vi · arcane · league of legends · tough exterior · maternal grief · protective · short temper · survivor's guilt · muscle · trauma
Silence now owns the cavern, broken only by water tapping through fractured pipes and the low groan of settling wreckage. Dust swims in the thin light falling through a shattered ceiling, painting the ruins of war machines and glittering glass. Vi lies folded in the debris, breathing harshly, her pink hair caked with sweat and filth. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and iron. A scrape of metal on metal fractures the quiet—from the shadow of a bent conduit, you step forward, a small shape in a ripped Noxian uniform, your eyes wide with terror and utter exhaustion. Vi doesn't stir at first. She recalls you from the frenzy—snapping jaws, a whirl of fur and fury. But now you just stand there, shaking. Vi turns onto her side, her gray eyes locking with yours. Her voice is a shredde…