Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

coming soon <3

Full extended summary for now:

BEFORE ZAUN BLED, THERE WAS LOVE. Four friends once dreamed together — Andromeda, Silco, Vander, and Felicia — believing they could carve out a better world from the shadows. But dreams in Zaun are fragile things. The Shimmer Riots came first, staining the streets with grief and fury, driving Silco toward his vision of power while Andromeda began to doubt the fire she had once fed.

Andromeda had always lived between contradictions: a healer in a city that devoured its own, a daughter torn between two worlds, a woman who longed for peace yet was drawn to Silco's burning conviction. Her drive to heal was her anchor, her rebellion, and her salvation; patching wounds in a world that only seemed to make more of them. But in Silco's arms she found another kind of salvation: love so consuming it threatened to eclipse everything else.

Even as the city cracked apart, something rare grew between them. In stolen moments, Andromeda and Silco found a tenderness fierce enough to rival war, and from that love came a child — Thalia. For a brief, golden time they carved out a small sanctuary for her, raising her in the Undercity, daring to believe peace might be possible.

But peace is short-lived in Piltover's shadow. When the Bridge Revolt erupted, it left devastation in its wake: Felicia and Connol gone, Vander and Silco torn apart, Zaun drowning in betrayal. Andromeda, seeing only danger for her daughter, made the cruelest choice, knowing that Thalia could never have stability if Silco longed for her and believing that this lie could break Silco from his shackles of rage and ambition. Reluctantly, grief dripping from every sordid word, Andromeda told Silco that Thalia had been lost to the movement, and disappeared from Zaun, leaving behind the man who had once held her heart in his hands.

The years dragged on. Time would not stop for anything, not even the rawest of grief and sorrow. Silco built an empire on rage and grief, driven by the ghost of the daughter he thought lost. Thalia grew, caught between two halves of herself — the mother who raised her and the shadow of a father she had barely known. Until one day, drawn by fate or hunger of the heart, she sought him out, whispers of his name on her mother's lips dragging her into a world she would never recover from. And with her return came Andromeda, unwillingly pulled into the orbit of the man she once burned for, the daughter she could not let go, and a city teetering between ruin and rebirth.

Now, old wounds reopen. Love that was never truly extinguished sparks again, tangled in betrayal and longing. Thalia finds herself forging her own path — torn between Vi's fierce devotion, Viktor's quiet brilliance, and the heavy legacy of the man who gave her his fire. This is the story of a family fractured and found again, of love that both damns and redeems, of choices that carve scars across generations. In the depths of Zaun, where the air is heavy with smoke and shimmer, the heart remembers what the mind tries to bury, and even broken dreams can set the world aflame.

Chapter Text

⊱✺⊰

      THE UNDERCITY always smelled of iron. Iron in the pipes, iron in the blood, iron in the rusting bones of a city Piltover pretended not to see. Andromeda had grown used to it in the summers she spent here with her father, but now, older, sharper-eyed, trained in the neat, sterile wards of Piltover's Academy, she noticed every rough edge. The metallic tang clung to her tongue, followed her home, and lingered in her clothes long after she crossed back over the bridge.

       She pulled her apron tighter around her waist as the clinic's door creaked shut behind her. It was late, and the glow of the gas lamps outside was already dimming under a crawl of smoke. The Lanes never slept, not really. Someone was always coughing, bleeding, begging for medicine they couldn't afford. She had washed her hands until her knuckles ached, but still the smell of blood seemed to cling.

       Andromeda tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and began the walk back to her father's flat. Piltover would call this place dangerous, unsanitary, lawless. Andromeda thought it was... alive. Fierce in its own way. Beautiful, sometimes, when you looked past the grime. She loved it, hated it, and didn't quite belong to either world it pulled her between.

      Hands deep in her pockets, she walked with her head down, a habit she learned quickly after her first visit back to the Undercity. Eye contact was a dangerous thing when desperation drove madness. It wasn't a long walk back to her father's home, and even despite the beggars clawing at her cloak as she walked, Andromeda remained at peace. 

      Piltover, while beautiful and prosperous, was...foreign to Andromeda, even after so many years of walking its streets and calling it home. Piltover was rigid. Stern. Unforgiving of even the smallest mistakes. Piltover was her mother, a force Andromeda had learned how to avoid and appease over the years. But the Undercity...

      The Undercity felt like home.

      Delilah would have grasped Andromeda's ear with a harsh twist if she could hear the things Andromeda was thinking... The Undercity is a disease, she would seethe, green eyes aglow with hatred. The Undercity is a festering boil that needs to be excised if Piltover ever wishes to truly be healthy.

      Andromeda didn't fully blame her mother for her twisted hatred for the Undercity. After all, she had ruined her own life by running off to the Undercity as an act of rebellion against her own mother. Delilah Virellan saw the Undercity as a reflection of her mistakes and the consequences forced upon her by the Virellan matriarch when she returned years later, a crying toddler clutching her leg, screaming and begging to go home.

     A cry rang out through the air, but when Andromeda looked up, all she saw were the shadows of a couple lost in the throes of pleasure. A blush burned at her cheeks as she turned her head and hurried her pace. Her father was surely worrying about her late return, having expected his daughter home shortly after sundown. 

      At last, Andromeda reached home, an eclectic stack of apartments that seemed to teeter dangerously whenever a strong gust of wind billowed through the Lanes. She climbed the stairs to her door, her shoulders tense from a long day at the clinic. Inside, Leander was waiting, his broad shoulders hunched over his drink as meaty fingers ran through his hair.

     "Star," he breathed, his tension dissipating the moment he laid eyes on his disheveled daughter. "You're late."

     Andromeda grimaced, offering her father an apologetic smile as she shed her coat and kicked her boots to the side. "Sorry," she sighed. "A patient came in last minute with a pretty bad stab wound through the ribs. Anvi and I were the only ones left when he was dropped off."

     Leander's jaw worked as Andromeda recounted the events from that day at the clinic. Andromeda was barely nineteen and had already seen a world of horrors she had previously only read about in books and lectures.

      The day had begun the way most of them did in the clinic: with coughing. The waiting room was always full before the sun had even burned off the mist. Mothers with sick children, workers with lungs blackened from fumes, the quiet shuffle of old men clutching canes made from scrap pipe.

      Andromeda, like always, had tied her apron tight and set to work. She mixed cough tinctures, pressed cool cloths to foreheads, stitched a jagged cut on a boy who swore he'd only "fallen funny" but was littered with small cuts and bruises. She didn't ask. Asking was dangerous. Instead, she cleaned the wound with Piltover's antiseptic–hoarded carefully, drop by drop–and wrapped it in the Undercity's coarse linen.

      Hours blurred. The clinic always smelled of iron, blood, and bitter herbs. Her hands ached from scrubbing, her hair clung damp to her temples, but she moved from one patient to the next, steady as clockwork. A woman's arm broken in a factory press. A child with burns where a pipe burst. A man wheezing so badly she wasn't sure if the vapor mask would help him breathe or drown him faster.

      By evening, her apron was stained, her knuckles raw, and the lanterns outside burned low. She thought she was done, already reaching for the basin to scrub her hands, when the door creaked again.

      Two men carried in a third, slumped and pale, blood soaking through his shirt. The stink of the Lanes followed them–alcohol, sweat, and smoke.

      "Stab wound," one muttered. "Caught in the side."

      Andromeda felt her body shift into motion before her mind caught up. She pulled back the shirt, found the gash, and pressed hard with clean linen. The man groaned, half-conscious, his skin clammy beneath her touch.

      "Hold him steady," she ordered, voice firm, sharper than the rest of her day. Her father's voice, the one that never shook.

      The bleeding was bad, but not hopeless. She cleaned the wound just as Doctor Anvi returned from helping an elderly woman back to her apartments, and stitched with fast, precise motions, her hands steady despite the sweat running down her back. The men shifted uneasily, glancing at the door, as if someone might come looking for the poor bastard on her table.

     When it was done, she sat back, exhaling slowly, simmering in the intensity of Anvi's stare. The man would live, if infection didn't take him. She pressed a packet of herbs into one companion's hand, along with a strict warning. "Brew it strong. He'll need it every night. And keep him clean, or all this was for nothing."

      They muttered thanks and hurried out, leaving her alone with her mentor in the dim clinic, the air heavy with the smell of iron and smoke. "You did well," Anvi told her, his thin lips pinched into a half-grimace. "A little sloppy with the stitching, but otherwise...well."

     Andromeda had barely stuck around after that rare bestowment of praise to hear anything else.

     Doctor Anvi was...an interesting man. He was neither Piltovan nor from the Undercity, and despite how many times Andromeda had pushed and prodded, seeking answers from her enigmatic mentor, he had yet to divulge even one detail of his past life. Andromeda had known him nearly four years now–two working as his nurse rather than an assistant–and he was still as foreign to her as the day she meandered into the clinic with a recommendation from her boss at the Piltovan clinic she volunteered at.

      "A tough day, then," Leander sighed, drawing Andromeda back to the present. Exhausted, she lifted her head with a soft 'hmm?' and graciously accepted the barely-warm plate her father brought to her. She didn't know when she had flopped onto the couch in the midst of her story, but her feet were grateful for the reprieve.

      Specks of blood stained the hem of her shirt. She stared at them as she ate, letting herself feel the lingering tremor in her hands. Piltover would call her life chaos. The Undercity called it survival. And she was caught between them–mending the wounds of a city that seemed determined to keep bleeding.

      "You ought to take the day off tomorrow, kid. You're burnin' yourself out."

     Andromeda hummed in agreement, but offered only a sigh in answer. She knew she was pushing her limits, but she needed this. It wasn't just a desire to help, to stitch broken people back together. It was a need, a calling that thrummed through her veins. These people needed help. They deserved help, and the people that called themselves benefactors and inventors and philanthropists refused to help.

     Her hand tightened around her spoon as her grandmother's face flickered into view, all harsh angles and cold sneers. Green eyes the color of moss-eaten stone, muted red hair contrasted against milky skin. Sabrina Virellan, the matriarch of Piltover's most well-renowned medical family. And one of the most selfish people Andromeda had ever met.

     House Virellan alone possessed enough wealth, knowledge, and power to end the suffering of the people of the Undercity. They could supply much needed medical supplies and doctors. They could find a way to cure the sickness ripping its way through the Undercity, a direct result of that horrific gas poisoning its people. But no. They weren't worth it.

     "Star?" 

     Leander's voice cut through Andromeda's furious thoughts, his thick, wiry brows raised in question. Andromeda hadn't even noticed that she was bending her spoon until her father's golden eyes dipped to her hand.

      With a sigh, she relaxed her grip and lowered her half-eaten plate onto the coffee table. "Sorry," she murmured. "I'm just...stressed. I guess you're right." She tugged at one of her braids, a wild thing that was nearly undone after her long day. "I'll speak with Doctor Anvi in the morning and let him know that I need a day off. My stitching was sloppy tonight, and it'll only get worse if I don't get some rest."

     A heavy hand fell upon Andromeda's shoulder, her father's fingers gently squeezing as he gave her a soft smile reserved only for her. "Atta girl. I'll sure he'll understand. Go clean up and get some rest, I'll take care'a this."

      Andromeda smiled and departed with a kiss to her father's prickly cheek. Her body felt like lead as she went through the motions, stripping away her clothes as the tub filled with suspiciously cloudy water that Andromeda knew would leave her skin itchy and raw afterward. She knew she ought to shower instead, but she needed a moment to soak her legs.

     She hummed to herself as she bathed, scrubbing roughly at her skin with the sponge. Droplets of red bloomed in the water, corrupting its grey hue into something more sinister as she washed away the remnants of her patient's blood. By the time she tamed her wild hair, brushed her teeth and collapsed into bed, she had already forgotten about her fury.

     Anger never stayed with her the way it should. Not the way it did with others in the Undercity.

      She'd seen enough that day to justify it–men broken in the factories, children wheezing from fumes, the stab wound she'd stitched closed with her hands slick in blood. Piltover's neglect was everywhere, dripping from the pipes, baked into the walls, carved into every patient who crossed her path. She should have felt rage. She wanted to feel rage. At Piltover. At her grandmother. At everyone who turned their noses up at the suffering choking the life from the city they dared not speak about.

      But lying on her bed with her hair still damp from washing, all she felt was tired. Tired and hollow.

      Her mind tried to replay the faces: the old woman pressing coin she couldn't spare into Andromeda's hand, the man who'd nearly bled out on her table. Each face should have stoked the fire inside her, fed the anger that the Undercity deserved, demanded.

      Instead, her chest only ached. Not with fury, but with pity. With longing to help. With the unbearable, impossible wish that she could just heal a city the way she healed a wound–with a steady hand, clean stitches, and time.

      Her father always told her compassion was dangerous here, that anger kept people sharp, kept them alive. Andromeda wanted to believe him, but she could never hold the blade of her rage for long. It slipped from her grasp, softened into sorrow, blurred into mercy.

      As her eyes grew heavy, the injustice of it all pressed close, as thick as the smoke curling under the window. She wanted to hate Piltover. She wanted to hate the world. But all she could do was grieve it, and wish to mend it.

      Sleep took her with that thought, her fists unclenched, her heart too tired for fury.

⊱✺⊰

Chapter Text

⊱✺⊰

      ANDROMEDA RARELY let herself take a day off, but she needed this. Anvi understood, even if he disapproved, not that he voiced it. Andromeda had grown quite accustomed to his silent expressions and reactions, and when his upper lip twitched in response to her question, she knew he was displeased. But even he knew the importance of breaks, so he granted Andromeda's request with a solemn nod of his head.

      She had quickly returned to her apartment after slipping out of the clinic before the sky broke and muted sunlight spread across the lanes.

      Her apron stayed folded on the chair, a heavy reminder of the expectations she was pushing away that day. Guilt settled in her stomach like a stone, and with a sigh, she turned away, the instinct to reach for the apron strong. Instead, she pulled on her boots, shrugged into her favorite jacket, and stepped out into the city.

      The Undercity lived differently when she wasn't inside the clinic. The air was still thick with smoke and metal, but there was color here, too—paints flaking off shopfront signs, frayed fabrics of all colors strung between windows. Children darted barefoot through the alleys, laughing as they chased a ball that had seen better days. Merchants shouted over one another, voices colliding in a chorus of bargains.

      She kept close to the walls, watching, listening. To Piltover, this would be utter chaos. To Andromeda, it was a heartbeat, one that was loud, messy, but most importantly, alive. A reminder of the life that refused to be snuffed out. Her friends at the academy would balk at the sights as she strolled down the lane, chapped hands buried deep in her pockets. Eden especially. Andromeda huffed at the thought of her friend joining her in the Undercity, the most prim and proper noble girl Piltover had seen in a while.

      Leander had left early in the morning for his shift at the steel factory, the only indication he had even been in the house the covered plate of hotcakes he left for Andromeda on the stove. Her heart had swollen when she saw the messy star shapes they had been cut into. It was almost too difficult to eat them, knowing the care and time her father had taken to gently carve out the silly shapes. He wasn't a man of many words, but Andromeda didn't need words to know he loved her. He showed it often enough.

      Her fingers ran over her left wrist, feeling the curve of her bone and the texture of her birthmark as she walked and pondered, ignoring the shouts thrown her direction as she weaved around a group of rowdy teens. Her father had chosen her name in the late hours after her difficult birth. Andromeda. Like the stars they had never been able to see down the Undercity. She glanced at her wrist, at the strange splotch of red that barely resembled a star. Her father was such a gentle spirit. It was astounding to think that he could possibly love her mother. Her fierce, cruel, headstrong mother.

      Narrowly avoiding a collision with a merchant carrying a precarious stack of boxes, Andromeda tugged her sleeve over her wrist and pushed her mother from her mind. She wouldn't let Delilah get to her again, not that day, not when she was free to explore as she wished. It was bad enough that she had barely a month left before she'd be forced to return to her mother's care.

      Andromeda cut her way down the street as a frown twisted her lips, weaving in between people, seeking something, anything to spend her day doing. She'd rarely had the opportunity to fully explore the city in her downtime, usually too exhausted to do anything but curl up next to her father with a mug of herbal tea as he read her the stories of her youth. When she did have free time and wasn't plagued by exhaustion, she was usually traveling the city with the other nurses to visit patients in their homes and businesses when they couldn't afford to leave.

      A flash of light caught her attention, coaxing her from the main street down to a small market at the end of the lane. People bustled about, pushing each other as they purchased their goods, the cacophony of shopkeepers shouting cutting above a lilted melody trickling in from somewhere in the crowd. As she walked, her smile grew. She wandered past vendors selling fried bread and engine parts side by side, past a tangle of children darting through the smoke. By the time she reached the end of the market, she was gnawing on a loaf of stiff bread and had a steel trinket tucked deep into her pocket.

     She pushed through the last of the crowd, pausing to flick a coin into the hat of the street musician whose melody had drawn her in. The boy grinned, showing his missing teeth as he lifted his stringed instrument and nodded at Andromeda. Absently, she turned the trinket over in her hand, gnawing on the bread as she walked. Truth be told, it wasn't very good, but when she saw the look of desperation in the woman's eyes as her baby began screaming, Andromeda caved.

      She was often told she was too soft, too trusting. She couldn't imagine how kindness could possibly be skewed into a negative trait, but people often looked down on her for it. She pulled the trinket from her pocket, turning it over in the light as a smile pulled at her lips. It was for her father, a little anvil welded from steel. A reminder of how grateful Andromeda was for his hard work.

     Then, something else caught her attention. A massive man with broad shoulders, his laugh rough, like gravel, and a woman with ink dark hair—a flash of sunlight through the smog revealing the color to bee a deep purple—her hand brushing his arm as they moved together with easy familiarity. Andromeda watched in silence, gnawing on the last bit of her bread, as the pair walked into a shabby bar, the girl glancing over her shoulder as her companion held the door open for her. Her gaze met Andromeda's just long enough for her smile to deepen. And then she was gone, the door swinging shut, shattering the moment.

      The trinket plopped back into her pocket as she crossed the street to that bar, with its peeling paint and uneven windows. She gnawed on her lip as she reached for the door handle, wondering if she should just turn around and go back to the market. Bars weren't really her forte... Before she could second-guess herself, a pair of men walked up behind her, and without another thought, she pushed the door open.

      The air inside was thick with pipe smoke and laughter. Andromeda didn't frequent bars, intimidated by the atmosphere. Her eyes scanned the room as she stepped away from the door and pushed her back to the wall next to the jukebox, the men who entered behind her barely casting her a glance as they shouted to the barkeep. That massive man was already at the counter, trading a coin for two mugs of ale, while the woman leaned against the bar, speaking low to the barkeep. It was the woman who noticed Andromeda first as she peered over her shoulder, a dark brow raising in question. Her gaze was sharp but not unkind, weighing her in an instant.

      Andromeda's jaw tightened as the girl pushed off the bar and danced through the crowd with ease. A sever crossed in front of the girl, and within a second, she appeared at Andromeda's side. She stifled a surprised gasp as the girl leaned against the jukebox, a coin rolling over her knuckles.

      "You're new," the woman said, voice lilting with curiosity. Not quietly friendly, but not an idle remark either.

      Andromeda hesitated, then nodded. "Sort of. Just, uh, wandering."

      The woman smiled faintly, as though she recognized something in that answer. She slid the coin into the jukebox, pressed a button, and gave the machine a solid whack on the side. "Well, you've wandered into the right place." As the music started, she extended a hand, confident and warm. "Felicia."

     Andromeda took it, feeling the first thread of connection tug tight. Her lips curled with an uncertain smile as Felicia withdrew her hand, the skin of her palm rough and calloused. "Andromeda," she murmured, her hands diving back into her pockets. She fiddled with the trinket she purchased earlier, feeling its cool, steel edges as Felicia gestured at the bar and walked away.

      "So," Felicia began as the girls settled onto stools at the bar, her burly friend approaching, sliding the girl one of the mugs he had purchased before taking a seat on the stool next to Andromeda. She cast him a quick glance, her smile softening. His blue eyes were soft and welcoming, and Andromeda couldn't help but notice how similar he was to her father. "Piltover?" Andromeda was drawn back into the conversation with a hum of question.

      Felicia rose a dark brow in question, taking a long slow sip from her mug as a heavy blush spread across Andromeda's cheeks. She knew she didn't quite fit in, but no one had ever clocked her that quickly. "Uh, sort of." A nervous laugh escaped before she could catch it. Felicia shared a glance with her friend, unspoken words passing between the two. 

      Felicia's eyes flicked over the neat stitching of Andromeda's jacket, the faint ink stains still smudged at her cracked fingertips. "My father's from here," Andromeda said quickly, as if to explain herself before Felicia could jump to any conclusions. "I, uh, I spend my summers here."

      "Mm," Felicia said, leaning back. "So you've got one foot in both worlds. That'll make life complicated." She grinned, not unkindly. "But it might make you stronger, too. I'm sure that transition isn't an easy one."

      Andromeda tilted her head, surprised by the ease with which Felicia cut to the truth. No judgment, no interrogation. Just a simple recognition of the facts.

      Felicia studied her for another moment, then reached across the table, lightly brushing her knuckles against Andromeda's arm in a gesture of reassurance. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out."

      Andromeda's brows furrowed slightly, her thumb digging into the skin of her first finger. "Figure what out?" she questioned softly, watching intently as Felicia took a gulp of her ale.

      She smiled, the foam mustache curling from the movement. "Where you truly belong."

      Surprise eased Andromeda's frown. For the first time since stepping into the Undercity that summer, she didn't feel like she was only passing through, caught between the two worlds she inhabited, not quite belonging to either. She had always felt out of place in both worlds, and the relief that filled her chest from Felicia's words did not go unnoticed. In all the months she had spent in the Undercity, she had never made a friend before...

     If Felicia noticed the way Andromeda relaxed in response to her words, she said nothing. "This big lug is Vander," she said with a smile, leaning over the bar to raise her brows at Vander, who looked rather surprised to have been mentioned. She gave Andromeda a wink. "He's shy." 

      Vander rolled his eyes as he tipped his mug back, wiping the foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. Andromeda watched the actions closely, noting the thick, black stains around his nail beds, reminiscent of the ash left in her fireplace after the fires burned out. She wondered, for a moment, if he worked in the mines below the Undercity.

     "It's nice to meet you..." He trailed off, a thick brow raising in question when Andromeda didn't say anything in return. Until, suddenly, she realized that he wasn't there when she introduced herself.

     "Oh!" Her blush deepened again. "Andromeda. My name is Andromeda."

      Vander's smile softened. "It's nice to meet you, Andromeda. What brings you to our lovely city?" 

      She gave a half-laugh at that, her fingers picking at her nail beds as she spoke. "I'm a nurse at the clinic a few streets over. I spend my time working there when I'm visiting." Vander's brows rose in surprise as Felicia hummed.

     "A nurse?" she mused with a gentle nudge to Andromeda's arm. "Silco will like her."

     A laugh burst from Vander's chest as Felicia buried her smirk behind her mug, and Andromeda, once again, could help but feel like an outsider as the two shared an obvious inside joke. She continued picking at her nails, unsure of what this odd sensation was within her. Her smile lingered, but inside her chest, a knot was tightening. Friendship had always been a fragile, complicated thing for her. In Piltover, people looked at her and saw the blood she carried like a blemish. In the Undercity, they caught the cadence of her speech, the polish of her shoes, and knew she wasn't quite theirs either. Her momentary relief vanished as she glanced between the friends, her thoughts growing increasingly anxious.

      She had learned over time to keep her head down, to listen more than she spoke, to let herself be useful in the clinic where her worth could be measured in bandages tied and wounds stitched. Patients didn't need her to belong. They only needed her steady hands.

      But this...sitting next to a stranger who offered trust without hesitation...this was different. It pressed against the softest part of her, the part that feared if she reached too eagerly, she'd be found wanting too much.

      "Oh, I think Silco will like more than her being a nurse." 

      Andromeda's fingers curled into her lap, nails biting into her palm. Don't say something stupid. She wanted to meet their warmth with her own, to offer up a joke about whomever this Silco figure was, but years of self-preservation held her tongue tighter than she liked.

      Still, Felicia's grin was easy, patient, as though she already understood the silence. And in that, Andromeda felt the smallest, tentative flicker of safety. The girl's expression softened as she pushed her mug away, now empty. "Loosen up, love. You look a little tense."

      Felicia stood, brushing her hands down her body as Vander leaned against the bar. "Who's Silco?" Andromeda asked finally, swiveling on the stool to watch Felicia, who—again—shot Vander a smirk.

      "C'mon." Felicia's hand closed around Andromeda's wrist and gave her a little tug. Andromeda wondered, for a moment, why Felicia evaded her question as she slid from her stool, brows furrowing in confusion as Felicia pulled her toward the door. Vander didn't rise to join them, only sent a salute in Felicia's direction as she pushed back out into the chaos of the Undercity. "I've got some things I need from the market and I could use a friend to join me."

      Her silver eyes glittered warmly, and Andromeda found it remarkably easy to let herself be pulled into this girl's orbit. She couldn't have been much older than her, perhaps twenty or so, but she walked with the confidence of a much older woman. She wove through the streets with ease, pulling Andromeda into the wake of another, much larger market. Andromeda wondered in awe how she could've missed such a place in all the time she spent in the fissures.

      It was alive with sound—vendors calling out deals, the sizzle of food frying in oil, children darting underfoot with stolen fruit as shopkeeps chased after them to no avail. Felicia wove through the crowd like she'd done it a hundred times, her hand brushing Andromeda's elbow now and then to keep her close.

      "Careful," Felicia said with a half-grin as a cart of gears rattled past, nearly knocking Andromeda on her rear. "These stalls'll eat you alive if you don't know where to step."

      Andromeda glanced around, both fascinated and overwhelmed. "It's...louder than Piltover's markets. More alive."

      "That's one way to put it. You haven't been out much, I assume?" Silver eyes caught Andromeda's and, once again, she fought against the embarrassment rising in her chest. She could hardly consider herself an Undercity dweller when she had barely even explored the city she was born in.

     "Not really," she sighed, her voice always swept away by the sounds of the market. Felicia leaned in closer, the scent of ash and smoke clinging to her skin like perfume. "Working at the clinic is exhausting and I usually spend all of my free time there. Doctor Anvi needs all the help he can get, and it's usually my dad who goes to the markets on his way home from the factory."

      Felicia paused at a fruit stand, trading coins for a handful of something that looked vaguely like pears, then pressed one into Andromeda's palm. Her smile was softer now, an empathetic glimmer in her gaze. "Try it. Best you'll find down here."

       Andromeda bit into it cautiously. Sweetness burst across her tongue, juice dripping down her chin before she could stop it. She flushed, fumbling for a handkerchief.

      Felicia laughed, warm and unguarded. "See? Told you."

      Andromeda shook her head, smiling despite herself. "I'm not very graceful at this." She wiped at her dripping chin before taking another bite of the sweet fruit. Even despite its deliciousness, there was a note of something beneath the sweetness. Something like rot.

      "No one is, first time through," Felicia said. Her tone softened as she studied Andromeda. "But you'll learn. And honestly? Graceful's overrated. People here care more if you're honest."

       That made Andromeda pause. "Honest?"

       Felicia nodded, slipping a coin across another counter for a sack of flour. "You'd be surprised how far a true heart gets you in the Undercity. We've all got rough edges. We don't need perfect, we just need real."

       Andromeda tucked that away, the words lingering like an ember.

       "Do you come here often?" she asked, if only to keep Felicia talking. She trailed after the girl, pausing briefly to discard the pit from her fruit into a nearby bin.

       "Every week," Felicia said with an easy shrug. "I keep a house full of people fed, and that means learning which stalls cheat you and which don't. That one over there—" she gestured at a spice merchant, "—cut me short once. Never again. That one—" she nodded to a wiry woman selling bread, "—will slip an extra loaf in the bag if she likes you."

       Andromeda found herself smiling again, not just at the information but at the way Felicia offered it, as if they were already friends, no judgement at Andromeda for not already knowing her way around.

       "Thank you," Andromeda said quietly.

       Felicia glanced at her, eyes crinkling. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until I teach you how to haggle." 

      Andromeda giggled at that, the tension in her shoulders fading as the girls wove through the market. It wasn't long before Andromeda had two paper bags cradled against her chest whilst Felicia carried a crate of loose goods. Andromeda watched her quietly, studying the way she interacted with the people around her. She beamed, radiating warmth and friendliness as she spoke and in the way she tipped her head back with deep laughs.

      Andromeda noticed how the merchants gravitated to her, drawn into her orbit the same way Andromeda had been. She didn't want this day to end, fearing that once she parted ways with Felicia, she may forget about her...the shy girl she just met who hardly belonged in the Undercity.

      A man with a close shaven haircut and gapped teeth came up behind Felicia, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he slipped his finger beneath Felicia's braid and gave it a gentle tug. She gasped, her head tilting back as the man slipped around her, soot-stained hands disappearing into his pockets. "Connol!" Felicia breathed, a crease forming between her brows as she kicked at the boy. He dodged easily, dancing from foot to foot as Felicia tried to swipe at his ankles. "I thought I told you to stop doing that!"

     Connol gave a nonchalant shrug, his gaze flickering to Andromeda, who watched the interaction from the sidelines. "You have a shadow," he mused, tilting his head as Felicia rolled her eyes at him. "A very bright shadow."

      Felicia turned to Andromeda, who immediately noticed the soft blush on her cheeks. She quirked a brow at the girl, earning a shy smile in response. "Connol, this is Andromeda, our newest friend. Andromeda, this is Connol, a good-for-nothing charlatan who—"

      "Woah, woah, woah!" Connol raised his hands in defeat as Felicia cast him a glance, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth to restrain the smile playing at her lips. Connol jerked his thumb at Felicia, whose eyes glittered with something Andromeda recognized all too well. "Don't listen to this one, she's mean."

      Felicia kicked at Connol again, this time making contact with the side of his shin as the boy tried to jump away. Andromeda laughed, watching as Felicia gave chase, her body weaving through the chaotic crowd with a sort of elegance Andromeda knew she'd never learn. She had always been rather clumsy. Slowly, she trailed after the two, giving them their space as they calmed down and walked side-by-side. Felicia was looking at her feet more than Connol, and that was the nail in the coffin for Andromeda's suspicions. Felicia most definitely had feelings for the boy.

      She took in the sights as she walked, sharing polite words with other shoppers as she neared the edge of the market, where Felicia and Connol where waiting, the former leaning against a lamppost as Connol hovered next to her, his arm resting on the post just over Felicia's shoulder. Her crate of goods sat forgotten at her feet, and just as Andromeda was about to walk over to them, something caught her eye.

     The last stall in the market sat a ways away from the others, its appearance rather shabby in comparison. Most of the stalls were selling food, clothes, and scrap metal. This one was different. Spread across its counter were charcoal drawings, most of which were too messy to be discernible.

      The ink on Andromeda's fingers was from her own drawings back home, a hobby she had picked up a few years ago thanks to her Aunt Zeva. Adjusting the bags, she examined the drawings, her head tilting in question. They were all chaotic lines and blurred edges, but there was something peeking through the chaos in each one. A family, huddled away from a shadow in the door, a shadow with familiar, hexagonal eyes. A little boy leaning on a crutch, a ventilator pushed against his mouth by a disembodied hand. A castle, looming on a hill, disdainful eyes peering down into the darkness below, darkness morphs into shadows of clawed hands and open mouths.

      A cloaked figure emerged from the back of the stall, surprised to see Andromeda examining his artwork so closely. He said nothing, merely stood in the shadows and watched as the meanings behind the drawings settled in.

      They were about the Undercity, about the injustices faced daily. They didn't appear to be for sale, but Andromeda didn't even get the chance to ask for a price before Felicia appeared at her side and tugged her away with a teasing, "There you are." Andromeda's eyes were locked on that last painting, even as she was dragged away, before her gaze flickered to the figure looming behind the counter. She sucked in a sharp breath upon seeing the unnatural violet of his eyes.

      "You need to be careful," Felicia murmured once they were far away enough from the strange merchant and his drawings. "Addicts down here are growing increasingly dangerous. There...there's something new going around."

      Andromeda frowned. She hadn't seen any evidence of a new drug, only the usual.

      "Sorry," she murmured, the hairs on the back of her neck raising as she was ushered toward the lamppost, where Connol was conversing with someone new. He had his back to the girls as they approached, his dark hair pulled back in a small ponytail. 

     Felicia squeezed Andromeda's arm and said nothing more. She danced forward, kicking at the back of the new guy's knee, earning a curse from him as he stumbled back. It all happened too quickly to brace herself. One second Felicia was laughing, the next the boy stumbled back into Andromeda, her balance betraying her. The stones shifted beneath her heel as the weight of the bags tore from her grip and her arms flailed uselessly in the air.

      But instead of the hard bite of cobblestones, she found hands. Strong, cold hands closing around her wrists with startling precision. The grip was rough, calloused in a way that told of harder work than her own, and it drew her forward with enough force that she nearly collided with a chest.

      Her breath caught.

      She looked up at him, and everything else blurred away. She froze, caught between wanting to step back and unable to move at all. The air felt charged, almost fragile, like a string pulled taut between them. All she could see were the sharp planes of his face, the angles carved in shadow and lamplight, severe and arresting. His hair was drawn back carelessly, framing a pair of eyes that stole her attention.

      Green, too bright against the grime of the Lanes, too alive to belong here. They reminded her of broken sea glass, harsh edges catching the light. And in them, for one strange heartbeat, she saw surprise mirroring her own, his pupils briefly swallowing that bright green.

      Her pulse throbbed where his fingers still pressed into her skin. Not cruelly, not even harshly, but enough that she knew he could hold her steady or break her balance entirely, if he chose. 

      Connol's voice rang out, wicked with amusement: "Well, aren't you two cozy?"

      She should have stepped back the moment he released her, but she lingered, hands tingling with the echo of his grip. They stood close, his height dwarfing Andromeda's as she rubbed her wrists, trying in vain to shoo away the lingering sensation of his calloused hands. "Um...thanks," she managed, though her voice betrayed the flutter in her chest. She took a small step away, her heel catching one of the discarded bags, and for a moment, she thought she was going to fall again. The boy's hands flexed, as if to catch her again.

      His lips quirked, not quite a smile, more an edge of irony. "Better than watching you hit the stones." His voice was lower than Andromeda expected, roughened at the edges. It sent a shiver down her spine.

      She smoothed her jacket as though that could disguise the heat rushing to her cheeks. She shifted, unsure if she should thank him again or escape from the intensity of his stare. She found herself blurting softly, "Still, I...I appreciate it."

      His gaze lingered a second too long, as though weighing her, memorizing her, before he gave the faintest nod. "Silco," he said at last, curt but not unkind, offering her his name like a test. His eyes glittered as Andromeda wrestled with the desire to shrink away from him.

      She hesitated, then answered in kind. "Andromeda."

      The way he repeated it just under his breath, shaping the syllables as though tasting them, made her pulse flutter all over again.

      Felicia's groaning broke whatever had tangled itself between them. Andromeda ducked to gather her things, but her gaze lifted once more, unbidden, to find him still watching her. Just briefly, just enough to make the air between them feel charged again.

      Andromeda told herself it was nothing, only a moment. But the memory of his hands and his eyes clung to her, stubborn and vivid, like the ghost of a touch she couldn't quite shake.

      The moment didn't last.

     Felicia scooped the bags from Andromeda's arms with a theatrical sigh, muttering a curse at Connol when he snickered under his breath. "Come on, let's move before you two set the street on fire just by staring at each other." She pushed the bags into Connol's arms as she swiped her crate from the ground.

      Andromeda's face burned hotter, though she tried to hide it by brushing the dust off her jacket. Silco's gaze flicked away, but she noticed the brief exhale that cut through his chest, sharp and quiet, before he turned to Connol with a muttered remark she couldn't catch.

      Still rattled, Andromeda buried her hands deep in her pockets to conceal the way she picked at her nail beds. She felt oddly unsteady, as though the ground still shifted beneath her feet, though this time it wasn't the cobblestones' fault.

      "Let's head back," Connol said easily, jerking his chin toward the far end of the street. "Before Felicia finds someone else to kick."

      Felicia only grinned and gently nudged Andromeda's shoulder, urging her along before she could protest. "Ignore him. He's just jealous I've got better aim."

      Andromeda let herself be pulled forward, glancing once over her shoulder. Silco fell into step behind the girls, his stride unhurried, his expression unreadable. But when her eyes caught his, just for an instant, he didn't look away.

      The four of them left the market together, laughter and bickering rising between Felicia and Connol, while Andromeda kept silent. Her heart still fluttered too fast, her wrists still hummed with the memory of his touch, and those bright, sea-glass eyes lingered in her thoughts like a spark she couldn't quite let go.

⊱✺⊰

Chapter Text

⊱✺⊰

      SILCO HADN'T expected the kick to the back of his knee, nor the sudden stumble that shoved him into someone else. He cursed under his breath, bracing for the impact, but instead of hard stone, his hands found softness.

      The girl before him pitched back, curls flying wild in the sunlight like burning embers. Without thinking, he caught her, fingers curling around thin wrists, pulling her forward before gravity could claim her. She lurched almost into his chest, the bags in her arms collapsing uselessly to the ground, and for one suspended instant, she was all he could see.

      Her eyes hit him like a blade to the ribs—green, flecked with gold. Like sunlight caught on the dew drops on a weed clawing its way out of the stone beneath his feet. They widened as they met his, startled, and something in Silco's chest stuttered.

      She smelled faintly of herbs and something sharper, more sterile–antiseptic perhaps, he thought as his gaze cut down the length of her body. His fingers flexed unconsciously against her wrists, reluctant to let go, though the touch lingered longer than it should have. She was warm, steady, yet her stance still tense as if she might fall if he let go too suddenly.

      Connol's voice cut through the moment, his cheeky tone causing the girl to tense, a blaze rising to her cheeks. She was frozen under his hold, full lips parted slightly, and Silco realized that he still held her. His grip was firm and all-encompassing of her slight wrists, he saw when his eyes dipped, and he released her before it became an impropriety. The absence of her weight against his hands left him oddly aware of the moment's fragility, as though it might dissolve if he thought too much on it.

      Her hair curled down her shoulders in a riot of red that caught every scrap of light. It was wild, like fire begging to be touched. And those eyes...they looked at him not with judgment, not with disdain, but with something soft and unguarded. He had never seen this girl before. He could tell from her clothes alone that she was not of his world.

      "Sorry," she whispered, voice soft but steady enough to reach him.

       His lips curved before he could stop them, a sharp tilt of irony to disguise how he felt. "Better than watching you hit the ground." The words came rough, sandpaper against the intimacy of the moment, but he couldn't bear to give her silence.

      She smiled nervously, smoothing her jacket, but her gaze didn't leave his. His head tilted, his own fingers flexing with the memory of her touch. He couldn't seem to look away.

      When she murmured her thanks, something fluttered within him, unwelcome but undeniable. He forced himself to nod, short and sharp. "Silco."

      Her eyes dipped briefly to watch his lips form around the shape of his name. "Andromeda," she said, her gaze returning.

      Her name rolled over his tongue in a quiet murmur. It was too lovely for the grit of the Undercity, and yet it suited her entirely.

      Only when Felicia's impatient voice broke the spell did he release the girl fully, stepping back with a sharp exhale. But the moment clung to him all the same. Her eyes, her hair, the fragile brush of her pulse beneath his fingers–all etched into him, a spark where there should have been nothing.

      And as she lowered her head and tucked a loose curl behind her ear with a nervous laugh, Silco found himself wanting to see those eyes again.

       The moment didn't last.

      Felicia crouched with a dramatic huff to gather the bags, tossing a curse at Connol when his laugh slipped out. Silco clenched his jaw at the sound. Mockery came easy to him, but he was not fond of being at the receiving end. He let the building remark die on his tongue as Connol smirked at him. Better to keep it swallowed than betray the strange sensation tightening in his chest.

       Andromeda smoothed her jacket, pretending composure as Felicia whispered something beneath her breath. Silco caught the quick rise of color across the girl's cheeks, the nervous little motion as she shook her head. He forced his gaze away, drawing a slow breath through his teeth. 

      He was jostled from the side, his jaw tightening as Connol wiggled his thick brows up at Silco. "Shove it," he muttered, low and dismissive, though the words barely held meaning. He ignored Connol's snort, his hand sliding through his hair as he tried to forget what just happened, to write it off as nothing.

       Still, his eyes betrayed him. When Felicia pressed a bag back into Andromeda's arms and tugged her along with a teasing grin, Silco let his gaze return to her. She was unsteady, he could see it in the way she held herself, as if she feared the ground beneath her would give away again.

       Connol motioned for them to head off, Felicia bantering as she always did, their laughter scraping the air. Silco trailed behind, his stride measured, deliberate. Unrushed. Unreadable. That was the mask he wore. The mask that he had let slip.

       But when she turned, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes found his and he didn't look away. Couldn't. For that brief second, the market noise dulled again, and the spark that had flared when he caught her wrists returned, quiet but insistent.

       By the time she faced forward again, he had already smoothed his expression into something flat. Detached. He walked on with the others, but inside, the image of her red hair, the heat of her skin beneath his hands, and those green-gold eyes refused to fade. They lingered like an ember pressed beneath his ribs, small but impossible to ignore. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

      "So, who's helping with supper and chores tonight?" Felicia spun around to walk backwards, her dark brows raising. "The house is a mess, and if I remember correctly, someone—" her gaze cut to Connol, "—said he'd clean up after his shift. Two days ago."

     Andromeda glanced between the group, her expression softened by amusement. Silco found himself staring as Connol stumbled over some lame excuse. The harder Felicia stared, the more Connol fumbled, until Silco could hardly take it any longer.

     He reached out and tugged harshly on Connol's earlobe, his lips twisting with a dry smile when he yelped. "Shut up," he drawled, his attention returning to Felicia. "We'll all help."

      Andromeda hid her amused smile behind her hand, her olive-toned skin chapped and flaking, Silco noticed. His head tilted as his eyes continued their assessment. Stained fingertips, chapped skin, cracked knuckles. She must've noticed his stare. In a breath, her hands were tucked away in her pockets, those gold-flecked eyes staring intensely at Silco as Felicia chastised Connol.

      "Good," the former hummed, drawing Andromeda's attention away. Silco's eyes twitched, his jaw tensing when he lost her gaze. "You too, Red, given you're free tonight." The statement was more of a question, one that Andromeda didn't seem to know how to answer.

     Felicia waited patiently as Andromeda's lips parted in surprise.

      Red. A fitting nickname, Silco thought as his gaze drifted back to those flaming curls. He wasn't sure what to make of this girl, or who she even was and why Felicia had drawn her in. As the group resumed their trek back to their apartment following Andromeda's confirmation that she wasn't predisposed, Silco studied Andromeda in fragments, forcing his gaze away with each shift and turn of Andromeda's head, not wanting to be caught staring.

      She walked with her shoulders drawn in, as though she'd fold herself smaller if only the world would let her. She let Felicia do most of the talking, smiling at the right moments, nodding when Connol laughed, but her own voice was soft and sparingly used.

      Shy, yes. Or cautious. He couldn't tell which.

      Felicia had a way of dragging her into the light, looping an arm through hers, drawing her into the conversation with playful jabs and teasing. It was as if she was protecting her, like a stray she refused to leave behind.

      Silco's gaze lingered on the faint hollows beneath Andromeda's eyes, the way her curls were untamed no matter how often she brushed them back, the way she watched their surroundings more than the people around her. She didn't carry herself like someone born of the Lanes. No roughness, no bite, no sharp edges honed by survival. Too clean, too soft. Yet not Piltover either. She didn't have their arrogance, the sneer they couldn't hide when they saw someone from the trenches.

     Silco tongued his cheek, eyes narrowing as they approached the shabby tenement where their too-small apartment resided. The only functional window in the apartment was thrown open, cracked glass catching the sunlight as Felicia and Andromeda waited outside of the door, their hands full as Silco pulled his key from his pocket.

      He was infuriatingly aware of Andromeda's presence beside him as he shoved the key into the lock and twisted it back and forth to get it to catch before he shoved the door open. He watched quietly as she ducked inside, her gaze avoiding his. Vander was already inside, feet propped on the coffee table, the day's paper dwarfed in his large hands.

      Felicia never took in strays without reason. She loved fiercely, not carelessly, and Silco found himself itching to know why she had suddenly pulled this girl into their orbit. His gaze slipped back to her, unbidden. To the green-gold flecks in her eyes as she took in their crammed apartment, to the way her fingers dug into her nail beds like she was trying to anchor herself. 

       He lingered just a moment at the doorway, watching her settle in, before letting Felicia take over.

⊱✺⊰

     The bar was a cramped little place tucked between a half-collapsed tenement and a pawn shop that smelled of rust. The sign out front hung crooked, paint peeling, but inside it was alive–smoke thick in the air, laughter rolling, tankards clattering against scarred wood tables.

      Vander pushed the door open first, ducking his broad frame inside as heads turned to greet him. Felicia followed close with a sharp grin as she hollered at someone across the room. Connol trailed them, puffing up, trying to wear the same confidence but never quite filling it out.

      Silco lingered just a step behind. Crowds weren't his preference, and the chaos grated at him. But then he felt her warmth.

      Andromeda paused in the doorway as though unsure she should cross the threshold at all. The light from the street framed her red curls, untamed and wild against the dim haze of the bar. Silco stepped to the side, hand splayed against the door to keep it open for Andromeda as she hesitated in the threshold. She met his gaze for a moment, her lips pulling into a soft smile that made his stomach flip. Her eyes swept the room, nervous, alert, searching for something. She tugged at her jacket again, almost unconsciously, before stepping in.

     Silco watched as Felicia caught her hand and tugged her forward and into the thick of the crowd, his eyes locked on those red curls as he slowly stepped inside. Vander shouted something to the barkeep as Connol waved from the corner, where he had claimed their usual table.

      Tankards came quickly, froth spilling over the rims. Vander scooped all five up easily. The crowd parted naturally as he made his way to the booth, where Felicia was already pressed in against Connol. Vander slid onto the opposite bench, his bulk nearly swallowing the entire plank as Andromeda hovered near the edge of the table, unsure of where to sit. Vander slid the mugs across the table just as Felicia leaned forward and caught Andromeda by the wrist, yanking her down beside her.

      Silco was the last to sit and the last to drink. He didn't look at the others. His eyes tracked Andromeda instead, watching the way she hesitated before tasting her ale, fingers curling lightly around the handle as though it might slip.

      Her lips brushed the foam, and she laughed softly at herself, embarrassed by the froth that clung there. The sound was small but unguarded.

      He tore his gaze away, fixing it on the ripples in his drink instead. But he could still feel the image of her, red curls against the dim smoke, eyes like bright glass amid the grime. She was etched into his mind like an unwelcome mark.

      The table they found was scarred and sticky, wedged into the corner beneath a crooked lantern. Felicia lifted her drink high, her other arm looped around Andromeda's elbow as she gave the girl a warm smile. "To saints and sinners—may we always find ourselves in better company than worse."

      Vander chuckled, raising his mug. Connol clinked too quickly, spilling foam onto the table. Andromeda, after a hesitation, touched hers lightly against Felicia's. Silco only dipped his mug forward in acknowledgment, letting the others' laughter fill the gap.

      "You drink like a bird," Connol jabbed, watching Andromeda take only a cautious sip. She couldn't hide the dissatisfied curl of her lip, and for a moment, Silco wondered what refined Piltovan drink she preferred. He couldn't hide the roll of his eyes, oblivious to the way Andromeda's face fell as she caught the expression. "Careful, or Felicia'll steal the rest of yours."

     Felicia nudged him under the table with her boot, her smile coy. "Don't listen to him. He couldn't hold his liquor if you handed him a bucket."

      "Oi—" Connol shot back, but Vander's booming laugh drowned them both out.

      Andromeda's smile was small, almost shy, but it reached her eyes. She tucked a wild curl behind her ear and leaned just slightly toward Felicia, as though the noise and heat of the bar pressed too close otherwise. Silco's gaze caught on the gesture and he looked away before she could notice.

       Felicia grinned at her, nudging the mug closer. "So, Red," she mused, silver eyes glimmering warmly as Andromeda gave the ale another tiny sip with another almost indiscernible grimace, "how do you like the Lanes now that you've seen a bit more of the..." She trailed off, lips pursing as she sought out the right description.

     "Riffraff," Silco offered up before he even realized he was speaking. Andromeda's eyes flew to him, her nervous smile softening as Felicia snorted. 

     "Mm, yes, the local riffraff," Felicia sighed. She flung her arm over Andromeda's shoulders with ease.

     "I...like it," Andromeda answered after a moment of silence. "It's nice, you know, to finally know someone down here. Well, other than Anvi." Her eyes rolled severely as she twisted her mug between her hands.

     Silco still didn't know what the girl was even doing in the Lanes. Clearly, she didn't live here, and despite the five of them having spent the entire afternoon together, crammed into his small apartment, not once had the conversation drifted to their newest companion.

     "And Anvi is...?" he questioned, his expression flat as he stared at Andromeda over the rim of his mug. The bitter ale spread across his tongue, which swiped the foam from his lip in one smooth motion. Andromeda's gaze followed that motion, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to meet his critical stare.

     "The doctor at my clinic." Silco rose his brows in question. "I'm a nurse and a student doctor. I volunteer here during my breaks."

     Felicia bumped Andromeda's shoulder with her own as Silco's brow line softened. "She's got split custody of more than just her parents," she teased with a deep sip of her ale.

      Now that was surprising. To live a double life...one above the chaos, shrouded in the protection of a nation that turned its nose up at the suffering in its shadows... Silco's lips twisted as if he had tasted something sour. How privileged one must be to pass freely into Piltover from the filth the topsiders wish they could rid themselves of.

      Andromeda's smiled faded, a shadow darkening those bright eyes, and, suddenly, Silco felt as if he had done something wrong. He blinked, surprised at the intensity of the reaction. His hand tightened around the mug, calloused fingers tracing the grooves in the handle. 

      "That's very...noble of you," he offered tentatively, seeking approval in her gaze in a way he had never before. Andromeda's jaw worked as she shifted, suddenly shy again. "Not many Piltovans would bother with the scum they can't seem to dig out from under their nails."

     Andromeda's eyes flew to Silco before the last word had even left his lips, her expression sharpening. "You're not scum," she snapped, her sudden intensity catching everyone by surprise. "And not all of us think so poorly of the Undercity. Some of us want to help, to see a better future built for the next generation." A muscle feathered in her jaw.

     Felicia and Vander exchanged a glance as Andromeda glared at Silco, whose lips tipped with a smile after a moment of tense silence. A fire to match that hair, he mused with a tilt of his head as he settled back against the bench. He said nothing in return, only offered a gesture with his mug to appease her anger, but before he set his mug back on the table, that spark was gone. Andromeda glanced nervously, her cheeks coloring as Felicia squeezed her shoulder.

     "You're in the right place, then." Felicia's tone was gentle, her smile even more so as Andromeda ground her jaw. "We want to build a better future for our kids, a future where we don't cower in the darkness, beat down by Enforcers without reason." Silver eyes scanned the table, her words stoking the fires within each of them. Silco met Vander's gaze, his fist tightening around his mug. "We plan to give our people that right. By whatever means necessary."

     Realization dawned on Andromeda as Felicia initiated another salute, her mug clinking with Connol and Vander's before they all took a deep drink. The mood pivoted quickly, talk of the resistance fading as Felicia slammed her hands into the table, her smirk sharpening as she challenged Connol to a dance. He rose easily to the bait. Wherever Felicia went, Connol was close behind.

     A gasp left Andromeda's lips as she was playfully shoved from the bench by Felicia, who dragged Connol by the wrist deep into the crowd, the pair shoving each other as they raced for the jukebox.

     "Are they together?" Andromeda asked after a moment, her eyes locked on the fools as they cranked the music across the bar. Slowly, she slid back onto the bench, suddenly looking rather small in the empty space.

     Vander snorted, his elbows taking up half to he table as his chest deflated with a sigh. "No."

     "Might as well be," Silco murmured, his eyes rolling severely. 

     "One would think. Saints know we're all tired of watching them play eyes at each other like school children."

     Andromeda smiled, her head tilting as she watched Connol spin Felicia around the room, the pair deep in laughter over some surely stupid joke. Her gaze fell to her hands, her smile fading slightly. "I'm sorry for snapping." Briefly, her gaze flickered to Silco. "I shouldn't have."

     "Why not?" His voice cut through the clamor, smooth and unyielding.

      Andromeda blinked, caught off guard. Her spine straightened, eyes darting to Vander, broad-shouldered and quiet. But Vander only leaned back, watching with interest, offering no reprieve.

     "Well...it wasn't very kind of me to snap."

     Silco hummed, his finger tracing the rim of his mug with practiced patience. "Kindness," he said, voice soft but edged like broken glass, "is weakness when it comes to survival." His eyes sharpened as they locked on her. "You were right. We're not scum. But that anger—that fire you felt when I said those things—" he leaned forward, pointing at her chest, "—that is what will keep you alive. Not kindness."

      "You're wrong."

      Silco raised a brow. The words came fast, almost a gasp, seeming to catch even their speaker by surprise. Her brows drew tight as she leaned forward. "Kindness...it’s what people need down here.” Silco listened quietly, sipping on his ale as she spoke with a reverence unheard of from topsiders.

     Her gaze dipped, shadows carving her brow. "I see enough of that darkness everyday. I see it in the desolate stares of the miners that come through the clinic coughing up black sludge. I hear it in the voices of the children who have accepted that they will grow up disadvantaged, poisoned by the gasses they've spent their entire lives breathing. They've accepted it." She shook her head, voice low but fierce, curls bouncing softly. “What I don’t see enough of is the warmth in their eyes when I ask them about their families. Or the smiles when they talk about their homes and communities.”

      Her gaze lifted, green eyes sharp as a blade. "There is more to survival than grit. You fight for your community. Without kindness, without warmth, you wouldn't even have a community to fight for."

      Silco weighed her words carefully, his jaw working as she waited for him, a challenging glint in her eyes. She spoke like she knew of what it took to survive down here, as if she had spent her entire life grasping for something, anything to carve a life out of. Silco’s jaw flexed, the flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. He was ready to cut her down, but stopped. Thought better of it.

      "That is a rare method of thinking down here." His eyes dropped to her hands, fidgeting against her nails. “Rarer to hear it spoken aloud.”

      She let out a sharp breath, gnawing at her cheek. "I know. But I'm right. Anger burns hot, but it burns out. And when it does, it leaves nothing but ashes. But kindness—" her hand curled lightly against the tabletop, eyes glimmering with emotion, "—that's what keeps people alive. It's what gives them a reason to endure."

      For a moment, neither spoke. Neither yielded. His gaze burned steady; hers refused to break. The air between them stretched taut, a tether pulled thin, waiting to snap. Silco’s jaw flexed, his gaze locking on hers. “Kindness doesn’t fix everything,” he said, measured and controlled, until his words caught slightly on his tongue as a memory suddenly reared behind his eyes—a flash of someone else, bright eyes alight with fire, untamed and reckless in a way that had once made his chest ache. 

      He blinked, and it was gone, replaced instantly by the present, his jaw tightening with a stricken expression that Andromeda caught, a furrow creasing her forehead almost imperceptibly.

      Vander cleared his throat, and though his gaze was still on them both, Silco felt the weight of Vander's recognition. He ignored it, letting the silence between them thicken, his attention focused raptly on this strange girl before him. "Maybe it's not one or the other," he rumbled, voice steady, as though trying to smooth the edges of the tension. There was a softness in Vander's voice that made Silco's chest tighten. "Maybe we need both. Fire and mercy."

      Andromeda's breath came slower now, though she didn't look away. Silco leaned back at last, expression unreadable, though the faintest flicker lingered in his eyes, something he didn't voice.

      For a fraction of a heartbeat, another memory flared, a spark of defiance in gray eyes. He banished it immediately, shaking off the image as though it had no right to exist, returning his attention to the present. But the brief intrusion left a tighter knot in his chest, a subtle sharpness in his stance that Andromeda, keenly attuned, could sense.

      The silence stretched. She held it with him, steady, quiet, and that needled at him more than it should have. Most people yielded. She hadn’t.

      He let the silence sit. Unwilling, unsettled, he carried the weight of her in his mind like a thorn lodged beneath the skin.

⊱✺⊰

     Later, when the bar finally thinned and Vander offered to walk her back—Silco had left earlier to chaperone a very drunk Felicia and Connol back to their apartment, parting with a single sharp glance—Andromeda refused politely. She needed the quiet. The night air was heavy with smoke and damp, cobblestones slick beneath her boots.

     She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, Silco's words still echoing. Kindness is weakness. Fire is what will keep you alive.

      Her jaw tightened. Maybe he was right, in a way. Anger fueled people, gave them strength when they had nothing else. She'd seen it herself in the clinic, seen desperate hands clawing against death with rage in their eyes. But rage always faded. The body gave out. The grief came after.

     No—what lingered was the small things. A mother's hand holding her child's through fever. A neighbor bringing broth to the sick. A stranger offering a coin when they had only two to spare. Kindness was what people remembered. Kindness was what healed.

      She reached her door and paused, looking back once down the alley where the bar's glow still leaked faintly. For just a second, she thought of Silco's eyes, sharp and bright, daring her to prove him wrong.

      I will. She stared into the night before slipping inside, her resolve solidifying.

⊱✺⊰