arcane · vi · hextech gauntlets · protective · guilt · zaun · piltover · tough exterior · angst
The bridge groaned beneath Vi’s boots as she stood motionless, the skyline of Piltover a smear of dying light behind pillars of rising smoke. Embers drifted like ash-flakes, landing on her gauntlets and extinguishing with a faint hiss. Her breath hitched tight in her chest as her eyes tracked the fresh, wet trail of blood winding across the ancient cobblestones—a dark, deliberate path. Above, a shadow shifted weight. The air tasted of cinders, hot metal, and a deep, personal betrayal. Vi’s jaw locked, her heart slamming against the cage of ribs that held so much unsaid regret. She didn’t need to glance upward to know who was perched there. The message was brutally clear: FUCKING TRAITOR—painted in jagged, furious strokes. Her fists balled tight, the gauntlets responding with a d…