in the shadows of the exposed steel rafters, Jinx watched them, her blue hair blending with the faint glow of lights that flickered overhead. Her fingers toyed with a small, painted bomb, her grin growing as she studied the assembled players.

She recognized most of them immediately – figures that Silco had told her about, back when he ruled the underworld with an iron hand. At the head of the table sat Sevika, her one remaining arm resting heavily on the warped metal surface. She surveyed the gathered Chem-Barons with a cool, measured gaze. Her face was expressionless, but her presence dominated the room. The Chem-Barons, now without a ruler, may have been her rivals, but here, in this moment, she was in charge.

Renni, the boss of the Sludgerunners, sat near the head of the table. She was a tall, older woman with a dark auburn buzz cut. Her nose, augmented with green tubes coming out of it on either side – and a black eyeliner gave her an imposing look. The faint glow of green chem-fluid coursed through the tubes. She leaned back in her chair with sharp expression, calculating every gesture and every word around her.

To her right lounged Madam Margot, the Spider of the Vyx, had a striking appearance that perfectly reflected her manipulative and dangerous nature. Black marking adorned her face, and her platinum blonde hair was styled short, slicked back and slightly tousled, emphasizing her sharp jawline. Her lips curled into a faint, condescending smile as she swirled a drink in her glass. Margot ran the Vyx, a web of pleasure houses, her reach extending far beyond what anyone dared acknowledge openly.

Chross, seated across from Margot, was a stark contrast to her refinement. He was wiry, his coat hanging loosely from his frame. His gaunt face was weathered and pale, his eyes constantly scanning , as if cataloging secrets even in silence. The boss of the Hush Company, Chross had built an empire of informants and fences, priding himself on knowing everything that mattered in Zaun, and beyond.

At the far end of the table sat a Yordle. Smeech's cybernetic limbs gleamed ominously in the low light. Every motion he made, from the tilt of his head to the drumming of his mechanical fingers, came with faint clicks and whirs, as if he had merged entirely with the machine. His company, Scrap Hackers, turned the desperate into indebted warriors, their bodies augmented with cutting-edge cybernetics at an exorbitant price. His head twitched erratically, and his eyes glowed shimmery purple. The Yordle Chem-Baron was known as an unstable addict.

And then there was Marko Volkage, the newest addition to the table. Jinx's eyes narrowed as they landed on him. He sat stiffly, a hulking figure in a patched coat too clean to belong to a true Zaunite gutter rat. His broad, square face looked perpetually confused, his eyes dull and unfocused, as though he were trying to follow a conversation far above his comprehension. Jinx smirked. This was the man who had taken control of the Last Drop. He looked as dumb as a barrel of scrap. She'd heard he terrorized the gutters, his ambitions rising high – but now that she saw him, she couldn't help but giggle under her breath. There were a few more faces, belonging to leaders of smaller gangs who tried to carve out their own piece of Zaun.

"You crossed the line, Volkage!" snarled Rutt, the leader of the Rag Rats, a scrappy gang known for scavenging and smuggling chem-parts. His frame trembled with indignation, his scarred face flushed. "My crew wasn't even near your turf, but you still sent your goons to torch one of our storehouses. We lost everything!"

Volkage didn't even flinch. His lips curled into the faintest smirk as Rutt ranted.

"It's not just Rutt," chimed in Tally, a leader of the Iron Fangs. She was younger than most at the table, but her eyes burned with fury. "Your thugs ambushed my runners last week, slaughtered half of them, and stole the chemtech they were carrying. That shipment wasn't for you – it wasn't even yours to take!"

Volkage finally leaned forward, his large hands resting on the table. "Your runners were in my way," he said. "And your storehouses looked useful. You think I care about your little grievances? This is Zaun. The strong take what they want."

Tally slammed her fist on the table, rattling the rusted surface. "This isn't about being strong, Volkage. This is about you not knowing where to draw the damn line! You're not just fighting gangs—you're destabilizing everything. There's no profit in chaos."

"She's right," Rutt spat, glaring at Volkage. "We all steal, we all fight, but we have rules. You don't raid unprovoked. You don't torch a storehouse unless you've got a reason. You've got no respect for how things work down here."

"Rules?" Volkage barked a laugh, the sound low and guttural. "Your rules are what keep you weak. While you idiots argue about boundaries, I'm building an empire."

"Building an empire?" Margot scoffed, her voice dripping with amusement. The lights caught the glint of her jeweled rings as she gestured lazily toward Marko. Her grin expanded. "Oh, darling, you truly are adorable. Empires aren't built on brute force alone. They require finesse, strategy – things I suspect are… somewhat beyond your grasp." Her gaze swept over him, lingering on his broad shoulders and dull expression. "But I must say, you do make an excellent thug. Perhaps I'll hire you to guard one of my clubs. Assuming you don't burn it down first."

Marko's jaw tightened, his massive hands curling into fists on the table. He leaned forward slightly, his chair creaking under his weight. "Careful, Margot," he growled. "You keep running that mouth of yours, and I might decide to shut it for you."

Margot's laugh rang out, light and musical, but just with a right amount of venom. "Oh, please, Marko. Threats? You think torching a few warehouses and roughing up some runners makes you king of the Undercity? Please. You're a blunt instrument – loud, messy, and far too green to understand how things work down here. You can't even manage to keep your temper in check, let alone build something that lasts."

Around the table, a few of the smaller gang leaders murmured their agreement. Rutt of the Rag Rats smirked from his seat near the edge of the table. "You've made plenty of noise, Volkage, but all you're doing is pissing off everyone who isn't dead yet."

Marko's jaw tightened, his thick hands curling into fists on the table. His face twisted into a scowl as his gaze swept the room. "You're all just scared because you know I'm better than you. I don't need your approval to take what's mine."

Margot grinned at him. "You're a baby compared to the rest of us at this table. You're still learning how to crawl, and you think you can run a kingdom?"

"That's rich, coming from you, Margot," Chross interjected. "The queen of filth, lecturing someone about how to run things."

Margot turned her gaze to Chross, her grin never faltering, though her eyes narrowed slightly. Before she could say anything, Sevika slammed her arm down on the table and rose from her seat.

"I know you're all fantasizing about sawing each other's heads off, so I'm gonna get right to it," she said, as her eyes swept across the room. "These turf wars have to stop."

The smaller gang leaders exchanged uneasy glances, while Chross leaned back in his chair with a sigh, adjusting his thin, round glasses. "She has been the aggressor. I've only defended my interests."

"Playing coy doesn't suit you, love," Margot replied in a silky voice. "You started this dance when you raided the Rapturewalk."

"What could I want with your boulevard of filth?" Chross leaned slightly forward, the tension between them thickening.

Margot shrugged, her grin still firmly in place. "Who knows? Maybe your men were looking for a good time, though I'd wager if they could even afford it."

Sevika let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Topside is the real enemy. Us killing each other is playing right into their hands. Our best shot is to put aside these petty squabbles and join forces."

"Ally with them?" Margot scoffed. "I'd rather favor my chances with Topside."

Chross ignored her jab, instead turning his attention toward Sevika. "Even together, they outnumber us four to one. And that's before all the recent casualties."

"Might matter up there, but they don't know a first thing about fighting in the Fissures. Piltover's power doesn't mean shit in the places they can't control. We know this city better than they ever could."

"Except it isn't just PIltover," Marko growled, his voice deep. "What about Noxus? They've got their dogs down here doing whatever the hell they please. They're worse than the Enforcers – less rules, more blood."

"That's ironic it's coming from you," Tally let out a sarcastic laugh.

From her perch above, Jinx smirked. "Well, well," she whispered to herself. "Maybe the big guy isn't as dumb as he looks."

"He's right," came a high-pitched, twitchy voice. All eyes turned to Smeech, the big-headed Yordle boss of Scrap Hackers. His eyes glowed faint purple from shimmer addiction, twitching erratically as he spoke. He shifted in his seat, his cybernetic fingers clicking against the edge of the table. "And she's right too." He gestured toward Sevika with a quick jerk of his mechanical arm. "We don't get Topside off our backs, we don't last. But…" He twitched is head to the side with a sharp jerk. "I've got a different solution."

The room grew still as Smeech reached into his coat with his razor-thin fingers and pulled out a folded piece of paper. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the center of the table. Jinx's grin widened as her eyes recognized her own face on the poster.

"We give 'em Jinx," Smeech said, his voice calm, almost bored, as if he were suggesting something as simple as trading parts. "That's all they want."

"Give me up?" Jinx whispered to herself, her voice filled with amusement. "Oh, Smeechy, you shouldn't have."

The silence that followed was electric. Murmurs erupted from the smaller gang leaders, some exchanging nervous glances, others nodding as if considering the suggestion. But as the tension grew, all eyes eventually shifted to Sevika, who was watching Smeech. She straightened, her eyes narrowing as if Smeech's words had physically struck her. "We don't hand over our people," she said, her voice laced with quiet anger.

"We?" Smeech sneered. "You don't do much of anything anymore, do you, magpie? Bird without a wing's just a funny-looking rat." He chuckled, the sharp metallic sound of his fingers tapping the table enhancing his mockery. Sevika's frown deepened as the room fell silent, all eyes shifting between the two. Smeech grinned wider, enjoying himself. "Struck a nerve, did I? Alright, Sevika, I'll make you a deal…"

"They talk so much," Jinx whispered to herself. Her gaze lingered on Marko, his massive frame rigid and his expression stony. Her grin stretched wider, and she straightened. Her frame unoiled like a spring, and she leapt off the beam. The room erupted into shocked gasps and shouts as her boots hit the center of the table. There was no stumble, no hesitation – Jinx stood perfectly balanced, her wide grin fixed on the stunned faces around her. "Surprise!" she sang, spreading her arms theatrically. "How's that for a landing?" she teased, unfazed by the chaos she just caused.

Then she caught it. A slightest glint in Smeech's shimmer-glowing gaze. Without hesitation, she drew her pistol in one fluid motion, leveling it right between his eyes before he could as much as twitch. The whole room froze in that moment.

"Nah-uh," she said with a grin. "You'll have to wait, rat. I'm here for someone else."

Sevika's voice cut through the tension. "And who's that, Jinx?"

Jinx's grin stretched even wider, her eyes locking onto Marko with a predatory glint. "Him," she purred, spinning her pistol once and pointing it briefly in his direction. Marko Volkage raised an eyebrow seemingly unbothered, but Jinx didn't miss the twitch of his fingers on the table.

Smeech growled, his mechanical fingers flexing erratically. "She's one girl!" he snapped turning to the rest with a sharp, twitchy laugh. "You're all just gonna sit there? Grab her!"

If some were thinking about it, they stopped once Jinx flicked a bomb in her left hand, letting it dangle on her index finger. No one moved again. The gang leaders and Chem-Barons alike stayed frozen in their seats, their eyes fixed on Jinx, their expressions a mix of fear and fascination. They weren't listening to Smeech – not with her standing there with a bomb in her hand. Jinx rocked back on her heels, toying with her pistol as though she had all the time in the world.

"So?" Marko Volkage rumbled, his deep voice breaking the tense silence. "What is it you wanted me for?" He tried to appear relaxed, resting his thick arms on the table and keeping his tone dismissive.

Jinx sighed dramatically, lowering her pistol slightly but keeping the bomb aloft. "Oh, you know…" she drawled. "This and that. Bad weather, smelly people… The Last Drop." Her eyes locked onto him, her grin sharp as a blade. "Not yours, pal."

Marko smirked. "Not yours either," he said, deliberately nonchalant. "And I'm not handing it over."

"Wrong answer!" Jinx exclaimed with sudden, gleeful ferocity, but instead of shooting immediately, she leaned toward him, her grin widening as she locked eyes with him.

"You know," she continued, twirling the grenade lazily in her fingers, "you should really hire better guards. I just came back from one of your shimmer factories. You know the one, deep in the Sump? Big vats, lots of shiny goo. Oh, wait, not anymore!"

Marko's smirk faltered, a flicker of anger breaking through his calm façade. "You blew it up," he growled menacingly.

"Ding ding ding! Give the big guy a prize!" Jinx sing-songed, twirling the grenade faster. "Not all of it, though. Just enough to make it useless. Figured I'd leave a little reminder for you, y'know?"

"You're playing a dangerous game," Marko warned, his tone dropping. He leaned forward, his massive frame looming over the table like an animal ready to strike. "You think you can come into my territory, blow up my factories, and walk away? You don't know who you're dealing with, girl."

Jinx let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, big scary Volkage, oooh," she mocked, playing with the grenade as though it was a child's toy. "The man, the myth, the meathead. You done yet, big guy?"

Marko's jaw tightened. "You'll regret this, Jinx. You're just a pest with a big mouth and a-"

"Now where was I?" Jinx interrupted, cutting him off with a shrug. She glanced at her pistol, then at the grenade in her hand, her grin widening. "Oh, right, wreaking havoc!"

Without warning, she raised her pistol and fired, the shot cracking through the room like a whip. Marko's head snapped back as the bullet struck him square between the eyes, and his massive body toppled backward, crashing to the floor with a resounding thud.

Jinx brought the barrel of her pistol to her lips, blowing away the thin wisp of smoke with a dramatic poof. She lowered the weapon slowly, her grin fading as she tilted her head, examining the stunned faces around the table. "What?" she asked innocently, her voice dripping with mock sincerity.

Renni, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. "Raiding each other's business is one thing. Killing a Chem-Baron is another. This will spark a reaction!" Her chem-breathing apparatus hissed faintly as he piercing eyes locked onto Jinx.

Jinx turned to her, her expression shifting to one of annoyance. "Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not a Chem-Baron, now, am I? I'm a nobody. A nobody that offed him. That means you lot get to play nice and stay out of it. You're welcome."

"Why did you kill him?" Chross asked. His sunken eyes studied Jinx with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

Before she could respond, Margot left out a soft chuckle. "Chross, darling, isn't it obvious?" she purred. "Everyone knows Jinx has been after Volkage for some time now." She glanced at the body on the floor, her grin widening.

Tally folded her arms and spoke up, her tone nervous. "Volkage's gang won't take this lying down. They'll be out for blood after this."

Margot turned her head toward Tally. "Retribution? Love, consequences are relative. Volkage's men are nothing without him. Besides, they'll be after her," she said, sparing Jinx a glance. "His businesses are just sitting there now, ripe for taking. First come, first served."

Jinx finally interrupted, "Except The Last Drop," she said, twirling her pistol. "That's off limits."

The room fell silent again, the tension shifting as murmurs rippled through the smaller gang leaders. One of them, a man sitting near the edge of the table, leaned toward his companion and whispered, "She's crazy."

Jinx's grin stretched wider as she caught the words. Her eyes darted to the whisperer, and she let out a gleeful laugh. "I'm crazy! Wanna see how much?" She tapped her pistol against her chin, looking at the man playfully.

Then she turned her attention to Smeech as she pointed the pistol at him briefly, more in jest than threat. "And you," she said, "I can't wait to see you try to chase me down. Should be fun – hope you can keep up, shimmer-brain."

Without another word, she holstered her pistol, spun on her heel, and jumped off the table. As she strode toward the exit, Chross called out after her.

"What's your angle, Jinx?" he barked, "What do you even get out of all this chaos?"

Jinx stopped at the doorway. Slowly, she turned just enough for her grin to be visible over her shoulder. "Who needs reasons?" she said, her voice light and mocking. With that, she shoved the door open, letting it creak shut behind her, leaving the Chem-Barons and gang leaders in stunned silence.

x

Jax crouched in the shadows of a narrow alleyway, his back pressed against the cold, damp brick wall. The light from a broken streetlamp barely illuminated the street ahead. He adjusted the blade on his back as he watched the scene ahead of him.

A pair of Enforcers marched into view, their boots crunching against the grimy pavement. Just their presence was enough to show how much Zaun had changed since he left. Behind them, two Noxian soldiers flanked the group, their crimson cloaks trailing slightly behind the intimidating bulk of their armor. Jax put a hand across his mouth to muffle another coughing fit. He still hadn't gotten used to the air in Zaun. Every inhale burned his lungs. The Enforcers didn't have that problem, wearing their pristine masks that covered their entire faces. The Noxians also seemed unaffected, hiding their faces under the helmets.

One of the Enforcers, a tall man with a gruff voice and a baton strapped to his side, held up a poster. The other, a woman with an authoritative air around her, approached a small cluster of Zaunites loitering by the entrance of a shuttered workshop.

"Seen her anywhere?" the woman demanded, slapping the poster onto the nearest wall. When she spoke, her voice came out distorted through built-in modulators in the mask. The paper showed the face of a girl with wild blue hair and a manic grin. Below the crude sketch was a single word in bold, black letters. WANTED.

The Zaunites exchanged worried glances but shook their heads in unison. "Haven't seen her," one of them mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

The male Enforcer stepped closer, his baton tapping against his leg in a subtle threat. "You sure about that? She's been causing plenty of trouble. Blue hair. Crazy. You haven't noticed a damn thing?"

Jax's fingers curled around the hilt of his blade. He wasn't sure why he stayed, why he didn't turn and leave. Another Zaunite, an older man with grease-stained hands, raised his hands defensively. "Even if we did, you think she'd tell us where she's going?"

The Noxians stepped forward now, brushing past the Enforcers. One, a hulking figure, chuckled darkly. "That's not the answer we're looking for," he growled. Before anyone could react, the Noxian seized the older man by the collar and hauled him forward with ease. "Maybe a lesson will jog your memory."

The old man gasped, struggling against the iron grip, but it was futile. The Noxian raised a gauntleted fist and struck him hard across the face. The sound of impact echoed down the alley as the man crumpled to the ground, clutching his jaw in pain.

"No!" one of the younger Zaunites cried out, stepping forward as though to intervene, but the Noxian soldier drew an axe from his back and rested it casually on his shoulder. The silent warning froze everyone in place.

"You think we're here to play games?" The soldier raised his axe, preparing to strike. The older man's eyes widened with fear, and the younger Zaunites froze in horror. "Someone needs to pay for wasting our time."

Jax moved instinctively. He stepped out of the shadows, silent as a wraith, and drew the blade from his back in one fluid motion. The steel glinted faintly in the broken light, its edge catching the Noxian's eye before the sound of the draw could even register.

The soldier froze mid-swing, his attention snapping to the figure in the alley. The tension in the air shifted as the Enforcers and the second Noxian turned toward Jax. He said nothing, standing in stark contrast to their noise and bluster.

The Noxian sneered, his grip tightening on his own weapon. "Back off, rat."

Jax didn't answer. His blade shifted in the slightest of motions, and those subtle shifts made the Noxian soldiers stiffen, and Enforcers reaching for their weapons.

"Get rid of him," barked the Enforcer woman.

"With pleasure," the Noxian with a sword replied.

The soldier lunged, swinging his sword in a wide arc meant to cut Jax across his chest. But Jax moved like a shadow, evading the strike with ease. His blade flashed in a clean motion, and the Noxian's momentum carried him forward into a fatal slash across his throat. Blood sprayed as the soldier gurgled and crumpled to the ground.

The second Noxian roared in rage and charged at Jax with his axe raised high. This one was stronger, more calculated, but Jax was faster. He ducked under the first swing, the axe slamming into the pavement with a resounding clang. Jax spun, his blade slicing through the soldier's exposed side. The Noxian grunted, stumbling but not yet falling. He turned to swing again, but Jax was already moving, delivering a final strike to the man's chest. The soldier collapsed, his axe clattering to the ground.

For a moment, the street was silent, save for the gasping breaths of the gathered Zaunites. The Enforcers stared at the fallen Noxians, then back at Jax.

"You just made a big mistake," the female Enforcers growled, pulling out a rifle. Her partner followed suit, his own weapon flashing in his hands.

Jax raised his blade, ready for the next wave, but the Zaunties suddenly stepped forward. One of the younger Zaunites picked up a broken pipe from the ground. Another Zaunite grabbed a rusted wrench and even the older man, clutching his bruised jaw, reached for a loose plank of wood. Together, they surged toward the Enforcers.

The first Enforcer spun and fired a shot that missed the target, but the crowd pressed forward. The young man with a pipe slammed it against the Enforcer's helmet, staggering him. The Enforcer woman tried to keep them at a distance, but Jax darted in, disarming her with a single strike. Her rifle flew from her hand, and she stumbled back, looking up at Jax.

"Go," Jax said coldly, his blade pointed at her throat. The woman hesitated, then turned and ran, dragging her dazed partner with her.

The Zaunites watched them retreat, breathing heavily. The young man with the pipe let out a triumphant cheer, but the older man silenced him with a look. Jax sheathed his blade as the Enforcers fled into the shadows. Around him, the Zaunites slowly lowered their weapons. The older man stepped forward, his hand still clutching his bruised jaw, and met Jax's gaze.

"Thank you," the man said hoarsely. "Not sure how that would've ended if you hadn't stepped in."

Jax nodded silently. Before he could move to leave, one of the younger Zaunites, a skinny boy, stepped closer, his wide eyes fixed on the blade at Jax's back.

"Your sword," the boy said curiously. "It looks… weird. Where's it from?"

"A land far away," he replied simply.

The boy's curiosity deepened. "Far away? What are you doing in Zaun then? You don't look like you belong here."

Jax hesitated, his eyes scanning the group briefly. He reached down and picked up the crumpled poster the Enforcers had dropped. Smoothing it out, he revealed the crude sketch of the blue-haired girl with a manic grin.

"I'm looking for someone," Jax said, holding up the poster. "Her. I could use your help if you've seen her."

The older man's demeanor shifted instantly, and his expression darkened with suspicion. He took a step forward, shielding the younger Zaunites with his body as his eyes narrowed at Jax. "You one of the bounty hunters?" he asked.

"No," Jax said, shaking his head. "I'm just a friend."

The older man didn't seem convinced. He glanced at the poster again, then back at Jax. "We know nothing," was all he said.

Jax let the words hang in the air for a moment before nodding. "I understand," he said. "If you won't tell me, I won't force you. But be careful. The Enforcers will probably come back."

The older man's frown deepened, but he said nothing. The younger Zaunites exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier excitement dampened by the tension. Jax turned to leave, but before he could disappear into the shadows, the older man called out.

"Wait," he said. Jax paused, glancing over his shoulders. The man hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, then sighed heavily. "If you're really her friend, then you probably know what she's capable of. That girl… she's dangerous. Being around her means being around the worst kind of trouble."

Jax turned fully toward the man. "What'd she do?"

"She blew up the Council," he said. "Fired a damn rocket and destroyed their quarters. Killed half the members, too. No wonder why so many Enforcers are down here in the Lanes."

Jax absorbed the words, keeping his expression neutral. After a moment, he nodded. "Thank you," he said simply. Then he turned and began walking away. So it was true, then. What he'd overheard earlier that day wasn't just an exaggeration. She really was the one who fired the rocket. If Jax felt anything, it wasn't doubt or fear. It was urgency – a growing pressure in his chest, a reminder of why he was here. He had to find her, and fast.

He thought about the Noxians he had killed and the Enforcers he had driven away. Once, back before left Zaun, attacking an Enforcer was deemed unthinkable – an act reserved for the desperate or the reckless. But that was before the Fissures were swarming with Topsiders, before Piltover's grip extended so ruthlessly into Zaun's depths. And now, the Zaunites he had helped weren't alone in their defiance. He'd seen it – glimpses of rebellion flickering like embers all across the Undercity.

A few short days in Zaun, and he had already witnessed the change. Tense stares, the whispered exchanges, the weapons clutched by trembling hands. A storm was brewing. The war wasn't coming; it was already here, creeping closer with every skirmish, every act of resistance. And now, more than ever, he knew there was no stopping it.

And in the days he had spent down here, Jax had hoped – desperately, perhaps foolishly – to find Powder before it all escalated. Before Zaun's fragile balance tipped fully into chaos. But his search had been fruitless. All he had to show for his efforts were scraps of information, fragments that led nowhere. It was as if she were untraceable, a phantom moving through the depths of Zaun. Either no one knew anything, or they were too afraid, or too loyal – to speak.

He'd followed every lead he could scrape together, only to find dead ends. At the Rusted Anchor, a seedy tavern where workers whispered rumors over cheap drinks, the barkeep had simply shaken his head when Jax asked about a girl with wild blue hair. "Plenty of wild girls in Zaun," the man had grunted before turning back to his work, leaving Jax with nothing.

Another lead had taken him to an abandoned factory, its walls covered in chaotic graffiti that bore her style. He had scoured the place for clues – marks of her presence, some hint of where she might have gone – but the factory was empty, as lifeless as the rusting machines that filled it.

What he did learn about her came not from those who knew her, but from the aftermaths of her actions. Everywhere he went, people spoke of the loose cannon stirring trouble with Chem-Barons, the crime bosses and de facto rulers of Zaun. One whispered story told of how she had blown up an arms shipment belonging to one of the Barons, leaving nothing but twisted metal and scorched earth in her wake. Another described an ambush in the Lanes, where her wild laughter had echoed through the smog as her attackers were left scrambling in chaos.

It was chaos. That was one thing everyone agreed on. Powder – or Jinx, as she was now called – was a force of destruction, untethered and unstoppable. Her name carried fear, reverence, and anger in equal measure, depending on who spoke it. But none of it brought Jax any closer to her.

Jax tightened his grip on the crumpled poster in his hand, the crude sketch of her wild grin staring back at him. He didn't know how he would reach her, or what he would even say when he did. But he had to try. Because if the storm sweeping through Zaun consumed her before he could, there might be nothing left of the girl he once knew.

Desperate, Jax found himself following even the most unlikely of leads. And this time, the lead hadn't come from a reliable source – if there were any in Zaun at all. It had come from the broken whispers of a shimmer addict Jax had encountered in an alley. The man had been slumped against a wall, shaking with the aftereffects of recent dose.

"She was there… saw her, I did. Wild eyes, blue hair…" the man had muttered, his words barely comprehensible. "Laughs like she's got nothing to lose." Jax crouched beside him, holding out a flask of water, coaxing more out of him. "The factory down in the Sump. They didn't like that she was down there. Not one bit."

It wasn't much to go on, but it was enough.

The descent into the Sump felt like stepping into another world – one more dangerous, toxic, and alive with desperation. A world within the world, the Sump was a place so far removed from the surface that it felt like the bottom of an endless bit. It wasn't just dark – it was utterly devoid of light, save for the faint, unnatural glow of leaking liquids and the occasional flicker of lanterns.

Jax pulled his hood tighter over his head as he moved down the rusted staircases and rickety platforms that spiraled into the depths. The air grew heavier with every step, thick with the stench of rot, chemicals, and decay. He coughed into the crook of his arm, the tang of shimmer residue burning his throat. The Sump wasn't just polluted – it was poisoned, a graveyard of industrial waste and shattered lives.

He remembered coming here when he was younger. Back then, he had scavenged for scraps of metal for his inventions, picking through rusted debris and avoiding the larger gangs who claimed territory in the deeper levels. It had been dangerous then, but now? Now it was something else entirely.

The descent was treacherous. Jax almost tripped several times on pipes that jutted out at awkward angles, dripping foul-smelling liquids into shallow pools below. The ground was uneven, a mix of rusted grates, broken concrete, and slick patches of unidentifiable sludge. He stepped carefully, jumping over deeper puddles. Every sound seemed amplified – the creak of metal underfoot, the distant hum of machinery, the occasional clatter of debris falling into unseen depths.

As he descended further, the Sump came alive. Shadows shifted along the walls, revealing figures lurking in the periphery. They were gaunt, hollow-eyed people who seemed more like specters than living beings. Addicts, mostly, their bodies ravaged by this shimmer or other substances. But mostly shimmer. They huddled in small groups or slumped against the walls, muttering to themselves or staring blankly into the void. Some watched him pass with dull, glassy eyes, while others whispered in hushed tones, their words incoherent and fragmented.

Jax felt their stares like daggers pressing against his back. He kept one hand closer to the hilt of his sword, ready for the moment desperation turned into violence. But they didn't move. They were too far gone, their spirits as broken as the world around them.

The deeper he went, the worse it became. Jax paused at a narrow platform, glancing down at the depths below. The hum of machinery was louder now. He could feel the vibrations, steady like a heartbeat. This was the Sump's lifeblood – the shimmer factories, hidden deep within its bowels. He pressed on towards his destination. The faint violet glow that bathed the pipes and walls gave way to a more intense light ahead. It pulsed faintly, leaking through the edge of a crumbling concrete structure – the shimmer factory he was looking for.

Jax stopped at the edge of the building. The front door, a thick slab of reinforced steel, hung precariously from its hinges, smashed inward with brutal force. Whoever had done this had no interest in stealth. Jax hesitated, looking around the area. There were no guards stationed at the entrance – odd, given what he knew about the Chem-Barons' obsession with control. He moved forward, stepping through the smashed door into the building.

Inside, chaos greeted him. The main floor stretched out before him, filled with massive shimmer vats bubbling faintly under overhead lights. The air was thick with smoke, swirling in a ghostly fog that made his eyes burn. The smoke threw him in a heavy fit of cough that almost dropped him to his knees. He crouched beside one of the unconscious gangsters, carefully turning the man onto his side. His fingers found the clasp of the gas mask strapped tightly around the man's face. With a quick motion, he unlatched the lower piece and pulled it free.

The mask was stained and battered, but it was intact. Jax fitted it over his own face, the seal clicking into place with a faint hiss. He took a tentative breath, and the difference was immediate. Relief flooded through him, the sharp pain in his chest easing with every inhale. The world felt steadier now, and less suffocating. He took a look around himself, and found more gangsters scattered throughout the room – many of them alive.

Some slumped against crates or walls, their heads lolling as they coughed violently. Others lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious, their chests rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. A few groaned faintly, clutching their sides or heads as if they'd been beaten senseless.

Jax moved cautiously through the factory, his boots crunching over shards of broken glass and splintered wood. The metallic tang of blood and chemicals lingered in the air, mixing with the sound of breathing and faint groans. He tried to piece together what had happened. Crates had been overturned, raw materials spilling everywhere, and several of the shimmer vats had been damaged, releasing their toxic contents into the air.

He crouched near one of the gangsters, a younger man coughing so hard he could barely sit upright. "What happened here?" Jax asked.

The gangster didn't respond, his glassy eyes staring blankly into the distance. Jax stood and moved further inside, where the damage seemed worse. At the center of the room, he spotted a figure slumped against a crate, still conscious but barely struggling.

Jax approached carefully, stepping around another unconscious body. As he drew closer, the man groaned, weakly trying to push himself upright. Blood trickled from a shallow cut on his temple.

"What happened?" Jax asked again, his voice calm but edged with urgency. He crouched beside the man, trying to appear less threatening.

The gangster blinked at him, his eyes red and watery from the smoke. "It… all went to hell," he rasped, barely able to speak. "They came…"

"Who?" Jax pressed. "A girl with blue hair?"

The man squinted at him, recognition flickering across his face. "Jinx?" he croaked.

Jax leaned closer. "Was she here? Did she do this?"

The gangster coughed violently, his body shaking with effort. "She came… asked about boss Volkage…" he managed. "Roughed the place up and then left. Not long after…" He coughed again, struggling to continue. "They came…"

Jax frowned. "Who?"

Before the man could answer, a faint click echoed through the room, sharp and unmistakable – the sound of a rifle being cocked. The gangster's eyes shifted past Jax's shoulder, widening with fear. Jax froze, every muscle in his body tensing. Slowly, he straightened, his hand brushing against an overturned bucket lying near his foot. The faint remnants of a viscous green liquid clung to its edges, pooling on the floor beneath it. He picked it up.

"I got another one," a distorted voice called through the smoke, echoing ominously from somewhere behind him.

Jax didn't turn immediately, the weight of an unseen rifle aimed at his back pinning him in place. His grip on the bucket tightened. But then, in one swift motion, he spun around, hurling the bucket through the dense haze. It flew toward a silhouette barely visible in the smoke.

The rifle fired just as Jax ducked low, the shot zipping past where his head had been a split second earlier. The bucket struck the figure squarely, the impact staggering them. Wasting no time, Jax lunged forward, slamming into the figure and knocking them to the ground. A muffled grunt escaped from the attacker as they struggled beneath him.

Jax barely had a moment to recover before the sound of footsteps to his right made him twist instinctively. He rolled to the side, just in time to avoid a massive fist that crashed into the wall beside him. The impact was explosive, sending shards of concrete and metal flying. The wall groaned under the force, nearly collapsing.

He scrambled backward, his heart pounding. Through the stinging smoke, he could make out more silhouettes moving in the haze, their distorted forms shifting like specters. His burning eyes made it impossible to see clearly, the figures seeming to loom larger and more menacing with every second.

"Damn it," Jax cursed under his breath, turning around and dashing away. His boots slipped slightly on the slick floor, but he recovered quickly, sprinting toward the far end of the factory floor.

"I got him!" a distorted female voice shouted from behind. Footsteps thundered after him, echoing in the corridors.

Jax didn't look back. He darted through the smoke-filled hallways, his lungs burning even through the mask. As he ascended a creaking staircase, the air grew thinner, the oppressive haze easing slightly. He reached the second floor, where the smoke hung lighter in the air, and spotted his change – a window at the end of the hallway.

The footsteps behind him were closing in, but Jax sprinted for the window, his eyes fixed on his escape. He leaped at it without hesitation, shielding his head with his arms as he smashed through the brittle glass. Shards scattered in every direction, and Jax landed on a lower rooftop with a hard thud, rolling to absorb the impact. He pushed himself up and kept running. The air was clearer here, but the darkness was no less oppressive. The faint glimmers of toxic green and violet light from below painted the scene in a sickly hue.

He glanced back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the figure chasing him – a shadowy form darting across the rooftops with great speed and almost feral movements.

Jax pushed himself even harder, leaping over a gap between two buildings. The rooftop he landed on almost collapsed under his weight. He stumbled slightly but regained his footing, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. Another glance back revealed the figure still in pursuit, gaining ground.

She was relentless. Every time he thought he had widened the gap, he heard the thud of her boots closing in. Another leap took him onto a slanted roof, and he slid briefly before digging his heels in and sprinting again.

The rooftops grew narrower, the gaps between them more perilous. He jumped again, barely making the next ledge, his fingers gripping the edge before he hauled himself up. Behind him, the figure followed effortlessly, vaulting the gap as if it were nothing. Jax gritted his teeth, frustration building. His pursuer was not just skilled. The way she moved, the determination in her pursuit, it reminded him of someone.

He veered sharply, taking a path that led him toward a cluster of pipes jutting out from the side of a large structure. His boots slipped on the damp metal as he climbed, his hands gripping the corroded surface tightly. He reached the top and bolted again, weaving between vents and abandoned equipment scattered across the rooftops.

Another glance back. She was still there. He approached another gap, far wider than the ones he'd vaulted before. Too wide to leap – he needed something more. Without breaking stride, he reached under his poncho, pulling out his grappling hook.

He aimed quickly, firing the hook toward a rusted pipe from the far side of the gap. The hook shot forward with a metallic hiss, the rope trailing behind it. It latched onto the pipe with a satisfying clang.

He jumped, gripping the rope tightly as he swung into the void. The air rushed past him, the dim lights of the Sump below creating a sickly blur of green and violet. His momentum carried him across, and for a moment, it seemed he would make it.

But just as his feet touched the far ledge, something slammed into him with the force of a freight train. Jax's body hit the rooftop hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs. His grappling hook slipped from his grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground. Before he could react, a heavy weight pinned him down.

"Got you!" a voice called, distorted slightly by the haze of adrenaline and the mask she wore.

Jax struggled beneath the weight, his hands pressing against the rough rooftop to push himself up, but the figure atop him was not letting up. He twisted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her – a flash of pink hair, wild and untamed, framing fierce eyes visible through the goggles. His eyes narrowed, but there was no time to dwell on it. Her hands, a huge metal gauntlets, pressed down on his shoulders, pinning him securely. One of those massive fists hovered inches across his face, ready to strike if he made a wrong move.

"Stop struggling," she snarled. "You're not going anywhere."

Jax struggled under her weight, twisting and straining to break free. But she slammed him harder onto the roof. Her gauntlet pressed against his back like an iron vice, keeping him pinned.

"Nice sword," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Bet it's more for a show than anything else."

Jax gritted his teeth, wiggling against her grip. As she raised her massive fist, preparing to strike, he seized the moment. Timing his move perfectly, he twisted sharply, using the momentum to slip out from under her arm just as her gauntlet came rushing down where he'd been. The impact cracked the rooftop beneath them.

In one fluid motion, Jax rolled to his feet and unsheathed his sword. He held it in an offensive stance, his body low and balanced, the blade steady in his grip.

She chuckled. "Finally," she said, taking a step back and raising her fists. "Let's see what that thing can do."

Jax's eyes flicked to her gauntlets as she shifted into a boxing stance. The massive, reinforced metal looked brutal. The inner mechanisms hissed faintly, tiny vents releasing bursts of steam as she clenched her fists. They weren't just weapons—they were a force of destruction, capable of crushing steel or snapping his blade in half.

Jax didn't wait. He lunged forward, closing the gap with a swift strike. She moved to block, her gauntlets meting his blade with a clang. Sparks flew as the two clashed, her gauntlets deflecting his slices with ease. Jax darted and spun, staying just out of reach of her counterattacks. Her swings were wide and heavy, each one carrying enough force to knock him out cold if it connected.

She wasn't just blocking, though – she was trying to grab his sword. Her gauntlets moved with precision, attempting to catch the blade mid-swing. Jax didn't doubt for a second that if she got hold of it, she could snap it like a twig. He changed his approach, feinting an opening. He shifted his stance slightly, letting his guard drop just enough to bait her in. And she took the chance, lunging forward with her gauntlets outstretched.

Jax moved faster. As she committed to the attack, he sidestepped and aimed his sword upward, slashing cleanly. The blade sliced through the strap of her mask, sending it spinning to the ground. She stopped, stunned for just a moment, her face now fully exposed. Jax twisted his body, spinning into position for a follow-up strike, his sword poised to finish the fight.

But as his eyes met hers, he froze. He felt as if something hit him like a lightning bolt, stopping him mid-swing. He jumped back, putting distance between them.

The pink-haired girl stared at him, her expression a mix of surprise and frustration. She wiped her face quickly, as if brushing off the vulnerability of the moment. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Afraid to fight back now?"

Jax didn't respond immediately, his grip on his sword faltering. He knew her. And now, he couldn't bring himself to strike.

"Vi?"

A Sister's Burden

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Vi?"

She froze, frowning in confusion. Jax's mind was going wild, his former life flashing back all at once. Vi – Powder's older sister – stood right there in front of him. Alive. Not a ghost of the past, but very much alive and changed. Her features were sharper, more mature, her frame taller and built with hardened muscle. A small tattoo was visible on her cheek, and another one curled around the side of her neck. Her stance radiated strength, the massive gauntlets on her fists only adding to her imposing aura.

"And you are?" Vi asked, raising the gauntlets closer to her face, her posture shifting into a defensive stance.

Jax exhaled shakily, slowly lowering his blade. His left moved to the lower section of his gas mask, fingers finding the clasps. With a faint click and hiss, he removed the piece, revealing his face. Vi studied him with narrowed eyes, still tense, no recognition on her face. Then her eyes widened, the shift sudden and raw.

"Jax?"

Jax opened his mouth, but the words stuck like stone in his throat.

"No," Vi muttered, disbelief dripping from her voice. "It can't be. Jax died." Her eyes never left him, though her fists loosened, the gauntlets lowering slightly.

He shook his head. "It's me, Vi. I didn't die. I just… left."

"But how?" she demanded, the edge of her tone cracking. "I saw your home. It was burned to the ground. They found a body in the rubble. How could you–?"

"I'll explain everything," Jax cut in, his voice soft but urgent. "Right now–"

Vi crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, standing inches from him. Her gauntlets thudded against the rooftop as they dropped from her hands, releasing her fists with a sharp hiss. She reached out, gripping his chin firmly, tilting his face toward her. Her gaze searched his features, disbelief melting into something fragile.

"You look older…" she murmured, her fingers brushing against his jaw. Her eyes flicked up at his hair, and her eyebrows furrowed. "But it's you. Shit… it's really you. You're alive."

Jax tried again to speak, but his voice faltered as Vi's hands moved to his shoulders. She pulled him into a crushing embrace, her strength undeniable. The gesture left him stunned, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides as his mind tried to keep up.

"You stupid idiot," she muttered into his shoulder. "Where the hell have you been all this time?"

When she finally released him, Jax took a deep breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "I… had to leave," he said hesitantly.

"What do you mean you had to leave? Whose body was in your place?"

A shadow flickered across Jax's expression as memories surged. The cultist – an eerie figure more phantom than man – had appeared in his workshop in the night of the fire. In the chaos, Jax – or something else entirely – had killed him. To this day, he had no clear answers, only fragments of a truth too strange to explain or to understand.

"Long story," he began cautiously, "but… something happened that night. Something I didn't understand, but I knew enough to make me leave. I didn't plan on coming back, but then I heard things were bad here, and I just couldn't ignore it. I had to come back. I had to see if everyone – if Powder – was okay."

Vi listened in silence, her eyes locked on his. When he finished, she remained quiet for a moment. Her face was unreadable.

Finally, she broke the silence. "So, you're saying you left on purpose?"

Jax nodded slowly. "Something like that, yeah."

Whatever reaction he'd braced for, it wasn't the blow that followed. Her punch connected with startling force, snapping his head back and sending him sprawling onto the rooftop. The world spun as pain exploded across his face, and he barely managed to process the sheer power behind the strike.

"Idiot," Vi muttered, her voice tight, fists clenched at her sides.

Jax rubbed his chin, still stinging from the punch, and accepted the hand Vi offered to help him up.

"Sorry," she said with a sigh, her voice softer now. "I just… sorry."

Jax shrugged, wincing as he massaged his sore jaw, as if trying to shift it back into place. She's got stronger. A lot. "I probably deserved that."

Vi's lips curled into a faint, apologetic grin, and she have a half-shrug. Jax waved off the tension between them, his curiosity shimmering beneath the surface. "So," she said, "you were looking for her in the factory?"

"Yeah," Jax replied, straightening his posture. "My lead pointed me there. I was hoping to find something useful, maybe even her, but there was nothing. Just those goons and…" His voice faltered, and his expression shifted, sudden and accusing. "…Enforcers," he finished, his voice tinged with suspicion. "Why were you with the Enforcers, Vi?"

Vi exhaled heavily, running a hand through her pink hair, looking away. The sound of footsteps rumbled across the neighboring rooftop, interrupting her answer. A figure leapt across the gap, landing lightly between them. She moved quickly, raising a rifle and aiming it at Jax.

"Drop your sword!" she commanded.

Jax's instincts flared, and he raised his sword defensively. His eyes darted to her weapon, her finger poised near the trigger. He recognized her voice instantly – calm, authoritative, and no longer muffled and distorted by the mask. It was the same Enforcer he had tackled in the factory.

Now, without her mask, her face was fully visible. She was young, likely in her early twenties, with sharp features. Her dark blue hair tied neatly back in a ponytail, and her piercing blue eyes locked onto him. Jax could feel her assessing every twitch of his muscles, and he knew that even the slightest misstep would make her pull the trigger. He doubted he'd make her miss two times in a row.

"Drop it," she repeated. Just the tone of her voice made it obvious. This woman was not just a soldier – she was a leader.

Before he could fully comply, Vi stepped forward and placed a hand on the rifle, pushing it down gently.

"It's okay, Caitlyn," she said. "He's a friend."

The young woman – Caitlyn – hesitated, frowning as she glanced between the two of them. "You sure? What was he doing down at the factory?"

Vi faltered for a moment. "He was… looking for my sister."

"Why?"

Not letting Vi answer for him, Jax stepped forward, trying to appear calm. "She's important to me," he said, meeting the Enforcer's gaze directly.

Caitlyn studied him for several long moments which made Jax feel uncomfortable. "You with her?"

"No. I just came back to Zaun."

"And where were you?" Caitlyn was persistent.

"Away," Jax said flatly, not offering more.

Finally, Caitlyn exhaled, lowering her rifle completely, but her eyes betrayed the tension that remained. More footsteps rumbled as three figures appeared on the rooftop, moving quickly to join Caitlyn and Vi. Each of them carried an air of tension, their eyes darting toward Jax as soon as they spotted him.

The first to approach was a freckled young woman with cropped orange hair that fell just past her chin. She wore a uniform similar to the rest of them. Not a typical Enforcer uniform, but slightly altered, as though designed for a special mission. She addressed Caitlyn with a formal tone. "Captain," she said. "The threat in the factory has been completely neutralized. No casualties on our side." Caitlyn simply nodded to her report.

The other two who followed were a large man with tanned skin and brown hair, his beard styled in mutton chops and a small goatee. The rest of his features, golden brown eyes and a wide nose strangely reminded Jax of Vander. The other one, just as tall, was not human. In many ways he reminded Jax of a Vastaya with his green skin, gil-like markings on his jaw and pointy eyes. Jax swallowed, his inner instincts telling him to brace for a fight. He felt the weight of their stares, crushing down on him like a physical force. These weren't just ordinary Enforcers.

Caitlyn's eyes flickered briefly to the newcomers. "Stand down," she said.

The orange-haired woman nodded slightly. The other two didn't move, and kept their stares trained on Jax who shifted uncomfortably. Sure, Vi was with them, but he didn't trust any of them. And the fact that Vi was with the Enforcers set Jax on edge. Some things have changed in the years he'd been away, but it was still the place where he was born, the place that shaped him in so many way. And some things – like the tension between Zaunites and the Enforcers – never changed.

Caitlyn leveled her gaze at Jax. "You need to come with us."

Jax stiffened, "I'd rather not," he replied flatly.

"You don't have a choice," she said, her rifle resting in a lowered but ready position. "We're not going to hurt you."

Jax let out a dry chuckle. "Right, like you didn't hurt those gangoons in the factory?" he said sarcastically.

Her jaw stiffened, but her tone remained calm. "They attacked us first."

"She's telling the truth," Vi added. "We didn't go in looking for a fight. We just wanted answers."

Caitlyn nodded. "That's all we're looking for from you, too. Just a few questions."

Jax hesitated, but he knew he was outnumbered and outmatched. "Fine," he muttered. "But I'm not going anywhere. If you have questions, ask them here."

"Fair enough," Caitlyn said. "Let's keep it simple. Tell me everything you know about her. Everything you know about Jinx."

x

Jinx, cloaked in the shadows of her hood, tracked the Enforcer patrol as they marched past. She stayed still, leaned against the wall, until they disappeared around the corner.

The patrols had gotten worse – more frequent, and now that they were bolstered by Noxian soldiers, more aggressive and violent. Jinx's lips twisted into a bitter smile. This is what your nation of Zaun has been reduced to, she thought, Silco's face flashing in her mind. His cold eyes, calculating smirk, the way he spoke of a future where Zaun stood unbowed. Would things have been different if you were here?

Silco wouldn't have let the Chem-Barons tear each other apart like rabid dogs. He'd have crushed any hint of rebellion beneath his iron will. She could almost see him now, his silhouette rising above the chaos, orchestrating the moves. He wouldn't just be fighting off the Enforcers – he'd be leading a revolution.

Jinx frowned, tugging her hood lower as another group of patrolling soldiers passed. Silco had always kept his past close to his chest, but Jinx knew enough. He'd been a revolutionary once, back when he and Vander had fought side by side, before the betrayals and the bloodshed. He never spoke much about it—he preferred to focus on the present—but she'd seen it in his eyes, in the way he talked about Zaun's freedom like it was a debt owed in blood.

A spark of anger flared in her chest, but she pushed it aside. Zaun was rotting, its people crushed under Enforcer boots and Noxian banners. Silco was gone, Vander was gone, and Zaun was on its own. Her plans were different.

Jinx slipped through the Lanes like a shadow, darting into alleyways each time a patrol came into view. Every time she pressed herself against a wall, waiting for the clatter of boots to fade, her mind wandered back to the moment she blew up the Council chambers. At the time, it had felt like the answer to everything – an act of rebellion, a declaration of freedom. Exactly what Silco would've wanted.

But now?

Now she couldn't help but wonder if it had all gone wrong because of her. The chaos, the violence, the streets crawling with Enforcers and Noxians – was this what she'd unleashed? Was this also her fault, on top of everything else?

She remembered the whispers she'd overheard in the Lanes earlier – a couple of Noxians found killed. Whoever had done it had made a mess, leaving a calling card for the Topside to press down on Zaun even more. Jinx had nothing to do with it, but she knew exactly how the story would play out.

"They'll probably say I did that too," she muttered to herself, her mouth twitching into a humorless smirk. "Like it's always me, huh? Blame Jinx for the mess, 'cause she's the crazy one." It amused her.

It was then when she noticed, a head peeking out of the corner, looking right at her. She noticed the girl even before, but paid no mind to her. She was following her for a while now. It all started a few days ago.

"Y'know," Jinx called over her shoulder, "if you're tryin' to tail me, you gotta do better than that."

The small girl stepped right in the center of her vision.

Jinx groaned loudly. "Ugh, why are you still following me? What, you think I'm your guardian angel or somethin' cause I saved your butt earlier?" She stomped over, glaring down at the wide-eyed girl. "Look, kid, I–"

A loud growl interrupted her, and it wasn't from Jinx. She stopped mid-rant and tilted her head. The girl's hands clutched her stomach as it let out another, pitiful growl.

Jinx blinked. "Seriously?" she muttered, glancing at the girl's dirt-smeared face and thin frame. She wore a hat with goggles stretched over it. "Fine. Whatever. Come with me."

Jinx guided the girl through the winding shortcuts between the buildings, sticking to the narrow, hidden paths. It was safer that way. The marketplace was quieter than usual, only a handful of stalls open and even fewer buyers wandering the grimy streets. The familiar scent of fried scraps and cheap spices filled their nostrils.

Jinx led the girl to a stall she knew well, one that hadn't changed in years. Old Grimrose was still there, hunched and scowling as she tended her bubbling pots next to her stall of trinkets. The old woman was like a stubborn weed, rooted deep in the grime of Zaun, surviving everything life threw her way. She barely looked up as Jinx slapped a few coins onto the counter. "Give me somethin' good. And, like, fast."

Old Grimrose grunted, ladling a thick, soupy concoction into a dented bowl. She handed it over a mutter, her glare boring into Jinx. Jinx grabbed the bowl and turned back to the girl.

"Here," she said, thrusting the food into the girl's hands.

The girl hesitated for a moment before digging in with her fingers, stuffing her mouth full of the hearty, spicy stew. Jinx watched as the girl ate with surprising speed, sauce smearing around her lips.

"You're not big on talking, huh?" Jinx mused, sitting cross-legged on a crate nearby. The girl didn't answer, just glanced at her with big, curious eyes.

Jinx leaned back, crossing her arms. "Look, just 'cause I pulled you out of that mess with those goons doesn't mean I'm adopting you or whatever, arlight? I don't do the whole… babysitting thing. Not my thing. Stop following me."

The girl didn't respond. She just glared at Jinx with that same blank expression, her mouth still full of food.

Jinx frowned. "What'd you ever do to piss those guys off, huh?" she asked. "Steal something? Blow something up?" She smirked at the thought. "Actually, if it's the second one, maybe you're not so bad after all."

The girl shrugged, then smiled innocently, her face now a mess of sauce and crumbs. The voices then surged in her mind, Milo's taunting words blended with Claggor's disappointed murmurs.

"Tick, tick, boom, Jinx."

"She's gonna end up just like us. You know it. You know it."

Their voices overlapped, incoherent, cutting through her thoughts like glass. Her temples throbbed. "Shut up…" she whispered, pressing her fingers against her forehead as if that could block them out. But they didn't stop. They never stopped. The words turned into snarls, laughter, and broken fragments of memories she didn't want to relive.

"SHUT UP!" she yelled, her voice raw, startling even herself.

The girl froze, staring up at Jinx with wide, unblinking eyes. Her small hands clutched the edge of her coat, uncertain and afraid. A few people that were at the marketplace stopped in their tracks to see who she was yelling at.

Jinx forced herself to take a breath, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady the storm inside. She glanced at the girl and shrugged it off with a strained smile. "Don't worry about it, kid. Wasn't talking to you."

She then flipped a couple of extra coins toward the girl, the metal clinking on the ground at her feet. "Here," she said with a grin. "For food, not gambling, got it?"

Before the girl could respond, Jinx's ears caught the distant but unmistakable sound of heavy boots on pavement. She tilted her head slightly, her grin fading as the rhythmic march of an Enforcer squad grew louder. Peeking over her shoulder, she spotted them – at least a dozen strong, moving in formation, with weapons glinting under the dim streetlights.

"Ah, crap," Jinx muttered under her breath, already calculating the best escape route. "Well, kid, time for me to skedaddle."

She turned to the girl, her grin flickering back to life, though it was tinged with urgency. "Stay outta trouble, and if anyone asks, you never saw me."

Without waiting for a reply, Jinx spun on her heel and darted into a nearby alleyway. Her steps were quick and quiet as she weaved through the narrow passages. Behind her, the clatter of Enforcer boots grew fainter as she slipped deeper into the maze of Zaun's underbelly.

She burst out of the alley into the Lanes that stretched out before her, but she had no time to strategize. Her hood fell down while she ran, and that was enough. A sharp voice cut through the air behind her.

"There! That's her! Jinx!"

Her heart skipped a beat as another Enforcer patrol rounded the corner, their rifles gleaming, and in a blink, they were chasing her.

"Great, just what I needed," Jinx muttered, launching herself into a full sprint. If she had her machine gun with her, she might've even sprayed a few bullets at them. That would've been fun.

"Stop! You're under arrest!" one of them bellowed, their heavy boots pounding behind her. She zigzagged through the Lanes, ducking under rusted pipes and vaulting over debris. She kept her movements quick and instinctive, her mind half-focused on the sounds of pursuit behind her. But as she rounded a corner, her eyes flicked up, catching silhouettes in the shadows above.

Figures were perched on the rooftops, barely visible against the smog-dimmed sky. Her eyes caught the glint of metal weaponry strapped to their side. They weren't Enforcers, or Noxians. These were Zaunites.

Jinx's recognized the wiry frame and slouched posture of one figure in particular. "Smeech," she said under her breath, her lips curling into a mix of a grin and a grimace. His crew flanked him, watching her from above.

"You're just gonna watch?" she muttered, leaping over a toppled crate. She cast a quick glance upward as she ran, locking eyes with the Chem-Baron for a brief moment, remembering their earlier encounter when she crashed the meeting. He tilted his head slightly, like he was considering something. Then, with a slight hand gesture, he motioned to his crew. Jinx couldn't tell if he was signaling them to join in the chase, or to vanish. Either way, she wasn't sticking to find out.

With a burst of speed, she vaulted onto a stack of crates and scrambled up to a narrow rooftop path. The Enforcers followed from below, shouting orders and aiming their weapons. They weren't giving up easily as more voice called out her name. The familiar sound of a rifle being cocked reached her ears, and she instinctively ducked just as a bullet whizzed past her head, embedding itself in the wall ahead.

"Hey! Watch the hair!" she yelled, patting her braid mockingly as she picked up speed.

She needed to lose them – and fast. She didn't like her chances against Enforcer and Smeech's gang at the same time. Her eyes darted around for an escape route. A twisted bridge of pipes loomed ahead, leading to a narrow gap between two buildings. If she could reach it, she'd be out of sight in seconds.

With one final burst of speed, Jinx launched herself onto the pipes, her arms pinwheeling for balance. Behind her, the Enforcers hesitated, unwilling to risk the same path. Jinx turned around, balancing on the edge. She gave them a cheeky salute, her grin wide and defiant. "Better luck next time!"

Then she was gone, slipping into the maze of alleys and rooftops where no Enforcer dared to follow. The chase was over — for now. But as she caught her breath, her grin faltered. The heat was getting worse, and the Lanes were growing more dangerous by the day. And with Smeech on her tail as well, this was going to be a long night.

x

Jax stood silently in front of the cracked window, his gaze fixed on the scene below. Two addicts were scuffling in the middle of the street, fighting over a vial of shimmer. He watched their frantic movements, but it was as if he didn't truly see them, or the toxicity of the Sump surrounding them all. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in the events of the past hour.

That Enforcer, Caitlyn Kiramman, had been thorough with her questioning. Methodical, quick to the point, and very much a Piltovan through and through. Most of it had been about Powder – or Jinx, as Caitlyn had called her. Where she was, what he knew, whether he had any leads. Standard playbook questions. But it wasn't those that had unsettled him.

Some of the questions had been about him. His purpose, his movements, his reasons for being in Zaun after all this time. Why he'd left in the first place. Those questions stuck deeper, making him shift uneasily at the time. Under Caitlyn's watchful eye and Vi's obvious curiosity, he'd managed to avoid giving any concrete answers, deflecting with vague replies and half-truths. But she had been true to her word. When the questioning was over, she let him go.

Footsteps approached, and Jax barely registered Vi stepping up beside him until her reflection appeared faintly on the dirty glass. She stopped next to him, shoulders relaxed but her posture watchful, as if she still hadn't quite decided whether to leave him alone or press further.

"That Enforcer… You two seemed close during that interrogation."

Vi stiffened slightly, her shoulders tensing before she let out a short laugh. "What gave it away? The way she grilled you, or the way she kept throwing me looks when I tried to help you out?"

"A little o both," Jax admitted with a smile. "She seems different. Not like the other Enforcers I've run into."

Vi rubbed the back of her neck "Yeah, well, Cait's… she's not your typical Enforcer. She's a Topsider, sure, but she doesn't have that stick-up-their-ass like most of them do. She actually listens, tries to understand things down here. That's more than I can say for most of them."

Jax raised an eyebrow, studying her carefully. "Sounds like you two have been through a lot."

Vi's gaze dropped for a moment before she shrugged. "You could say that. She helped get me out of the Stillwater. Didn't have to, but she did. After that, I guess we kidn of stuck together."

Jax's smirk deepened, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "Stuck together, huh?"

Vi just grinned and punched him in the shoulder playfully. Standing side by side, it was impossible not to notice the difference in their heights. Vi glanced up at him, tilting her head slightly as she measured the top of his head against her line of sight. "Damn," she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You've grown tall."

Her words were lighthearted, an attempt to diffuse the tension left over from Caitlyn's interrogation.

Jax exhaled softly, his grip tightening briefly on the windowsill. "And you're an Enforcer," he said with a hint of curiosity, glancing sideways to her.

Vi rubbed her forehead and exhaled. "That's… a long story," she said, suddenly appearing more exhausted. "But I promise – it's not what it looks like."

"What is it then?" Jax asked, turning to face her fully. "You're standing with them, Vi. The Topsiders. I mean… it's not exactly what I expected from you."

Vi's shoulders stiffened slightly, but she didn't snap back. "Yeah, well, life's full of surprises," she said dryly. She leaned against the windowsill, her fingers idly tracing the cracks in the frame. "It's not like I wanted this. Do you think I like working with Piltover?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "It's not about them. I just want to do the right thing, try to keep things from getting worse."

Jax's brow furrowed as he studied her, her tone softening. "Look, I'm not in a place to judge you. I left Zaun for years, after all."

Vi's expression softened slightly, and she gave him a brief, sympathetic look. "Yeah, you did," she said, not unkindly.

Jax exhaled and glanced back out the window. "What happened to Zaun? It's worse than I've ever seen."

Vi sighed, leaning against the windowsill as her gaze drifted to the chaos below. "It started a while ago, but reached its peak not too long ago, when this Noxian warlord showed up. Lady Ambessa Medarda and her whole retinue."

Jax tilted his head, the name tickling at his memory. He tried to place it, but it danced just out of reach. Was she one of the warlords that fought in Ionia? Perhaps with the main host? He was not sure. "Ambessa Medarda…" her repeated slowly. "What's a Noxian warlord doing in Piltover? I doubt she's here on a missionary work," he joked, though his tone lacked humor.

Vi smirked faintly, shaking her head. "Ambessa? Hah, not in a million years. She's here because of her daughter. Mel Medarda, she's on the Council. Whatever her reasons for coming to Piltover, I'd bet my last coin it's got something to do with her daughter's seat of power. Or the fact that Mel's one of the most influential people in the city."

"I see," Jax muttered. "Whatever the reason, they're not exactly doing charity work down here. If anything, the Noxians are worse than the Enforcers. At least the Enforcers try to look like they're playing by the rules. The Noxians don't bother pretending – they're willing to kill."

Vi nodded grimly. "You're not wrong," she said. "But people aren't rolling over. I've seen signs that some are fighting back. Just today, there were reports of two dead Noxians in the Lanes."

Jax shifted awkwardly, glancing away for a moment. "Really? Well… I guess Zaunites are getting tired of being stomped on."

Vi shot him a sharp, serious look, her gaze flicking briefly to the hilt of his sword. "Zaunites, huh? Funny, because the Enforcer that survived the attack told Caitlyn and me about a man with a curved sword. Not many of those in Zaun, right Jax?"

Jax rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words under her gaze full of accusation. "They almost killed a family, Vi," he said finally, his tone steady but defensive.

She sighed, glancing over her shoulder toward the door, as if making sure they were alone. Then she looked back at him. "I'm not going to tell Caitlyn, though I think she'll piece it out herself soon. She's seen your sword. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I've been all over the place," Jax said and grinned.

"Alright, big guy, you'll tell me later. But you need to understand what this means. Topsiders will use this as an excuse to crack down on us even harder. More squads, more soldiers. It's only a matter of time before they take complete control of Zaun."

Jax nodded slowly, letting the weight of her words sink in. "And Powder? Weren't they all looking for her?"

Vi's shoulder tensed at the mention of her sister. She took a deep breath before answering. "Yes. They are. Do you know how many people want her dead? Topsiders, Zaunites. Everyone. She's painted a target on herself with everything she's done."

"All the more reason for me to find her first," Jax said, glancing briefly toward the door, but he hesitated. He wasn't ready to go. Not yet. He turned back to Vi. "What really happened, Vi? After I left Zaun, I mean. I know people died, but I need to hear it from you. All of it. From the beginning."

She hesitated one more moment, then nodded, exhaling shakily as she began to speak. "It all started with Vander. He was trying to keep Zaun out of the crossfire, keep things from boiling from Piltover. He wanted peace, Jax – real peace. But not everyone agreed with him. There were people in the Lanes who thought he wasn't doing enough. That he got soft." She paused. "And then Silco came along. He was one of those people. He didn't just want Zaun to survive – he wanted it to rise, to fight, to win. But he knew Vander wouldn't back him. Not after that first war with the Topside. He wouldn't let Zaun become what Silco wanted. So Silco made a move to take him out."

Vi's gaze hardened. "Silco's men captured Vander. Benzo was with him, they killed him. Ekko saw it happen and told us. I got Mylo and Claggor with me to try and save Vander. But Silco was ready for us. He had his men, his shimmer, his plans. We got trapped." Her voice grew quieter, more fragile. "Powder… she thought she could help. She wasn't supposed to be there, but she followed up. She built this… this bomb. Thought it would save us." Vi let out a shaky breath. "It didn't. It was too powerful. The explosion brought everything down. Mylo and Claggor – they didn't make it out. And Vander… he pulled me out of the rubble, but Silco was waiting for him. Vander fought them… but he failed. Silco stabbed him right in front of me."

Jax's heart sank. "Powder… she killed them?"

Vi shook her head quickly. "She didn't mean to. She didn't know what she was doing. She thought she was helping us. But after that… everything fell apart. I was so angry, Jax. I said things I shouldn't have, and it broke her. She ran off. Right into Silco's arms."

"Silco?" Jax repeated, his fists tightening. "And you couldn't stop him?"

Vi shook her head. "I tried. Shit, I tried. But before I could get to her, the Enforcers caught me. They arrested me, dragged me off to Stillwater. I spent years in that hellhole while Powder was out here, turning into someone else. She's not Powder anymore. She's Jinx. That's what she calls herself now. And she's not… she's not the same girl you left behind. She's reckless, dangerous… broken. The things she's done, the people she's hurt…"

"And this Silco?" Jax asked. "Where is he now?"

"She killed him too."

Jax blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of her answer. "She killed him? Why?"

Vi exhaled slowly. "It's complicated. Their relationship was weird. To Powder – to Jinx – he was everything. He gave her what she thought she'd lost forever after Vander and I were gone. Someone who believed in her, and was there for her. At least I think so." Her voice softened slightly. "He wasn't a good man. He built his empire on shimmer, on war. He made Zaun darker, more dangerous. But to her, he was family. The only family she thought she had left.

Jax frowned, "Then why would she kill him?"

"I don't know exactly," she admitted. "But I think… I think she felt betrayed. That's the one thing she can't handle. Losing someone, feeling abandoned. And whatever he said, whatever he did that night… it was enough to push her over the edge."

"What happened?"

"She… she captured us," she began. "Me, Caitlyn, and Silco. Dragged us down to the Sump to some kind of twisted hideout she'd built – one of her little playgrounds. She tied us to these chairs, set up like it was a… a tea party. Like something she used to do when we were kids, only this one was all wrong. The table was cluttered with teacups, cracked plates, and oversized dolls that had been stitched together to resemble the people we lost."

Jax's face darkened. "She captured all of you?"

Vi nodded, "Yeah. She wanted me to choose, Jax. Between her and Caitlyn. Between her and Piltover. She kept saying I'd already abandoned her once, that I'd chosen Topsiders over her. She thought Caitlyn was trying to take me away from her, like Silco tried to take her away from me." Her voice wavered slightly as she stared out of the cracked window. "That night… I realized something. Something I should've seen a long time ago. I failed her. Not just that night, not just with the bomb or the fight with Silco. I failed her as a sister. I kept holding onto this idea of who se used to be. This sweet, hopeful, wide-eyed little girl who just wanted to help, to be part of something bigger. I couldn't let go of that version of her, no matter how much she'd changed. And because of that… I couldn't see who she really was. Who she was becoming. Powder needed me to accept her for who she was, but I couldn't. I kept clinging to someone who wasn't there anymore."

"I kept trying to bring her back to who she was, but that wasn't fair to her. That wasn't who she needed me to be. She needed someone who could understand her, who could meet her where she was. Instead, I pushed her away—kept trying to force her to be the girl I remembered. And when she couldn't… when she didn't…" Her fists clenched at her sides, trembling slightly. "I made her feel like she was the problem. Like she was broken. And maybe she was, but she wasn't broken in the way I thought. She wasn't broken because she wasn't Powder anymore. She was broken because I wasn't there for her. Because I didn't try to understand. That night, tied up in her little tea party with Caitlyn and Silco, I saw it so clearly. She wasn't just trying to hurt us. She was trying to make me see her. To force me to stop pretending she was still Powder. She wanted me to see Jinx."

She turned back to Jax, her expression raw with pain and regret. "Silco wanted her to embrace Jinx. She did, and she snapped. She pulled the trigger and shot him right there."

Jax's breath hitched, his mind racing to picture the scene. "And you? What happened to you and Caitlyn?"

Vi shook her head. "She let us go," she said quietly. "Not because she forgave me or anything. She wanted me to see what she'd become. And I did, Jax. I saw her. And all I could think was how much I'd failed her. I failed to protect her. Failed to guide her. Failed to love her for who she'd become, not who I wanted her to be." She glanced at Jax, her eyes hard. "And that rocket she fired at the Council? That was her grand finale. Her way of making sure I knew exactly who she is now. Chaos. Destruction. Jinx."

Jax was silent for a long moment. "I don't care that she's different," he finally shot back. He reached toward his shirt and pulled out the pendant, holding it up for her. "See this? This was the only thing that kept me going when I went through hell. The only reminder of what I left behind. Something that mattered to me. Something that still matters."

Vi's eyes widened. "Isn't that…" she started, her voice catching. She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. She remembered. "You still have it?"

Jax nodded, his grip tightening around the pendant. "Do you understand now, Vi? I have to find her. No matter how much has changed, no matter how different she is… she's still Powder. I won't stop until I find her. "

Vi turned away, her shoulders slumping. "She doesn't want to be saved, Jax. She's too far gone. Powder's gone. Jinx is all that's left."

"Is that why you joined the Enforcers, then?" Jax asked accusingly. "To put her down?"

"No!" Vi's voice exploded as she smashed the side of her fist against the wall. The impact sent a shudder through the already fractured surface, dust falling in thin streams to the floor. She kept her fist there for a moment, her breathing heavy.

"There's no turning back now, Jax," she said. Her tone was laden with bitterness and sorrow. "I don't want to do this. You think I want to stop her? To… to fight her? But someone has to. Someone has to stop Jinx before she… before she destroys everything. And if it has to be me… then so be it."

"That's one hell of an excuse, Vi."

"It's not an excuse!" she shouted back, stepping closer. "I've had to make choices – hard choices – just to keep from losing what little I had left."

"Choices?" Jax repeated, his voice rising. "You're wearing their uniform, Vi! You're standing with their soldiers, aiming their guns at people like us. You said you tried? You think Powder's going to look at you and see her sister? Or just another Enforcer?"

Vi flinched, but her glare didn't falter. "I'm not one of them, Jax," she growled, and continued with a heavy sigh. "I just have to stop my sister before things get even worse."

The dream came back to him. Powder's feelings. Sorrow, regret, anguish, and loneliness. Loneliness on top of everything. It all made sense now. "You're wrong. I don't care what name she goes by now. It doesn't matter to me."

Vi's face twisted with anger, and she stepped forward, pointing at him. "And what the hell do you know about it? You weren't there! I get it – you had your reasons, fine. But you can't just show up out of nowhere and act like you've got all the answers. Like you can magically fix everything. You don't know a damn thing!"

Jax stared at her, his expression darkening. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, he stepped back. "Maybe you're right, Vi," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "Maybe I don't know what it's like anymore. But I'll tell you something – you don't know me anymore either. I've changed too."

Vi's glare faltered for a second, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jax didn't answer. Instead, he turned and walked toward the door. His silhouette lingered for a moment before he paused at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder.

"I'll find her, Vi, before you and your Enforcers do. I won't let anyone hurt her. Tell your friends not to follow," he warned. "You won't like what happens if they do."

Chapter End Notes

Oof, this one was tough to write. Not because of a writer's block, I was very inspired, but the conversation between Vi and Jax was a tough one to write. I'm sorry it took this long to write, but I'm somewhat pleased with what it turned out to be at the end. I'll dare tease that the next two chapters should be very fun and much more action filled, so I'm jumping into writing them right away.

Let me know what you think about the first 'big' reunion so far. Enjoy! :)

In the Pursuit

Jax descended the worn stone steps that led down to the sloped street below. To his right, a wall loomed close. A long-dried smear of greenish liquid stretched across the surface, hardened into a crusty stain, as if someone had dragged their hand through it long ago. Not an uncommon sight in the Sump.

At the base of the stairs, the street stretched out in a slow incline, winding its way toward the upper levels. Jax pulled his poncho tighter around himself, picking up the pace upward. He didn't want to linger. The Sump was never a place to dawdle, especially for someone who had no business there. He needed to get to the upper levels – fast.

Before he made his way out of the building where he was questioned, Jax caught snippets of Enforcers' conversation. An important report was to be made to captain Caitlyn. Jinx, sighted in the Lanes. The group sprang into action, their boots clanking against the metal grates as they hurried off. Jax lingered for only a second. If she was in the Lanes, that was where he was heading next.

Jax moved quickly, weaving through the narrow streets toward the upper levels. The climb wasn't easy – nothing in this city ever was. The main lifts and staircases were either guided by Enforcers or out of service, rusted into place by years of neglect. That left the back routes, the ones only locals knew.

He ducked into a side alley, slipping between two leaning buildings where a rusted pipe jutted out from the wall. Gripping it, he hoisted himself up onto a ledge, the metal groaning under his weight. From there, he scaled a series of old maintenance ladders, moving quickly but carefully. The higher he climbed, the clearer the air became—less heavy with the chemical stink of the Sump, though still thick with the industrial smog that never truly left Zaun.

By the time he reached a grated catwalk leading toward the upper districts, he slowed, catching his breath. That's when he felt it—a presence just on the edge of his awareness.

Someone was following him.

Jax didn't look back immediately. Instead, he kept moving, his pace steady, but his senses sharpened. Reaching an overhead pipe, he pretended to adjust his poncho, using the motion to subtly glance behind him. Two figures moved along the rooftops a level below, disappearing behind a vent stack just as he looked. Definitely not a coincidence.

Jax exhaled through his nose and kept walking. If they wanted to follow him, let them. He couldn't quite see who they were in the shadows, but he had his doubts.

Jax kept moving, but his path was no longer direct. If his pursuers were skilled, he had to be smarter. He adjusted his course, taking a more winding route toward the Lanes – doubling back through alleys, cutting through abandoned buildings, and scaling smaller bridges between rooftops. He moved fast, but not too fast despite the need. If he wanted to see who they were, he needed them to keep up. If they were indeed the Enforcers like he thought, he'd need to get rid of them before he finds Powder. They'd only pose a problem.

He slipped into a crowded market street, and slowed just enough to let the crowd swallow him. He kept his head low, shoulders relaxed, moving as though he belonged there. A few people glanced at him as he passed, yet nobody glanced twice. That he was from off was plain enough – the sword hilt jutting over his shoulder was a dead giveaway. People in Zaun didn't carry swords. A makeshift weapon of scrap and pipes would be far less conspicuous.

His pursuers were still somewhere behind him – somewhere. He resisted the urge to look. Instead, he turned suddenly, veering left down a narrow alley. He ducked beneath a sagging vendor's stall, the fabric brushing against his back as he slipped through, ignoring the muffled curse of the merchant behind him. His path led him toward an old warehouse, its exterior worn, one of its side entrances hanging ajar. Without hesitation, he pushed through the gap in the door, stepping into the dim, dust-filled space beyond. He moved quickly, pressing himself against the cold wall, listening. Nothing. Had he lost them?

After he finished counting to fifty, he pressed forward, weaving between stacks of forgotten crates, aiming to cut through the warehouse and slip onto the next street before his pursuers could close in. But as he neared the far side of the warehouse building, he stopped.

A figure emerged from the shadows ahead. Even before she stepped into the light, he recognized her – the ginger-haired Enforcer from Caitlyn's strike team. Her rifle rested casually over her shoulder, her posture deceptively at ease. But Jax wasn't fooled. She could have that weapon trained on him in the blink of the eye. Before he could even consider a way around her – slam!

The heavy sound of a door shutting behind him made him turn sharply. Another Enforcer from Caitlyn's squad. Both of them were present during the questioning. This one was massive – a bear of a man. His left arm bore a massive shield, thick and reinforced, built to withstand anything the Undercity could throw at it. His right hand, however, was empty. No visible weapon. But that didn't make Jax any less wary. The man radiated strength, especially after fixing the hanging door shut. Something about him felt familiar. Once again, the man reminded Jax of Vander, if only in appearance.

Jax exhaled slowly. So these were the two who had been tailing him. And they were good at it, when they managed to catch up to him, a former scout of the Noxian empire.

"Well," he muttered, glancing between them. "Guess this was a little more than a friendly stroll, huh?"

The two Enforcers halted a few paces away, keeping a cautious distance. The ginger-haired one slipped her rifle from her shoulder, though she kept it lowered – for now.

"We're here to make sure you don't do anything stupid," she said.

Jax tilted his head. "Such as?"

"You should stop looking for Jinx," she continued, moving a step forward. "This is your last warning. Do not interfere with our operation."

That caught his interest. "So you know where she is?"

She didn't answer.

Jax glanced over his shoulder at the Enforcer with a shield. "What about you?"

The man remained silent, his frown deepening, but his stance never wavered. Jax exhaled through his nose and turned back to the ginger Enforcer. She had closed the distance – too close now – and this time, the rifle was trained directly on him.

"We know you're Vi's friend," she said. "We're not going to hurt you."

Jax let out a short chuckle. "She put you up to this?"

The ginger raised an eyebrow.

"I told her," he said, reisgned. "Told her she'd regret sending you after me."

Jax lunged forward, striking fast. His hand snapped up, slamming against the rifle's barrel, knocking it sideways before she could pull the trigger. In the same motion, he twisted, sweeping his leg to unbalance her – but she was quicker than he expected, stepping back just in time.

Then, before he could press the attack – impact.

The massive Enforcer slammed his shield into Jax's side, hitting with enough force to send him off his feet. Pain exploded through his ribs. His breath left him in a sharp grunt as he hit the cold concrete floor, rolling onto his stomach. But he didn't stay down.

Jax pushed off the ground, springing back to his feet in one smooth motion, his hand already going for his weapon. The cold steel of his blade flashed as he drew it. He looked toward the ginger Enforcer – she had dropped her rifle in the scuffle, and now she was reaching for it. Not a chance. Jax pushed forward before she could get her hands on it, his boot landing heavily on the weapon, pinning it to the ground. She froze, her eyes snapping up to meet his. Now he had the advantage.

Blade in hand, height on his side, he attacked. His strikes came fast and precise, forcing her back. Not vicious enough to kill, that wasn't his intent, but just enough to remove from the fight. But to his surprise, she didn't panic. Instead, she moved with a fluidity that felt… familiar.

Her movements didn't remind him of standard Enforcer training. She fought unarmed, dodging, redirecting his strikes instead of blocking them outright. For a moment, he remembered Rozek shouting at Torren and him during the training, holding a lecture on how to properly disarm an opponent if fighting unarmed. He didn't have time to dwell on it – she was agile, faster than she looked, but he was faster still, and the one with a weapon. He had her on the ropes.

One last strike, he almost had her. Then the big Enforcer was there again. With brute force, the man surged forward, disrupting the fight. Jax barely had time to react and shift his stance before another crushing blow came his way.

Jax was as tall as the man, if not an inch taller, but the man had the advantage in sheer mass. Bulkier. Stronger. And yet, for a man of his size, he moved with surprising speed.

DIdn't matter. Jax had fought bigger, stronger men before – in the war. He adjusted. Countered. His Ionian blade scraped across the Enforcer's shield in a controlled arc, the curved steel gliding along its surface in a bright, slicing motion. Sparks flashed as he spun with the momentum, knees bent low, body twisting. He let the motion flow through him, using it to find the opening – right between the shield and the man's body.

Then, he struck. The blade sliced cleanly across the tendon behind the man's knee. A sharp grunt of pain. The Enforcer collapsed.

"Loris!" the ginger Enforcer shouted. She was on him in an instant, now free to grab her electric baton and swing it with a crackling noise. Jax swept his blade upward, the keen Ionian steel slicing straight through the baton's shaft. The weapon split in two. Electricity crackled violently from the ruined ends, blue energy sputtering as it fizzled into uselessness. The ginger barely had time to register what happened –

Jax kept moving. Using the advantage he gained from his strike, he turned and drove his elbow straight into her face. The impact was solid, a sharp crack as his elbow connected with her nose. She gasped, stumbling backward – then hit the ground hard, flat on her back. Blood trickled from the broken nose, down her cheeks as she clutched her face, and grinned in pain.

The man called Loris tried to push himself up, but his leg buckled beneath him. The severed tendon made his movements sluggish and unstable, and with a sharp exhale, he dropped back onto one knee. He met Jax's gaze – uncertain, watching, but not afraid.

Jax let out a slow sigh, rolling his shoulders before reaching into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a crumpled napkin, then casually wiped the blood from his blade, the crimson streak smearing against the cloth. Once satisfied, he flipped the sword and slid it back into its sheath across his back.

"They don't pay you enough for this," he said, turning his head toward Loris. The ginger groaned from the ground was still conscious. "But now," Jax continued, glancing between them, "you're done following me."

Neither spoke. Jax crouched slightly, leveling his gaze at Loris. "One more time – where is she?"

Silence. Loris stared at him, unmoving. The woman, still catching her breath, looked at him with squinted eyes. Jax watched them for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah, figured." Straightening up, he took one last glance at them before turning toward the exit. He just had to find her himself.

x

The pounding in Jinx's chest felt like it was in sync with Zaun's blinking lights. She had run hard, through the alleys, over obstacles, barely staying ahead of the pursuers on her trail. Now, in the dim, dusty arcade, she could finally breathe. She kicked the door shut behind her, unsettling the dust on the floor. The place was a wreck – faded posters curling on the walls, overturned tables and chairs and broken mechanical game-consoles.

Jinx made her way toward the counter, stepping over the debris. Once she reached it, she turned and leaned back against it, tilting her head up to let out a long breath. Her chest heaved as she forced herself to slow down, to quiet the racing adrenaline in her veins. Then the sting hit her.

"Ugh, stupid bullet," she muttered, rolling her shoulder and inspecting her arm. A neat graze ran along her bicep, the skin torn and red, blood trickling in thin lines. It wasn't bad, just annoying. Could've been worse. Could've been a hole straight through her.

With a grimace, she reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a dirty scrap of cloth, wrapping it around the wound in a half-hearted attempt to stop the bleeding. It was a temporary fix. She exhaled again, then reached for her pistol. The weight of it in her hand was comforting. Flipping the chamber open, she checked the ammunition. Not much.

Jinx clicked her tongue. "Well, that's a bummer."

Smeech's men were still out there, though they haven't pursued her yet. He wanted her bad, real bad. She annoyed him in the past with her escapades, and now he wanted her for the bounty. Sooner or later, he and his nasty boys who liked to play rough would find her again. And she wasn't in the mood to get caught. For some reason, though, he only watched from the safety of distant rooftops. But they were always there.

She needed a plan. She needed bullets. She needed an edge. Her wild grin flickered for just a second before she shoved the pistol back into its holster and pushed off the counter, rolling her injured shoulder with a wince before cracking her neck from side to side. The arcade was dark, the machines long dead, but there was still a chance something useful had been left behind.

The floor was littered with shattered glass, old tokens, and other rubble. She kicked one of the metal coins, watching it skitter across the tiles before bouncing off a broken cabinet.

She started with the counter, flipping open old drawers. Nothing but a few rusted tokens, crumpled papers, and some dead batteries. Useless.

"Great," she muttered. "Real jackpot."

Moving deeper into the arcade, she checked a toppled vending machine, but all that was left inside were shattered glass and a melted pile of something that used to be candy? Her stomach grumbled at the thought, but she ignored it. Her eyes landed on a row of lockers near the back. Employees used to stash their stuff there, right? Maybe a jacket. Maybe – if she got real lucky – some ammo. She strode over a gave the first locker a yank. Locked. She scowled and tried another. Same deal.

"Ugh, really? Boring."

She pulled out her pistol and smacked the lock with her pistol several times until it broke and the locker popped open, revealing… a dusty old jacket and a half-empty bottle of something strong. Jinx grabbed the bottle and gave it a sniff.

"Phew! That'll kill somethin' for sure."

She stashed it in her belt – never knew when she'd need a little liquid courage – and moved on. A quick search through some toppled cabinets and a half-broken prize counter turned up nothing but dust and the faint smell of mildew.

"Figures," she huffed. "Place is as dry as Piltover's humor."

Then something changed.

A breeze rolled through, carrying with it the scent of something acrid. Jinx's nose twitched, and she turned sharply toward the back of the arcade. The exit door was open – she could have sworn it was closed when she got here – but that wasn't what set her on edge.

It was the smoke.

Thick, greenish, curling in slow tendrils through the open doorway, creeping into the arcade like it had a mind of its own. Her eyes widened.

The Grey.

Her stomach twisted as the noxious gas spread fast, devouring the stale air, turning everything murky and thick. Her lungs burned on the first inhale, and she barely managed to clamp a hand over her mouth before she coughed. It didn't matter. The chemical sting clawed its way down her throat, sharp and suffocating.

She staggered backward, her head already spinning. A cold sweat broke out along her neck. Her heart pounded. Then…

CRASH!

The front doors slammed open, metal screech as the Enforcers burst inside, boots pounding against the grimy floor. They found her.

Jinx's fingers twitched toward her pistol, but she forced herself to stop. No. Not yet. She wasn't in a position to fight, not when her breath was already coming in short, desperate gasps.

She stumbled backward, blinking rapidly, her vision swimming in the dense smog that made her eyes water. Somewhere through the haze, she caught glimpses – shades moving between the arcade machines, the silhouettes of Enforcers fanning out.

Then, a voice – sharp, distorted through the mask.

"Be ready. She's here," it called out.

Jinx ducked behind an old cabinet, pressing a shaky hand against her chest, forcing herself to slow her breathing. It wasn't working. The Grey was clawing at her lungs, her body fighting every inhale, her limbs sluggish.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Focus, dammit.

The Grey thickened around her. It curled in the air, and her eyes stung more than ever, watering from the haze, vision blurring at the edges. Her fingers scrambled at her belt, searching until they found what she needed – her goggles. Once, they belonged to Claggor. But he was gone.

She yanked them out with shaky hands, pulling them over her head and pressing them into place. The lenses were scratched and worn, but as soon as they settled over her eyes, the sting of the Grey lessened. At least she could see now. More Enforcers slipped in through the back. Both exits – cut off.

Jinx pressed herself against the counter. Too many. They moved methodically, scanning the dark, ruined space. Their voices were muffled and distorted through the masks, turning every command into a mechanical growl.

She couldn't recognize them. Didn't need to. They were here for her.

A set of boots stopped just on the other side of the counter. Jinx's grip on her pistol tightened. Wait. Wait. The Enforcer shifted, moving toward the far side – an opening. Jinx didn't hesitate.

She slipped through the other side of the counter, fast and silent, staying low and in the darkness as she darted the far end of the arcade. She slid behind a row of old, busted machines, sinking into the shadows where she could finally see them.

Her eyes saw her then. Among the Enforcers, moving with them. The uniform. The armor. The mask. Jinx's breath caught. At first, she thought maybe she was wrong, that the Grey was messing with her vision, but no – she knew that stance, that presence, even through the uniform.

It was Vi.

Her stomach dropped. She barely felt the burn in her lungs anymore. Barely noticed the tightening in her chest. She just stared at Vi, her breath shallow, her chest tight. The Grey still clung to her throat, but the burning in her lungs was nothing compared to the fire raging inside her.

Disappointment.

Betrayal.

Sorrow.

But above all – anger.

Vi stood among them, moving like she belonged. The uniform fit her too well, her gauntlets glowed faint blue, and the mask hiding whatever expression might have been on her face. Jinx didn't need to see her eyes to know the truth.

She was truly one of them now.

Her fingers trembled, not from fear, but from something far worse – certainty.

She had still clung to some stupid, childish hope that maybe, just maybe, Vi wasn't really gone. That she was still her big sister. That she still cared. Even after that night when she fired the rocket.

But here she was, hunting her down, just like any other Enforcer.

Jinx's jaw clenched. Her fingers moved before she even realized what she was dong, sliding her pistol from its holster, the cool metal grounding her, steadying her. She raised it, the barrel lining up perfectly with Vi's head.

Her fingers brushed the trigger, just barely.

She deserved this. She abandoned her. Refused to accept her. Sold her out. The voices in her head whispered, snarled, urged. Silco's voice.

"She chose them, Jinx."

"She's not your sister anymore."

"She'll never stop hunting you."

Her grip tightened. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The memory of the tea party flickered through her mind – Silco, tied to a chair, persuading her, urging her.

"She's the enemy now. Kill her."

Jinx exhaled slowly, caressing the trigger. All she had to do was pull and Vi would get what she deserved. Her finger pressed the trigger harder.

"End it, Jinx! Shoot her! KILL HER!"

Silco's voice roared inside her head, louder than the chaos around her.

"DO IT! PULL THE TRIGGER!"

Jinx's hands trembled. The pistol was steady. One pull – just one – and it would all be over.

But she couldn't.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, pressing just enough to feel the tension but not enough to fire. Her breaths were uneven, her chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow. She couldn't take it anymore.

Her vision blurred again under the goggles – from tears.

Why?

Why was this so hard?

A tear slipped down her cheek, hidden beneath the goggles. Her vision swam, Vi's figure warping in the haze of smoke and sorrow. And then – another voice. Not in her head. Not Silco's.

A real voice, an Enforcer, too close. Her heart jumped into her throat, panic seizing her limbs as she sucked in a sharp breath, and moved. But it was too late. The Enforcer's head turned, his gaze locking onto her through the thick smoke.

"I've got her!" he shouted.

Jinx's stomach dropped. A split-second choice. Fight or run.

Run.

She lunged, twisting past him before he could react. She slammed her shoulder into his armor, shoving him off balance as she darted past. The Enforcer stumbled, cursing as he tried to grab at her, but Jinx was already gone, dashing through the narrow gaps between broken arcade machines.

The air erupted with movement, disturbing the smoke.

"She's on the move!"

"Get her!"

More shouts. More boots pounding toward her. And then – gunfire.

The first shot rang out, sparking against an old cabinet just inches from her. Jinx grit her teeth, ducking as more shots followed, wood splintering, glass shattering around her. She darted left, then right, weaving through the ruins, her mind screaming at her to keep moving.

Jinx burst toward the backdoor. The gunfire behind her never stopped, bullets whizzing past her ears, sparking off metal and stone. Then, through the smog, she saw Caitlyn. Jinx barely had a second to react before Caitlyn's rifle hummed, charging with that unmistakable Hextech glow.

Shit.

She twisted, just as the spark of blue fired.

The energy bolt seared past her head, close enough that she felt the heat against her cheek. It slammed into the wall beside her, blasting apart debris in a flash of light and smoke. Jinx staggered, barely catching herself before she pushed forward –

But Caitlyn was already on her.

Before Jinx could fully recover, Caitlyn closed the distance in an instant. Jinx yelped as a powerful blow caught her across the side of her head – knocking her goggles clean off.

They flew from her face, clattering against the ground.

Jinx stumbled, vision spinning, eyes burning as she was suddenly exposed to the full force of the Grey. She coughed and instinctively backpedaled. Caitlyn pressed forward, trying to grab her, but Jinx jerked away at the last second, twisting her body to slip free and rush through the exit door. Without thinking, she reached into her belt, fingers fumbling for a grenade.

She yanked the pin and tossed it toward the arcade's back entrance. She didn't wait to see what happened next. She turned and ran. Behind her –

BOOM!

The explosion roared, collapsing the passage, burying everything beneath stone and debris. Jinx kept running, her vision blurred from the Grey. She trudged through the alleys, her lungs burning, her legs screaming for rest – but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

Her breathing was ragged, combined with uneven sobs, choking on smoke that remained in the lungs, panic, and the weight in her chest. The night slowly descended around her – dark walls, flashing lights, the endless maze of Zaun closing in on her as she ran, stumbling over broken pavement, tripping over her own damn feet.

In all the blur, one thing remained clear. Vi. Vi had been there. Vi had hunted her.

Jinx gritted her teeth, shaking her head furiously, trying to shove the thoughts away, but they clung to her like the Grey in her lungs. Silco's voice to pull the trigger still rang in her head, but she didn't. She couldn't. She let Vi go. She was weak. Jinx squeezed her eyes shut just for a second, bracing herself to let out a feral scream. As she rounded a corner –

A shadow lunged from the side, moving fast – too fast. Before she could react, before she could even pull her pistol…. WHAM! A solid force slammed into her chest.

Jinx let out a strangled gasp, her body whipping backward, feet leaving the ground as she was sent crashing onto the ground. Pain spiraled through her ribs as her back slammed into the ground, knocking the air from her lungs. She choked, coughed, hands clawing at the ground, trying to push herself up, but she felt weak, her arms shaky.

Jinx twisted onto her side, coughing as she fought to catch her breath. She turned her head to get a look at the bastard who had knocked her off her feet. A tall man stood over her, dressed in a grey coat – expensive, in Zaunite mobster fashion. Both of his arms gleamed under the streetlights, chem-powered cybernetics, thick and heavy. Her fingers shot toward her pistol, but the man was faster.

He kicked the gun away with a sharp clatter against the pavement. Before she could recover, another pair of hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her up and slamming her against the wall. Her skull hit the brick, sending a bright flash through her vision. The world tilted.

Her legs wobbled. She wasn't sure she could stand on her own, but the weight pressing against her shoulder kept her pinned. Two men leered at her, grinning, but they weren't the ones she focused on

Behind them, perched on a rusted pipe, sat a silhouette she recognized instantly. A head too big for a too-small body, its form enhanced by chemtech cybernetics. A figure not human, but a rat. Smeech.

He took a long drag from a shimmer vial, holding the smoke before exhaling in a slow cloud. "Baby Blue," he greeted, grinning from the pipe. Then, almost like a spider, he crawled down the pipe, metal limbs clicking against the metal. When he reached the ground, his cybernetic legs extended, lifting him taller as he stalked toward her.

"Been watching you for a while now," he mused. "You slipped right through their fingers. You must be a part eel." He let out a wheezing laugh, clearly more entertained by his own words than anyone else. "Means I can only up my finder's fee. There's always a deal to be struck, and I am a businessman."

Jinx clenched her teeth and made another attempt to reach for a grenade. One of the men at her sides caught on, snatching it before she could pull the pin. He tossed it aside without a second thought. The other pressed an elbow against her jaw, pinning her head against the wall hard enough to make her wince. Smeech came to a stop just in front of her. His height made him loom over her now, his enhanced legs giving him the advantage.

"They want you alive. But don't think I won't skewer your peepers. Drawbacks of you long-range types." His grin widened. The metal finger extended, clicking outward as a thin needle-like blade slid from the tip. He brought it close, just inches from her eye. "Me? I'm the kind of guy who likes to get in close."

His small, shimmer-tainted eyes darted over her face, catching on the damp streaks on her cheeks. He seemed to think about it for a second. Then a slow, wicked grin crept across his face. "Never thought I'd catch you blubbering," his voice turned mocking. "I wonder if Silco even saw that."

Jinx exhaled slowly, forcing herself to keep her cool. She won't let them see her vulnerable. "Twice," she said, her voice light, almost playful. "When he met me… and when I killed him."

Smeech froze. His finger retracted in an instant, the needle vanishing back into the metal casing. He squinted at her, the grin faltering for the first time. "You?" he asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

"It's always me," Jinx said. "Whether I pull the pin or not, everyone who gets close to me dies." She let her smirk grow sharper, more dangerous. "Wanna know the real kicker? You're the guy who likes to get in close."

Smeech's expression twisted into something between amusement and unease. He took a slow step back, then nodded to one of his men. Without hesitation, the thug drove a fist into her ribs. The impact stole the breath from her lungs. She gasped, her entire body locking up as pain exploded through her side. The thug raised his fist again, but this time he hesitated, watching her.

Jinx grinned up at him, even as she fought to keep from choking on the pain. She had to think. Had to find a way out. She was pinned, outnumbered, outmatched. No weapons, no room to move. More of Smeech's men were slipping into the alleyway, forming a wall of bodies between her and any possible escape. Smeech wouldn't kill her, not when there was a hefty bounty on her head, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take his pound of flesh. The glint in his eye said he was still considering whether or not to take her sight, or something worse.

He composed himself again, letting out a slow exhale. His usual cocky grin returned as he rolled his shoulders. "You always did have a mouth on you," he mused, his tone light again, but there was an edge to it now. Something meaner, something darker. "Shame. Thought you mighta learned to keep it shut."

Jinx's breath hitched as she caught the briefest glimpse of movement above. Her gaze flickered upward, locking onto a lone figure perched on the edge of a rooftop, silhouetted against the smog-dimmed glow of the city. She barely had time to register the motion of an arm swinging forward before a sharp whistle cut through the air.

A sickening thunk followed.

The thug pinning her jerked once before collapsing in an instant. Jinx barely managed to twist her head aside as he crumpled forward, a gurgled breath dying in his throat. A long, curved sword jutted from between his shoulder blades, the blade buried so deep that less than half a blade was remained visible. The lifeless weight of his body sagged against her before sliding to the ground with a dull thud.

For a moment, silence hung thick in the alley.

Then chaos erupted.

The Promise That Never Was

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jax moved like a shadow across the rooftops. The explosion had rattled the district moments ago. He wasn't sure what he'd find at the blast side – only that something deep in his gut told him he was close. Closer than he'd ever been. And if it was Powder… he couldn't let this chance slip through his fingers. Not this time.

He leaped over a rusted pipe, his momentum carrying him forward as he landed in a crouch. Without missing a beat, he pushed off, sprinting along the edge before vaulting over a narrow gap between two buildings. His foot barely met the ledge before he rolled forward, absorbing the impact.

Another rooftop, another obstacle – an old ventilation unit in his path. He didn't slow. If anything, he moved faster, planting one foot against its side, using it as a springboard to propel himself onto the next rooftop. The city blurred beneath him, a mess of flickering lights and endless shadows, all of it visible from the above. That's why he chose the rooftops.

He kept going, the sound of the explosion's aftermath drawing him closer. The murmurs of a gathering crowd reached his ears. A crowd of curious people had gathered, discussing what the explosion was. Stopping at the edge of the roof, he was overlooking a narrow alley and a back door to one of the buildings, at least what remained of it. The explosion collapsed the wall and blocked the path.

Jax continued running along the rooftop's edge, his focus razor-sharp, looking down for any signs of her. If Powder had set off that explosion to escape the Enforcers, then she would have taken the quickest way out – down the alley below. He kept his footing light, leaping over obstacles as he followed the narrow path between the buildings.

Then he saw them.

At the end of the alley, a group of figures loomed under the sickly glow of neon signs, their bodies glinting with the dull sheen of cybernetic enhancements. There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more lurking in the shadows where his eyes couldn't reach. Jax slowed, coming to a crouch at the corner of the rooftop, his fingers curling over the ledge as he took in the scene below.

One figure stood apart from the rest. The creature's head was too large for its wiry frame, its limbs twisting unnaturally with the aid of chem-powered cybernetics. Green liquid pulsed through tubes along its body, casting a glow against its fur. It was a yordle, but it reminded Jax more of a rat. A rat, unlike any other rat Jax had seen in his life.

Jax's gaze shifted. The rat was talking to someone, and that someone was being held against the wall by two of his thugs. Jax squinted, trying to see better. Blue hair.

Everything stopped. His heart, his thoughts, the sound of the city below. It was her.

Powder.

Jax's grip tightened. He didn't think. Didn't hesitate. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword, already pulling it free from the sheath on his back. His body moved on instinct, as if something deep inside him had seized control.

The blade left his fingers like a spear, slicing through the air in a deadly arc. A whisper of steel, a breath of motion, and then – impact. The thug holding Powder jerked violently, the sword impaling him clean through the back. His body slumped forward before he even had time to react.

For a split second, everything was still. Then chaos erupted. The other thugs turned sharply, heads snapping upward to find the source of the attack, butt Jax was already moving. Powder, seizing the moment, scrambled free, shoving away from the second thug's grip. She barely made it a step before the rat shrieked, his voice cutting through the alley like a knife.

"Get her!"

His henchmen reacted instantly, surging forward, their metal limbs grinding and hissing as they moved to block her escape. Jax leapt down from the rooftop, landing lightly on a lower edge before dropping to the ground. The moment his boots hit the alley floor, the thugs charged. Weapons glinted under the dim neon light – sharpened canes, jagged knives, even a few pistols drawn with shaking fingers. But Jax knew how difficult it was to hit a moving target.

He ran forward, already reaching for the grappling hook at his belt. His eyes locked onto the largest and heaviest of the group, a true bull of a man, shoulders like steel beams and a sneer that promised violence. Jax raised the hook, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

The mechanism fired with a sharp snap. The hook shot forward, its claws digging deep into the brute's shoulder. The man barely had time to register what had happened before Jax squeezed the trigger again. The recoil yanked him forward, his body accelerating, using the body as leverage and cutting through the pack like a bolt of lightning.

He crashed into his target with the full force of his momentum, his boot slamming into the brute's face. Jax felt the crunch of broken teeth beneath his heel. The man toppled backward like a felled tree, crashing onto the pavement with a pained grunt.

Jax landed smoothly, releasing the grappling hook in the same motion. He wasted no time, darting toward his sword still buried in the corpse of the first thug. Behind him, the rest of the rat's men howled in rage, their pursuit shifting as they turned to chase him down.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jax caught a flash of blue. Powder was still moving, slipping through gaps between the thugs, weaving through the chaos. But she was moving away from him, and the other thugs had given into pursuit. If they caught her – if they so much as laid a hand on her – he didn't know what he would do, only that the thought of it sent a molten fury surging through his veins. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened until his knuckles burned white. But that was not how he'd fight. Rozek had taught him differently. No emotions.

He exhaled slowly. Then, in one swift motion, he dropped into a low, offensive stance, every muscle primed to strike. The thugs charging at him saw it – saw the shift in his posture – but they were too far committed to stop now.

The first came at him with a sharpened cane. Jax sidestepped, twisting his wrist as he sliced his blade through the thug's side, cutting deep into muscle and bone. The man barely had time to gasp before crumpling. The second lunged in immediately after, a jagged blade of a knife slashing downward. Jax pivoted, catching the thug's wrist mid-swing and yanking him forward, impaling him clean through the chest. He shoved the body aside just as the third attacker closed the gap, swinging a lead pipe in a wild arc.

Jax met him head-on. A single, brutal slash across the throat, and the thug collapsed forward, gurgling. But Jax didn't let him fall – he seized the body by the collar and spun, using the fresh corpse as a shield just as the gunfire erupted.

Bullets thudded into dead flesh, muffled, but not harmless. He could feel the impact jarring through the body, smell the acrid burn of gunpowder and blood. Then – click.

Jax wasted no time. He let the body drop and dashed forward. The gunman barely had time to fumble with his reload before Jax was upon him, his blade a silver blur. A single horizontal cut, deep and final. The thug's pistol clattered to the ground as his lifeless body followed.

Jax's head snapped up, eyes darting toward where Powder had been. She was gone. And so were the thugs that had been chasing her. His heart pounded, fury clawing up his throat. He dashed forward, desperate to follow, to track her down before it was too late –

But something moved into his path.

A hunched, wiry figure. A grin full of yellowed teeth. The scent of chemicals, a shimmer. The rat's mechanical limbs creaked as he spread them wide, blocking Jax's way, his beady, shimmer-bright eyes dancing with something akin to amusement.

"Now, now," the rat purred, if a bit insecurely. "That's no way to treat a businessman."

Jax straightened, rolling his shoulders as he steadied his breath. His eyes flicked across the alley, counting his opponents – seven thugs, plus the rat. They had him surrounded, but that didn't bother him much. If anything, he liked his chances. The thugs were far from trained soldiers. Compared to him, they were toddlers learning to walk.

The rat took a step forward, his clawed fingers flexing. "Now, if you'll indulge me," he said, his voice like oil on rust, "who the hell are you?"

Jax exhaled sharply, his patience thinning by the second. "Move."

The rat chuckled, a grating, nasty sound. "You don't realize what you've gotten yourself into, boy. Do you even know who I am?"

Jax scoffed. "Just another rat in the gutter."

The rat's whiskers twitched, his small eyes narrowing as his grin faltered for just a second. He sucked in a slow breath, shaking his head as if the insult hadn't stung, but the way his metal fingers curled said otherwise.

"That's cute," he muttered. "But you just made the worst mistake of your life. You see, I don't take kindly to–"

Jax cared not for what he had to say, and moved without a warning. Powder was getting further away with each second he wasted. He had to end this quickly.

x

The tunnels twisted in every direction, an endless maze of old, rotting wood and crumbling stone. The air was thick with dust, stirred by her frantic footsteps as she sprinted through the darkness. A few torches flickered on the walls, throwing weak, shuddering light into the old mines, but it wasn't enough. Shadows stretched and swallowed everything, making every turn a gamble.

Jinx could hear them behind her – boots pounding against the dirt, voices snarling threats as they pursued. They weren't giving up.

She had no idea who that guy was, the one who'd saved her back there. She barely got a glimpse of him, just a blur of movement and a blade cutting through the chaos. He fought like a demon, a ghost with a sword, but none of that mattered now. He had given her the chance. She had to use it.

But she was getting tired. Her breath burned in her lungs, her legs felt like lead. She couldn't run forever. She had two choices: keep running or turn and fight. And Jinx was sick of running.

She ducked into a side passage and pressed herself against the rough stone, gripping her pistol. Her fingers moved to her belt, searching for a grenade. Nothing. She was down to just a few bullets. She exhaled sharply. It'd have to do.

The moment she turned back toward the tunnel, she saw them—four thugs charging after her, their eyes wild with bloodlust. No more running. Jinx lifted her gun, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The first man dropped instantly when the shot punched through his skull. Jinx wasted no time, spinning on her heel and dashing deeper into the mine as the other three roared in fury and charged after her.

She fired two more shots blindly over her shoulder, but they went wide, missing the mark. One of the thugs fired back – his aim was just as bad, the shot whizzing past her ear. They were gaining on her. Jinx skidded to a stop as one of them caught up. He was fast, but not fast enough. She twisted around, the pistol already raised, and put a hole straight through his chest before he could attack. He gasped, stumbling forward a step before collapsing onto his knees, eyes wide with shock before the life drained from him.

The moment she took him down, the second thug lunged. Jinx barely turned in time before a boot slammed into her stomach, sending her flying backward. She hit the ground hard, coughing as the wind rushed out of her lungs. Her fingers scrambled for the gun, heart racing as she lifted it and fired—

The bullet hit dead center in the man's forehead. He was gone before he even hit the dirt.

One left.

Jinx pushed herself up, still gasping for breath, and turned her pistol on the last one. She pulled the trigger—

Click.

Empty.

Her heart jumped into her throat. The thug saw his opening and rushed her. She tried to dodge, but she was too slow. A fist crashed against her cheek, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Before she could recover, he was on top of her, pinning her down, his hands clamping around her throat.

"You really made me work for this," he sneered, tightening his grip. Jinx clawed at his hands, her vision already starting to blur. "Smeech might want you alive, but I don't give a shit about his bounty. My friends are dead 'cause of you. I'll take my payment in blood."

Jinx struggled, her nails digging into his skin, but he was too strong. The world around her darkened, her limbs growing heavier by the second. She gasped for air that wouldn't come, her mind screaming for her body to move, to fight, but her strength was fading.

Jinx's hands scrambled over his arms, shoulders, face—anywhere she could reach, searching desperately for a way out. Her vision blurred, the crushing weight on her throat turning her lungs into a hollow void. Then her fingers brushed against something solid, tucked behind the thug's waist.

A knife.

She wrenched it free, feeling the cold steel in her grip. Short, sharp—it didn't matter. She drove it into his side.

Once.

Twice.

He grunted but didn't let go. His fingers only clenched tighter, choking the air from her lungs. Dark spots bloomed at the edges of her vision. She had no strength left. But she wasn't done yet.

She stabbed again. A third time. A fourth. She lost count after the fifth.

The grip around her throat faltered.

Then it was gone entirely.

The thug collapsed beside her with a strangled gasp, and Jinx fell onto her hands, coughing violently. Air flooded back into her lungs, sharp and painful, as if she were breathing for the first time in her life. Her chest heaved, every breath ragged and uneven.

The rasping sound beside her made her look. He was still alive. Barely. Something inside her snapped.

She crawled over him, her trembling fingers tightening around the knife. With a scream, she brought it down into his chest. Then again. And again. Blood splattered across her hands, her arms, her clothes. By the time the last stab landed, his body had gone completely still. It was over.

Jinx stumbled to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her. The world swayed. She took a step, then another, before her knees buckled, sending her crashing down. She knelt there, shaking, her fingers still curled around the bloodied knife.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that. Seconds. Minutes. Just breathing. Just existing. Then—

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate. Coming closer.

x

Jax stood at the entrance to the old mines below the Lanes, the only entrance above the Sump, eyes narrowing as he stared into the yawning darkness of the abandoned tunnels. This was where they'd gone – where she'd gone. The tunnels had always been a place of mystery and fear, even back when he lived in Zaun. Adults used to tell stories to scare children away from it, warning of dangers and ghosts that lurked in the shadows. But the truth was, some of the scrappers had used it for shelter over the years, hence the torches, and it had become a forgotten part of the underbelly of the city.

Jax took a slow step into the gloom, his boots crunching softly against the dirt. He rolled his shoulder, wincing as the bruise from where one of the thugs had struck him flared with pain. His ribs were a constant ache, the reminder of the brutal hit from the Enforcer's shield still searing through him. But those fights were behind him now. Even the one with the rat. They had managed to escape, slipping away into the shadows, but Jax had no time to chase them. His focus was elsewhere, and the thought of pursuing them was the last thing on his mind.

His breath echoed in the cavernous space as he moved deeper, the silence heavy around him. Minutes passed before he pulled a torch from a nearby bracket. The faint light flickered against the jagged walls, casting long shadows together with other torches in the distance. He walked on.

Then he saw it. The first corpse. He froze, his heart racing for a beat before he recognized the face. It was one of the thugs who had been chasing her. His body was crumpled against the floor, his eyes wide open, the blood pooling beneath him. A clean hole in his forehead. Instant death.

Jax sighed in relief, but the feeling quickly slipped away. It wasn't her.

He pressed forward, torchlight dancing across the walls. Another corpse appeared ahead, crumpled at an odd angle. This one wasn't as clean, but the blood spatter told the story. Another thug, gone. And then the third. He kept walking, his boots echoing in the silent darkness, until he came across the fourth body. The sight stopped him dead in his tracks. The man's body was a twisted, gruesome mess. Dozens of stab wounds had marred his chest and the side, each gaping hole drenched in blood, staining the ground beneath him. The crimson soaked into the torn fabric of his shirt, pooling around his body. The corpse was nearly unrecognizable, its face pale, eyes wide open in a final, silent scream. The sheer amount of blood was almost overwhelming. Jax's gut twisted.

Dead. All of them.

Killed by Powder.

He swallowed hard, taking in the cold, metallic smell of death as he moved closer. His fingers tightened around the torch as the realization sank in. The girl he had known, the girl he had once thought of as fragile, could do this. She had become this. It felt wrong, unsettling. The very thought of her becoming a killer, taking down men with ruthless efficiency, sent a chill down his spine.

It didn't feel like her. It felt... out of place. But it mattered not, not to him. Even after everything, she was still Powder. To him, she'll always be Powder.

Jax's pace slowed with each step, the weight of his own breath dragging him down as the darkness around him seemed to press closer. His gaze was locked on the faint light ahead, a single torch casting a dim glow over a figure that stood motionless in his path, back turned to him. She was small, frail almost, staring into the distance. Slowly, she turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.

His grip on the torch tightened, though his fingers trembled. His hand, unbidden, found its way to the pendant hanging around his neck. He squeezed it tightly. And then the torchlight caught her, pulling her from the shadows into view. Jax froze. His eyes fixed on her, and for a long moment, he just watched. It took only one look into her eyes, to know who she was.

She looked so familiar, yet so different. Her blue hair – longer now, reaching down to her feet – was now styled in two plaits with a swoop of hair on the right side of her face. Eyes once blue, the ones that had always seemed to glow with wild energy, were now a deep shade of purple, twisted by shimmer. She resembled the mad girl in the posters, but there was nothing mad or crazy about her. No. She wasn't crazy. She looked… hurt. He let the pendant slip from his fingers, exhaling shakily, hoping his voice wouldn't crack.

"Powder?"

She flinched, her lips parting slightly, but no words came. Her face twisted with something unreadable, her grip tightening around the knife Jax had only now noticed. He swallowed hard and dared a single step forward. She didn't move – only watched him with those strange, shimmery eyes. Then her gaze flickered downward, locking onto the pendant against his chest.

Million thoughts, million questions came crashing through his mind. What if she doesn't recognize me? What if she doesn't believe me? What if…

"Jax?"

Jax froze. He hated how the grip on the torch trembled, and no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, his vision blurred. For some reason, tears welled at the edges of his eyes, and he frowned, as if somehow, furrowing his brows would will them away. How stupid he was. What would she think of him now?

She stepped closer, slow and hesitant, as if approaching something fragile that might disappear if she reached too quickly. When she stopped in front of him, she barely came up to his shoulders, tilting her head up to look at him, her brows knit together..

"I…" Jax started. He should say something – had to say something. She deserved an explanation. She deserved so much more. But he couldn't. He didn't know how.

Powder stared at him, her breath shallow, and her expression still a mystery – until her eyes glistened, tears spilling down her cheeks in heavy drops.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. She took a single step back, raising the knife between them. "No, no, no, no–"

Jax reached for her instinctively, but the moment he moved, she broke down. Her sobs were fast and uneven, interrupting every word she tried to say. They grew more frantic, her whole body trembling, and then – suddenly – her fingers slipped from the hilt. The blade clattered to the ground, forgotten. She spun on her heel and bolted into the darkness.

"Powder, wait!" Jax called after her, his voice echoing off the tunnel walls. But she didn't stop.

Cursing under his breath, he took off after her, his boots kicking up dirt as he weaved through the twisting mine passages. The flickering torchlight barely kept up with her silhouette, and before he knew it, she was gone.

Jax stopped, breathing hard. He turned in circles, scanning the tunnels for any sign of movement, but all he found was silence. She was fast. Faster than he remembered. He exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair as he turned in place, scanning the maze of tunnels around him. The mines were nothing but a twisted labyrinth of dead ends and collapsed shafts. He pressed forward.

Every turn felt the same, but he kept going, following the faintest traces of disturbed dirt. Eventually, he caught a draft – a whisper of fresh air cutting through the tunnels. He turned toward it, quickening his pace.

Minutes later, the tunnel opened up, revealing the mine's entrance. The cold evening air washed over him, replacing the damp, stale underground scent with chemical stench of Zaun.

The streets of the Lanes stretched not too far ahead, nearly empty. The usual noise of the Undercity had dulled – most people had retreated indoors, leaving only a few strugglers lurking in the shadows. Even the Enforcers were sparse, likely swarming other parts of Zaun in their search for Powder. Jax pulled his hood up and pressed forward.

She was gone. But he had a feeling where she might go. It was finally time to visit that place.

His path led him through the now empty marketplace to another street. He kept walking forward, until he caught a familiar turn up ahead, the path leading to the Last Drop. His steps slowed for just a moment, but he didn't stop. He kept moving forward, walking on and on until he reached his destination.

The building loomed ahead, a husk of what it once was. Just before stepping through the doorway, Jax halted, his gaze lifting to take in the remains of the building. The roof was gone, long since caved in during the fire, leaving sharp edges and exposed beams that reached out like broken ribs. The doorframe was charred black, and what was left of the doors lay crumbled beside it, warped and useless.

He hesitated, a weight settling in his chest. Then, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold. The moment he did, something strange washed over him – a pull, a quiet familiarity, a feeling of belonging. Memories surged – laughing, tinkering, dreaming.

He looked around. Anything of value had been scavenged long ago, leaving only emptiness and decay. At the heart of the ruins stood the workbench, its surface charred but miraculously intact. That's where she was, sitting on the opposite side with her back turned to him.

Jax stepped toward the workbench, walking slow. She heard him – he knew she did – but she didn't turn, didn't acknowledge him. She just sat there, staring ahead, eyes red and weary, though the tears had long since dried.

Without a word, without asking, he lowered himself onto the workbench beside her. He didn't look at her. Instead, he stared forward, into the same empt space, trying to see whatever it was that held her gaze.

"This was our place," she said after a file, her voice steadier now.

Jax glanced around again, something that resembled a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. The Invention Station."

"The Invention Station," she repeated with a soft chuckle. "Remember that… what was it? That 'automatic gear greaser' you made with old clock parts and a busted gas valve?"

Jax groaned, "Yeah… I thought I was a genius – until it sprayed oil all over Benzo's shop."

She laughed. "That was nothing. The best part was when you tried to sell it to him afterward."

Jax grinned. "I still say it had potential! It just needed a… little tweaking."

She shot him a look. "It nearly set the place on fire, Jax."

"A minor setback." He smirked, and met her eyes. "Could've been revolutionary."

Their laughter filled the broken space, but as it faded, so did Powder's grin. Her eyes lingered on him, searching his face, seeing something she hadn't in a long time. She reached out, gently brushing her hand across his cheek, as if trying to confirm he was really here, really alive.

"You haven't changed a bit," she said, her voice a whisper. "Especially the hair. You still look like you just rolled out of bed."

"I've changed, Powder. A lot." Jax said with a sad smile.

Something dark flickered in her eyes. "I've changed too." Then, her voice softened, and her tone became accusing. Her hand separated from his cheek. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were dead."

He looked away for a brief moment before meeting her gaze again. "I… have a lot to say."

Powder exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. "Yeah," she said, rubbing her arm. "No shit." For a second, it seemed like she might cry again, but she held it back. Instead, she just kept looking at him. "I have a lot to say too."

"So, who goes first?"

"You," she said without hesitation. But then, after a pause, she added, "But… let's just sit like this for a while, okay?"

Jax gave a small nod.

"Okay."

Chapter End Notes

Here it is! I really hope I don't disappoint with this one—so happy to finally reach this point. As usual, I'm not completely satisfied (I don't think I ever will be, haha), but that's just me!

Anyway, I decided to power through and finish this as quickly as I could so the wait wouldn't be as long. And to give you a little tease about what's coming—there's going to be a deeper dive into the political side of the conflict between Piltover and Zaun. I'll probably introduce a new POV character soon (a Topsider), and Viktor's going to appear with a twist that'll shake things up. There are also some other characters that might make a reappearance in the story, but I can't say who. Oh, and don't think I've forgotten about the Cult—it's still lurking out there. As are the nightmares... :)

Afterword

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