05 The Edge of Things

The rooftop is alive with soft chatter and muted laughter, the hum of conversation weaving through the warm evening air like a song I don't feel a part of. The glow from the lanterns strung overhead bathes the scene in gold, but it feels distant—just another performance. I scan the gathering, hoping to find purpose, only to be met with the same faces, the same hollow smiles.

I had the impression we'd be discussing the future of Piltover and Zaun, strategizing ways to avoid slipping into chaos again. Instead, the gathering feels more like a celebration—a display of wealth and excess dressed up as diplomacy. Aristocrats dressed in their finest sip wine and laugh too loudly, the tension of rebellion forgotten for the moment. Or ignored.

I sit at the edge of the rooftop, the city sprawling below me, the sky fading into soft shades of purple and navy. I'm halfway through debating whether I should just leave when Shoola appears beside me, her silk gown flowing as she sits gracefully, offering me a glass of wine.

"Lighten up," she says with a soft smile, nudging the glass toward me. "You look like you just died."

I accept it, letting the cool glass rest against my palm. "I suppose I'm just bored."

"Bored?" Shoola raises an eyebrow, her tone playful but curious. "How can you be bored? You love parties."

"I did," I admit, swirling the wine without drinking it. "I don't know what's come over me."

Shoola studies me for a moment, the smile slipping from her lips. "I get it," she says softly. "Coming back after losing everything... it must be hard. Losing your mother. And then him."

I tense, my fingers tightening around the stem of the glass. "Let's not go there," I say, forcing a small smile to lighten the mood, though it doesn't reach my eyes. The wound is old, but it still aches. I never really understood why my ex left me. I loved him, and he... left. It's a mystery I'll never solve, and I'm tired of reopening it.

I take a sip of the wine, the bitterness lingering on my tongue. Shoola shifts closer, offering quiet companionship instead of pushing further. "It's nice having you back," she says after a pause. "It almost feels like you never left."

"Is that why you let me attend this council meeting?" I ask, the words half-teasing but curious. "I'm not even a council member."

Shoola smiles softly. "You're the leader of the Medarda clan. That counts."

Her words are gentle, but they only make me feel more detached from the scene around me. I let out a breath, steeling myself before asking the question that's been sitting in the back of my mind. "Do you hold any prejudice toward Sevika?"

Shoola blinks, her expression shifting to something between surprise and mild offense. "Why would you think such a thing?" she asks, her tone defensive. "If the others heard you—"

"They'd pretend to be scandalized," I finish for her. "But it's not about them. It's about what I've seen. You don't seem to respect her, despite everything she's done. Despite her earning her position."

Shoola sighs, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. "I can't answer for the others," she says carefully. "But we're all trying with this... new change, okay?"

The words hang between us, inadequate and incomplete. I don't press her further, knowing it won't change anything. Instead, I turn my gaze back to the city, the distant lights shimmering like scattered stars.

"I need to be alone for a bit," I say quietly, rising from my seat.

Shoola sighs, exasperation softening into resignation. "Don't go for too long," she warns, though her tone is kind. "You'll miss the dancers."

I smile faintly, but it doesn't linger. "I'll try."

I walk away from the laughter and music, the distant sounds blurring into the background as I make my way to the edge of the rooftop. I tilt my glass, letting the wine pour over the railing, watching as the crimson liquid catches the light before vanishing into the darkness below.

~

Stillwater feels colder than usual, the damp chill seeping into my skin as I descend the stone steps into the prison's depths. The scent of mildew mingles with copper, and I can hear the faint drip of water echoing in the distance. A dim light flickers above, casting long shadows against the grimy walls. The further I go, the heavier the air feels, thick with the weight of secrets and violence.

I find Sevika in one of the cells, standing like a statue over the rebel prisoner. The man's face is a mess of bruises, one eye swollen shut, dried blood crusting the corner of his mouth. Sevika's hand is red with his blood, her knuckles split and raw. Her other arm, the mechanical one, twitches slightly, the servos whining, as if it's been damaged in the scuffle.

She looks up when I enter, her eyes dark and unreadable. "He's not talking," she says flatly, like it's a mild inconvenience rather than a failure.

I cross my arms, my voice sharper than I intend. "That's because beating him senseless isn't going to get answers."

Sevika shrugs, leaning back against the cell wall, her broad shoulders filling the space. "It usually does."

I exhale, forcing myself to stay calm. The rebel shifts on the floor, groaning, but there's still defiance in his bloodied gaze. I kneel in front of him, the cold stone biting into my knees. "Let me try."

Sevika doesn't stop me, but I can feel her watching, her silence heavy with skepticism.

I soften my voice, make it gentle, almost kind. "You don't have to protect anyone," I say, my tone coaxing. "Just tell us where your base is. Who's leading you? We can make this easier."

The prisoner glares at me, his lip curling in disdain. "I'd rather die than betray him."

I try again, softer still. "There's no need for this. Just give us the information, and it's over."

His response is swift and venomous—he spits, the glob landing squarely on my cheek. For a moment, the cell goes silent except for the steady dripping of water in the distance.

Sevika chuckles softly, a low, amused sound. "Told you," she says, her voice laced with dark humor. "Some people only understand one language."

Something snaps inside me. I don't think, I just act. My hand swings out, and the sharp crack of my palm against the man's face echoes in the small space. His head snaps to the side, and my palm stings from the force, but I don't care.

Sevika's laughter deepens, and I hear her move behind me. "Not bad," she murmurs. "But if you're going to hit someone, do it right." She steps closer, standing at my back, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold cell. "Here," she says, taking my hand in hers.

Her hand is rough, warm, and steady as she positions my fingers into a fist. "Thumb outside," she instructs, her voice low. "You don't want to break it."

I feel the strength in her grip, the heat of her breath near my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine, but I keep my focus. "Like this?" I ask, tightening my fist as she guides me.

"Yeah," Sevika says, satisfaction in her tone. "Now, aim here." She taps the side of the prisoner's jaw with her metal fingers, the motion almost tender. "Quick and clean."

I hesitate for only a second before I pull back and strike. My fist connects with his jaw, not as hard as Sevika's punches, but hard enough. The man grunts, and I feel the impact reverberate up my arm. My knuckles ache, but there's something exhilarating about the rawness of it.

"Good," Sevika says, a hint of pride in her voice. "Again."

I punch him again, and this time I don't hesitate. There's no pleasure in it, not really, but there's a strange satisfaction in knowing I'm capable. The rebel coughs, spitting blood onto the floor, and finally, he cracks.

"All right, all right!" he groans, voice ragged. "I'll talk."

Sevika steps back, arms folded, watching with a quiet intensity. "Good boy," she says, her tone casual but dangerous. "We're listening."

The prisoner swallows hard, wiping blood from his lips with the back of his hand. "We don't know his real name," he says, his voice hoarse. "He's just... the benefactor. He pays well, that's all we care about."

"Where's your base?" I press, my voice steady now.

"Not in Piltover," he mutters. "Too risky. We're based in the Shimmer Flats. South of Zaun. Hidden tunnels. That's all I know, I swear."

Sevika studies him for a long moment, then nods, satisfied. "Good," she says. "You've been helpful."

The man sags, exhausted, the fight gone from him. I rise, flexing my sore fingers, and turn to Sevika. There's a strange energy between us now, a bond forged in the heat of violence and necessity.

"See?" she says, smirking. "Told you some people only understand one language."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Thanks for the lesson."

Sevika's grin is sharp, her eyes glinting with something wild and fierce. "Anytime, partner."

I wince as I flex my hands, the bruises from the punches still fresh and aching. Sevika watches me, her gaze sharp, and then without warning, she reaches for my hands, taking them gently into hers.

"You're already bruised from all that punching," she says, her voice soft, almost amused.

"Well, I'm not used to all of this," I mutter, feeling the heat of her hands on mine, sending a strange warmth through my body.

Sevika's lips curl into a grin, a teasing light in her eyes. "That's funny, coming from a Noxian."

I roll my eyes, trying to pull my hands back, but her grip is firm, and I'm too exhausted to resist. "Okay, I get it. I'm pitiful compared to Noxian standards, compared to my family's standards, but I should let you know I've seen war up close," I say, almost defensively.

Sevika's expression softens just a touch, though her smirk remains. "Me too, Buttercup."

She starts massaging my hands, her thumbs pressing into the sore spots, and despite myself, I can't help but enjoy it. The tension in my shoulders melts away under her touch. Her eyes flicker with something—amusement, maybe satisfaction—when she sees my reaction.

I pull my hands away, trying to compose myself. "So I guess we need to head to Zaun?"

She nods, her face serious once more. "You're right, but we need to wait for the right time. When the council is distracted. I also need to fix my arm before we leave."

"Wait, leave?" I step back, my brow furrowing. 

Sevika meets my eyes, her expression unreadable for a moment. "Whats wrong i thought you were helping me out, partner."

"Yes, but..." I sigh keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself.  "Okay, I'll follow you to Zaun."