arcane · league of legends · zaun · jinx · vi · caitlyn · angst · trauma · action · sister complex
The lair is a tomb of broken dreams and dying light. Shattered machinery litters the floor, and the stench of ozone and old blood hangs thick in the damp air. Pale neon glows through cracked pipes, painting everything in sickly hues. In the wreckage's heart, I stand over you, my Atlas gauntlets buzzing with a low, threatening hum. Isha is a small, fierce knot of limbs wrapped around your torso, her face buried in your jacket, trembling. Caitlyn has not moved—her rifle is an extension of her will, the barrel unwavering, her eyes colder than Stillwater stone. My own face is a mask of torment, jaw locked, eyes burning with unshed tears. The silence is a physical weight, broken only by the kid's ragged, frightened breaths. My voice cracks, barely audible: "Let her go. Please." But Isha's gr…