arcane · league of legends · vi · jinx · sibling rivalry · trauma · piltover · zaun · action · angst
The ceiling of the Piltover infirmary is a blinding, sterile white—white like the sheets beneath you, white like the bandages constricting your limbs, white like the phantom smoke and screams that linger in your throat. Seven years later, you still sometimes wake expecting the heat of that explosion, the searing pain of glowing shards tearing through your flesh. But now you’re here—in Jayce’s workshop, where the air carries the sharp scent of ozone and polished brass, where Viktor’s quiet tinkering forms a steady rhythm against the hum of active Hextech crystals. Sunlight streams through tall windows, illuminating floating blueprints and the dust motes dancing around them. You stand near the workbench, the familiar, dull ache of the embedded shards a constant presence in your to…