Sisters meet

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Stillwater Prison, in a deep underground cell.

This place was perpetually engulfed in darkness, with no trace of light, only a death-like silence that suffocated any sense of hope.

At the lowest level of the prison, there was only one inmate: Jinx, Piltover's most wanted criminal, awaiting her execution.

Jinx had done nothing in her days here except mark time when her meals were delivered. Beyond that, day and night were indistinguishable in the unyielding blackness of her cell.

She sat on the cold, damp floor, hugging her knees, her unblinking eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above.

To stave off the boredom threatening to consume her, she retreated into her thoughts, revisiting memories and questions she didn't want to face.

Was she angry at Vi?

Yes—there was a flicker of resentment—but it wasn't overwhelming. If anything, she blamed herself more than anyone else.

She had screwed up that night.

Still, when she realized things had gone wrong and sought comfort, it was Vi who pushed her away.

Vi, her sister, had turned on her with accusations that cut deeper than any blade.

But Vi wasn't wrong, Jinx admitted bitterly. Powder messed up again—the useless, clumsy little girl who couldn't do anything right.

Yet... she was her sister. Sisters weren't supposed to abandon each other, were they?

Then again, who said older sisters always had to protect their younger ones? Maybe older sisters were allowed to leave them behind, too.

Jinx's expression twisted as her mind wavered between guilt and anger. Half of her face seemed remorseful, while the other half brimmed with resentment, the contrast making her look truly unhinged.

She felt guilty for her actions, replaying them in her head over and over. Maybe it was her fault.

She shouldn't have pushed so hard for Vi's approval. She shouldn't have let her anger boil over.

Maybe... it would've been enough to deal with Caitlyn. Just Caitlyn.

As for Vi? Jinx decided Vi deserved punishment—nothing lethal, though. Maybe something poetic: tied to a chair, forced to face her broken younger sister while repenting under flickering candlelight.

But still, Jinx couldn't shake the memory of that night—the moment everything shattered. It wasn't just the bomb that exploded. It was her entire life.

Powder died that night. And Jinx was born.

Her thoughts shifted suddenly, like an erratic firework. She remembered Silco—the man who had taken her in, patched her up, and given her a place in Zaun.

That self-assured, gravel-voiced visionary had always been a strange mix of infuriating and fascinating.

Silco's endless monologues about Vander and their broken brotherhood bored her at first. Yet now, after days without his voice echoing through her mind, she found herself almost missing it.

Unlike Vi, Silco had never told her she wasn't enough.

Sure, she messed things up. A lot, actually. But Silco had a way of handling it.

His tone was calm, unwavering. He would brush aside her failures and say,

"It's fine, Jinx. Next time, you'll get it."

He never gave up on her.

A faint, involuntary smile tugged at Jinx's lips, her expression softening into something almost childlike. She hated how much she craved that approval.

Quickly, she shook her head, trying to shake off the thought.

'No, don't think about him. Don't let it get to you.'

Still, the memories kept surfacing. She couldn't deny it: Silco had made her feel like she had value, even when everything else in her life told her she didn't.

And, as much as she hated to admit it, Sevika's words rang true:

"Everyone has their strengths, Jinx. You just have to play to yours."

Jinx wasn't like Silco. She couldn't strategize or lead with precision. But she had a talent—one she embraced fully.

She was chaos incarnate. Explosions were her art.

That night, she had taken on Piltover alone. The city trembled under her touch, and the explosions she orchestrated sent ripples through every polished, orderly street.

And she knew—she knew—Silco would have been proud.

When the news reached him, wherever he was now, his scarred face would curl into a smile, his voice calm and triumphant:

"That's my Jinx."

Squeak!

The sound of the iron hatch opening jolted Jinx out of her thoughts. Footsteps echoed through the dark hallway, and her frown deepened.

She was the only prisoner in this desolate place. Anyone coming here could only be looking for her.

But why?

She'd confessed to every crime. She'd owned up to everything Zaun had done—whether it was her doing or not.

There was nothing left to say. No reason for anyone to visit her.

Through the iron bars of her cell, she noticed a flickering candlelight approaching. The dim glow grew stronger as the footsteps drew closer.

Finally, the light revealed a familiar face covered in burn scars.

Her blue eyes narrowed.

"You're not dead?" Jinx muttered, her voice sharp.

"Would you prefer if I was?" came a cold, measured reply.

The figure set the candle on a rusted candlestick in the corridor and then sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Vi," Jinx said, her voice carrying a mix of emotions—guilt, anger, joy, and something that felt like longing. But somehow, all those feelings condensed into one simple sentence:

"I really want to kill you."

Vi, her pink hair now thinner and her body wrapped in bandages, leaned back casually, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"Well, if it's you, I don't mind," Vi said.

"Not like I haven't earned it. Besides, this is the first time we've had a real face-to-face talk in years. The last time... well, let's just say, I thought you were dead—or about to blow up."

"Powder's dead," Jinx said stubbornly, turning her head away.

"She died that night."

"Yeah," Vi said softly.

"I thought so too. But someone once told me that if I'd really died that night, I wouldn't have seen you again. And I wouldn't be sitting here now, all bandaged up."

She gestured to her injuries, her voice free of bitterness.

"Tch, I should've blown you up," Jinx shot back, though her gaze flickered briefly to Vi's wounds with a hint of hesitation.

"Maybe," Vi replied easily.

"Whether it was Silco who ordered you to, or just plain Jinx doing what Jinx does best—here we are, still breathing. And for once, we're looking at each other instead of fighting."

"You call this okay?" Jinx snapped, pointing dramatically at Vi, then at the iron bars, and finally at herself.

"And don't forget," she added with a dangerous grin, "I'm Jinx now. So, where's your shiny new girlfriend? Did I blow her up too?"

"Don't bring Caitlyn into this," Vi said sharply, her expression hardening.

"Oh, so protective." Jinx's grin widened, her voice mocking.

"Funny, I don't remember you caring this much about me back then."

"I've always cared," Vi said, her voice quieter now.

"You just didn't see it. After that night, a few years ago… I was locked up too. Right here, in this same prison."

She glanced around the cell, her expression distant.

Jinx raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What'd you do? Sit here and brood for years?"

"Pretty much." Vi shrugged.

"I don't know much about what's been happening out there. Not like you."

For a moment, the two fell into silence. Then Vi spoke again, her tone tinged with regret.

"I never thought you'd throw your life away for Silco."

"Throw my life away?" Jinx scoffed, turning her head to avoid looking at her sister.

"Don't make it sound so tragic. He took me in after you abandoned me."

Vi's expression darkened, her brows furrowing.

"He took you in after killing Vander."

"Yeah, and I helped," Jinx said, laughing bitterly.

"I handed him the bomb, didn't I? So, really, it's only fair. We're both to blame for Vander's death."

"Jinx, you didn't mean to do it," Vi said firmly.

"But Silco—he did. You still have a chance to change."

"A chance?" Jinx's laughter turned sharp and hollow.

"What chance, Vi?"