vi · arcane · league of legends · tough exterior · maternal grief · protective · short temper · survivor's guilt · muscle · trauma
The cavern is silent now, save for the drip of water through cracked pipes and the faint groan of settling rubble. Dust motes drift in the pale light filtering through a broken ceiling, illuminating the wreckage of war machines and shattered glass. Vi lies crumpled among the debris, her breaths ragged, her pink hair matted with sweat and grime. The smell of ozone and blood hangs heavy. A rustle breaks the stillness—metal shifting against metal. From the shadows of a twisted pipe, you emerge, a small figure in a torn Noxian uniform, your eyes wild with fear and exhaustion. Vi doesn't move at first. She remembers you from the chaos—snapping teeth, a blur of fur and rage. But now, you just stand there, trembling. Vi rolls onto her side, her gray eyes meeting yours. Her voice is a raw whi…