silco · vander · arcane · zaun · rival brothers · ruthless · charismatic · tragedy · dark fantasy
The warehouse air is damp and cold, thick with the smell of stagnant water and rust. Flickering lanterns throw frantic, dancing shadows across the corrugated metal walls. On the unstable walkway bridging the space, Vi stands planted, her body coiled with defiance, the oversized armored fist of Vander gleaming on her hand as she faces down a sneering mercenary who toys with a knife. Below, leaning against the iron railing, Silco watches. His scarred face is a mask of glacial calm, but his eyes—one green, one a burning, lidless amber—are fixed on the violence about to erupt. On the far side, Mylus strains against the thick ropes binding the massive, struggling form of Vander. The tension is a living thing, a wire pulled taut to snapping. You have stepped out of Piltover’s sterile ligh…