9

Chapter Twenty-Four

Both girls stared at me.

"What," Vi stated, nonplussed, unsure how to respond to my declaration.

Powder, however, had gone stiff as a board, looking at me with an odd combination of fear and hope. "Really?" she whispered, and I nodded.

"Ninety-nine-point ninety-nine percent sure," I agreed, and the small girl ran at me, impacting my side and bursting into tears as she held onto me tightly. Patting her head, I continued, "As far as I'm aware it's completely possible with the contacts I have, eventually, which is why I shifted around their 'ages', as Claggor and Mylo will be brought back as they were when they died, minus injuries of course, while you two will still be around and growing up in the intervening years, and Vander's an adult, so him still being an adult that hasn't seemed to age in a while isn't an issue. But that'll take time. There's a number of ways I could make it happen, different kinds of magic or favors I could, once I have enough pull, call upon, but unless Runeterra's afterlife is a lot different than I think, and there's no indication that it's one of those places, then it can be done."

Violet was shaking herself out of her surprise, and took a threatening step forward, partially lit by the still-open gate. "How?" she demanded angrily.

"Magic," I shrugged.

Scowling she shook her head, "No, that's not good enough."

"I can tell you my main method, but let's get something to drink first, since this is gonna take a bit," I informed her, using my phone to close the portal as I started to turn towards the stairs, half-carrying the human limpet hanging from my side, the girl having stopped crying, at least.

"No, now!" the older sister ordered, taking another threatening step my way.

Lifting an eyebrow, staring at her, I had to ask, "Wait, are you threatening the person who said he can resurrect your family because he isn't telling you everything instantly? Come now, Violet, you're better than this."

"Vi! Stop!" Powder ordered tearfully, still holding onto me as if I might vanish into thin air if she didn't. "Why are you like this!?"

"He's saying he can bring them back from the dead," Violet argued, still glaring at me, and I took a second to wonder if I'd pegged some cultural taboo by accident. There were a lot of 'came back wrong' myths that Jayce had heard of, especially as the Shadow Isles was a thing where that happened all the time, but I didn't really understand the issue here. "Like he can just, I don't know, wave his hands and make everything like it was?" she demanded. "Like he can fix everything we did!?"

Powder was now glaring pretty hatefully at her sister, more than I expected from the girl, and I tried to find a way to diffuse this landmine, having thought that I'd lanced this emotional boil back at the Last Drop, but apparently I'd left the core intact from Violet's statement. And there was something else from Powder, which I hadn't even realized, which... yeah, give me intrigue and word games over this emotional gordian knot, but I couldn't cut it, nor would I walk away. Maybe if I-

"Vi, we live in a magic house in another world!" the small girl shouted, voice trembling with emotion, still holding onto me with one hand while waving around us with the other. "You can drink the water! And Jayce fought a ghost! And got her to give us magic healing! And now we're gonna be Pilties!"

Even I knew that was the wrong thing to say, as the brawler, now glaring just as angrily back at her sister, slashed a negating hand, "I'm no Pilty! And neither are you! Jayce has got you all turned-"

"Am now!" Powder argued. "Got a thing that says so and everything! And Jayce did that! And I'm perfectly fine!" she shouted, which, well, kind of undercut her statement. "So, So if he says he can bring them back? He can!"

Trying to handle the sudden turn, I interceded, "I'm pretty sure getting you papers and raising the dead aren't really comparable, and... you know what, you two go have a seat in the living room and I'll put dinner in the oven, and make us some drinks. This is gonna take some explanation," I sighed. "More than I thought."

"I'm no Pilty, and neither is Jayce!" Vi snapped, then froze, clearly not having meant to say that, something her sister unfortunately instantly picked up on.

Well that took... what, a week? I wondered, making a mental note to train the brawler in OpSec, as Powder, perplexed, turned an inquisitive look my way, and asked, confused, "Jayce?"

Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Technically, Violet, you're not wrong," I stated, sorting through approaches until I found one that seemed like it'd work without lying. "You two will always be seen as foreigners from Freljord instead of natural born Piltovans, and, with how... elevated my position is, along with my nonstandard perspective, classifying me as a 'Pilty' would not work at all," I stated, everything true, while avoiding my extradimensional status. "But, then again, treating you as a... what's a slur Piltoverians use for Zaunites?" I questioned.

Rallying with impressive speed, Violet offered, at least realizing she'd fucked up, "Sump Rats."

Nodding to her in thanks, I continued, "It would be like treating Vander, or you two, like a common 'Sump Rat', when your childhood, while a little rough around the edges up until a few weeks ago, was not impoverished by any stretch of the imagination. Just as I won't look down on you for coming from the Lanes like most 'Pilties' would, I also don't have to worry about you running off with whatever you can carry when my back is turned like Piltovans would do when dealing with 'Sump Rats'."

I paused, then amended my statement, "Well, I don't have to worry about you doing that again, given how we met."

That got a wince from both girls, the tiny tinker looking pained as she started to say, "Jayce, I'm so sorr-" but was cut off as I patted the top of her head once more.

"I know, Powder, just be aware that, while 'Pilties' have problems, most aren't better or worse than your average person from Zaun, just different in how they're jerks," I told her, glad that the momentum of the previous subject had been thoroughly diverted, though it'd need to get addressed before it came up again at an inopportune moment. "So, dinner."

Getting it started, Powder insisted she help while Violet just sipped the drink I'd made her. The older girl opened her mouth to say something when I finished cleaning up, but I nodded towards the sitting room, and she shut it, nodding back, clearly not having forgotten about the promised topic of discussion, but at least willing to let me take the lead as I did what I said I was going to.

Well, mostly, as the brawler claimed what was normally my chair, almost aggressively draping herself across it. Shrugging, I sat on the two person 'love-seat' that she normally used, Powder happily plopping herself right next to me, the slip of a girl leaning slightly against my arm. The older sister didn't look happy about that, but my replying glance hopefully conveyed my thought of, 'If you didn't want that to happen, you shouldn't've taken my seat'.

"Let's talk magic, and why this entire thing's gonna take a bit," I warned them, Vi staring at me intently, while Powder was confused, before sitting up straight with a quiet, "Oh,", her attention drawn in like I was a magnet.

"Magic is, at its core, energy, but not all magic is just energy. As far as I can tell, the magic on Runeterra is... potent, but thankfully unaligned, which makes it relatively safe. It's not a manifestation of the will of the planet, it's not flavored by passing through gods or beings of power, it's not solidified belief, nor is it emotionally aligned, and while it's responsive it isn't overly so, nor does it have any kind of real 'tide'." Which was good, because, while with my Defenses, I'd be fine, Warhammer 40k style Psykers were a whole mess of 'hell-to-the-no', and others wouldn't understand that I wasn't a ticking time bomb once I'd learned to tap into it.

"The type of magic the Banshee used, the one in the potions that healed you, and the one I'm going to see if I can try and get some more of to bring your brothers and father back? It comes from a very specific type of magic called The Weave, and it's... first of all, you're fine," I insisted, which caused Violet to tense, but that was better than her misunderstanding my next statement. "It's infectious, but on a metaphysical level, and, with enough spread, on a global level."

Which itself, in retrospect, explained part of why the help I'd requisitioned had been so freaking expensive, as there were dangers to using the Weave in unaligned areas, but DEATH could've just sent a Water-bender or something and I would've been fine. Which, thinking about it, might have been part of DEATH's test for me, as I should've been more specific, and it was one that I only now realized that I had not passed. For places with a hostile magical system, like Westeros or Randland, forcibly realigning it into something like the Weave was a good thing, if not a cheap thing, but for someplace like this?

I honestly wasn't sure if Hextech would still function, or if those mana-packed crystals would be reduced down to a generic 'magic item ingredient', for artificers to cobble together in their attempts to make a cloak of protection, plus four.

"The Weave works on archetypes," I explained, pausing as I realized neither girl knew what that was. "It works on... stereotypes, themes, things like that. You have Barbarians, Rogues, Wizards, Clerics, Druids, and the like, but what they are is very specific and the way they gain power, while fairly fast, is both very set and capped. Anything new is a massive pain in the ass to create, as you have to impress its shape unto the entirety of your planet's magical fabric, and while the Weave at first serves as a rope-ladder, letting you ascend the Tiers quickly, at the top it turns into a straitjacket, keeping you from going any higher, because every single step further requires you to rework the entire system, and that's functionally impossible, especially for standard Weaves, which is what we'll have access to."

I'd heard stories from some of the recruits in Basic who'd came from R&D, and they all agreed that 'Mythic' Weave-worlds were simultaneously terrifying and complete bullshit.

Looking the brawler in the eye, I informed her, "Here on Runeterra, Violet, if you pushed yourself hard enough, if you had the proper support, and if you survived long enough, you could potentially punch a god in the face, and come out of the confrontation the victor. Powder, you could too," I added with a smile.

"I'd rather blow 'em up," she shrugged, smirking, "Or shoot 'em." Thinking about it, she glanced at my hands, "Or stab 'em. Or all three."

"You said we could," Violet pointed out, giving me a searching, skeptical look.

"I could too," I added, if that's what she was asking, or maybe... "But Weave-empowered heroes... can't. Some special few can break through that barrier, but they're extreme exceptions to the rule. Without a lot of extra help, or some serious out of context bullshit, Weave-users are stuck at that level of capability, forever. In some cases, if the world is less dangerous, that's enough, but as the Weave spreads, it starts to change the world itself, at first in subtle ways, and in time it will eventually 'rebalance' things to a degree that ensures conflict will continue, as the struggle of heroes, villains, and monsters all vying for supremacy is part of its very fabric. And in the chaos of that rebalancing happening, when even minor magical entities can find themselves gods, well, shaking things up can easily make things worse instead of better if you aren't careful."

Because for every group of adventurers that kicked Loki's shit in, there were several hundred thousand who died miserable deaths trying to punch above their level, or were caught off-guard by bad intel. For every shining city on a hill, a thousand villages were wiped out by bandits, cults, monsters, and the like. Resurrection was cheap on Weave-worlds for a reason, and it often wasn't enough.

"How is magic 'infectious'?" the girl beside me questioned, breaking me from my thoughts.

"It's, okay, it's actually a literal weave, like fabric, but a metaphysical one," I explained, tapping the material of the couch we were sitting on, but short of cutting off a piece I couldn't demonstrate this easily. "Actually, gimme a sec," I told them, jogging up to my workshop and grabbing a few rough-spun samples from my idle attempts to create Runeterran-kevlar, and failing. Bringing them back, I held up the smallest sample, made of bright green strands. "If there's just a few scraps of Weave, like we got drinking the potions, or from being around the items I got off the Banshee, it's fine," I explained, easily pulling apart the tiny swatch into its component threads.

"Use more, and it takes longer to dissipate," I stated, doing so to the next size up, which took three times as long to pull apart. "The problem happens when you use a lot," I finished, holding up the largest piece, pulling on it, but it remained intact. "Because it's not static, but will attract more free-floating magic to itself, getting larger and larger. And once it becomes self-sustaining, it'll seek to spread more and more if there's nothing to push back on it. And, like I said, there's nothing pushing on anyone through the medium of magic on Runeterra. Or if there is, I haven't noticed."

Powder frowned, "And bringing them back is using a lot?"

"No, it's a medium amount. It's a lot for a single person," I specified, at Vi's incredulous look. "Which can cause problems if they try and spread it, like a disease, though one that gives you power. But, on a world scale? No. Even two or three dozen rezzes wouldn't do it, as long as they were spread out, but sustained use of Weave magic on top of them might."

Shrugging, I admitted, "I don't know the limits of Runeterra's magisphere, how it'd interact with the Weave, as this sort of thing's way above my head, at least for now. Industrial use of the Weave, though, will start that chain reaction. It isn't a guaranteed full shift, and equilibriums, er, balances can be achieved depending on the pre-existing systems, but modeling that's..." I blew out a long stream of air, "So past me right now it isn't even funny."

"But, we didn't use that there, we used it here," the tiny tinker countered, and it took me a moment to realize what she meant.

"Yes, you're right about that. We did use a majority of the Weave-magic in this dimension, instead of Runeterra. Good catch," I told her, the girl preening a little. "The magic here is... hardened, but it wasn't all used up here," I told her, which caused her self-satisfied smile to drop a little. "The three of us will probably still be carrying a few threads of Weave magic inside us for the next few weeks, at least, though it's probably eighty percent gone by now. Drinking enough potions to hit that tipping point yourself is actually a recommended way of introducing larger Weave-patterns into more... hostile places, places that aren't as nice as Runeterra. That's why something as simple as requisitioning those potions, which we'd need dozens upon dozens of to start building a persistent bit of Weave in ourselves, means I'm going to be spending half my afternoons doing paperwork for the next few months."

I paused, trying to figure out how to explain it. "The Weave is static, predictable, boring, and a trade off of immediate power for barriers and problems down the road." Like Aura was, in some ways, as extending your soul out to cover your weapons and armor was a way for a lot of soul-based bullshit that normally needed skin-contact to yeet you right out of your body by parrying your blade. Which, yes, was why I'd bought Soul Defense, but activating it for people I didn't 'own' would just be asking for trouble. "My boss really doesn't want me to do what's predictable, and is, in all likelihood, actively punishing me for using it in the first place."

Violet grimaced, and, struggling with the words, still started to say, "Jayce, I'm... sorr-"

I cut her off with a raised hand. "Don't worry. It sucks, but my Boss also used that to sneak me some help through it for you two that he probably couldn't otherwise, the fact that I'm paying through the nose for it stopping anyone from looking deeper into it, so it's worth it. Just know that was a one-time thing. And what I'm going to try and bargain for in the future, and trust me this is the easiest way of bringing them back, well it's going to cost. . . twenty times as much? At least if he prices it linearly, based on what it'd cost on a Weave-world, but that means it'll probably be even more. And that means I can't pay him with paperwork if I want it in less than a decade, I'll have to pay him with what he really wants."

"What does a skeleton want? Milk?" Powder questioned, brow scrunching up adorably. "Vander said it helps with strong bones," she informed me seriously, at my confused look.

Laughing, I patted her head, "No, and... please don't call a primordial incarnation of Death a 'skeleton'. He won't mind, probably, but it's a bad habit. No, I'll need to invent something new, something that, at least in the places my employers have access to, they haven't seen before, which is... harder than you think. But DEATH is older than Runeterra, as are many of his contemporaries, and they get very, very bored. That means something new? That's worth a lot."

"Then we'll help!" the tiny tinker declared, jumping to her feet, glancing toward her sister, who, after a moment, slowly nodded.

"You-" I started to argue, wanting to tell her 'You doesn't owe me for this', but that might be taken the wrong way. "I'm going to do this no matter what," I informed her instead. "You don-"

"They're our family," Violet stated, interrupting me, rising as well. "Even if you say we don't have to, we're going to help!"

While overly aggressive, I could see where she was coming from, and Powder nodded, expression set in childish, or perhaps not-so-childish, determination. "Okay," I agreed. "For now, we're still settling in, but if I see an opportunity for you to assist, either of you, I'll bring it up." Thinking about it, and how to best use this new development, I glanced at them both. "For now, though, if you're going to help me in the future, you two definitely need some schooling, which means hitting the books. And I don't mean punching them, Vi."

"Okay!" the younger sister chirped, excited, while the older one frowned.

"I know things," the white-haired girl argued, a little petulantly.

Standing, I informed her, "And after this, you'll know more!"

​

After the girls had gone to bed, I sighed, putting away the books they'd been using. As I'd suspected, Powder was a natural when it came to science, absorbing it like blue-haired sponge, but a quick check at the end of this first tutoring session had showed her retention was... spotty, to say the least.

She instinctively knew what was right, and what wasn't, based on what little she'd already learned, but getting her to explain why was where I ran into trouble, the words 'stuff' and 'thingie' used with reckless abandon. The young girl obviously found parts of my instruction boring, as did her sister, but Powder was willing to put in the effort to firm up her understanding. In turn, when she made seemingly random connections based on what I was teaching that didn't quite make sense, and she, again, couldn't explain, I did my best to take her questions, conclusions, and theories seriously, and either confirm or deny them if I knew the answer, along with why, or I'd write them down to follow up with her on them later.

Unfortunately, her mathematical skills followed the same pattern, but worse, the girl quickly learning how to guesstimate answers, like how 8^3 was 'about five-hundred'. That was perfectly fine for calculating values on the fly and stopping one from accidentally blowing oneself up when trying something new, however that level of vagueness didn't cut it for precision work, or for iterating designs past a certain number of layers of complexity, which itself was crucial for anything that required accuracy or to hold up to stressors over time.

In short, she was Jinx.

But Powder was learning.

Violet, on the other hand, had had a much harder time of it, but was willing to work as long as her sister was. The brawler was silently thankful, giving me an unsure half-smile and nod, when, as Powder was sucking in knowledge like a vacuum cleaner while her sister was stumbling along, I shut down the younger girl's arrogant comments after the third iteration of 'It's so simple, Vi!'.

"But, I'm finally better than her at something!" Powder had whined, making no bones about what she was really doing.

"You both have different strengths. That's common. But think about it, Powder. When Violet was better at something than you, did she shove it in your face? Or did she encourage you?" I'd countered levelly.

We'd stared at each other, and I hadn't backed down until, shoulders dropping, the blue-haired girl had offered a half-hearted, "Sorry, Vi. I'm sure you'll get it. Eventually."

And the brawler had the maturity to not take it personally, having obviously been getting frustrated with herself over her difficulties with the material instead of being annoyed at her sister for her sniping remarks. The now white-haired girl had perked up a little when I'd both handed them a copy of The Hobbit and asked them to read the first chapter. Powder had been unsure, until I'd told them it was an account of an adventure from another world, with different magic, different races, but they were still all people.

After all, if I was going to be responsible for these girls' education, some Humanity would be required.

In time, I might be able to get them into the Academy, but before I'd taken that Fae bitch's deal, I'd finished getting my bachelor's in Education, along with a now-useless teacher's certification, and with that perspective the Academy was... lacking, by modern standards. It was the premier scientific institution on the planet, don't get me wrong, but it was clearly a research school first and foremost, the one prominent staff member who's talent lay in actual Pedagogy, while acknowledged by Heimerdinger, had been forgotten by staff and student alike, the majority of instructors very much following the 'take notes while I talk at you' school of education, with a lesser amount that employed the more freeform 'screw around with things while I make sure none of you kill yourselves' model.

And any idea of things like multiple learning styles, let alone multiple intelligences? The 'Scientific' Yordle himself poo poohed any such thing, declaring it all 'Science', that we could learn if we were smart enough, and put in the proper effort, and the staff had followed suit.

Mind you, I was pretty sure that such metacognitive styles and skills could be learned, with time, effort, and a willingness to rework one's understanding of things, but that wasn't just putting the cart before the horse, it was not even bothering to acquire any equines before you began your journey.

Regardless, while I wouldn't have time to teach both girls to the same volume of classes attending the Academy would entail, it was far less of a difference than it would've been if they could go to high-school back home, actual classes only taking up, on average, four hours a day for Academy students. I couldn't clear that much time in my schedule, but considering I was giving them personalized instruction, I could probably match their theoretical Academy gains in half the time, minus the minor networking that could occur, though that was balanced out by access to my own connections, and that was if I couldn't find a way to motivate them.

Violet I was still trying to figure out, as there was more to the girl than 'Angry McPunchalot', but she was not exactly... forthcoming.

Powder's handle, meanwhile, was ludicrously easy to identify.

Hextech.

Well, Hextech and Chemtech, but with that glowing blue carrot, any sort of stick wasn't required in the slightest.

Shelving the last of the books, and thinking about what I'd be working on with Viktor tomorrow, I ambled through the shelves of my Sweet Home's library, countless leather-bound tomes lining the walls, mass-produced by the Company, color-coded by section and with metallic lettering to create a sort of 'private study' aesthetic.

Hmm, we're still working on pinning down how the Proto-Matrix works tomorrow, but we've got time for other things, I considered, looking up the scientific reference section's location on my phone and making my way there. Turning the corner, I was smiling, only for my expression to freeze, as the shelves were completely bare.

No, there was a single piece of paper, folded over and propped up, with the word JAYCIFER written on it. Approaching it, I picked up the note, and read it, unsurprised by its contents, but annoyed by them all the same.

NO SHORTCUTS

​

"Is it really shortcuts if it's pure tech? I mean, I know how to make a lot of things that don't exist here! Heck, I can make a nuke! It's not that hard!" I yelled, frustrated, but there was no response, nor, checking the paper, were there any new words written on it.

There was, however, a second paper, under the first, bearing a single word.

EXACTLY?

​

"... I know enough," I replied defensively, but, checking, there was no third note.

And, honestly, there didn't need to be one.

I could practically feel DEATH's flat stare on me, which needed no words.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, that's the point," I grumbled, turning around, but nothing had appeared behind me. Walking down the hall, the next seventeen sets of shelves were empty as well, but at the back there were a smattering of books.

Grabbing one, and flipping through it, they were all things that were pretty much common knowledge, the kind of things I might find in the Academy's reference library, which I had access to, but nothing on, say, atomic theory, or how to make an offset litho printing press, instead of the kind that required each sheet to be pressed individually. I knew the assembly had something to do with rollers, but, like, a ton of them because... ink drying rates?

"Not even a copy of 'The Way Things Work'?" I grumbled, having loved that book as a kid, mammoths and all, but not able to recall the specifics that I needed to plagiarize the wheel, as it were.

But, like I told the girls, I was here to invent, not uplift this society directly, and that meant that if I remembered a thing could be done, but not how, exactly, I was just as likely to come up with something that did the same job, but with underlying different mechanics. Like somehow figuring out how to use targeted burns via Hextech discharges to scorch writing on pages en masse instead of soaking a long stream of paper with patterns of ink. If I cracked that odd application, I'd still be able to make a newspaper, but in a way that was completely novel from how they were made pretty much everywhere else.

Because when you have a hammer made of magic, why not use it to nail everything.

Okay, the phrasing needed some work, and while I could probably point people in enough directions to have them figure out the normal way of doing things, even if I tried to recreate what I remembered exactly, there was a not-insignificant chance that they, or I, would zig down the technological path where every other reality in the Company zagged, and doing that to base technologies, that then had other tech built up after them, would still result in something unique after a few layers of invention.

Unless, of course, I had exacting instructions to follow.

"Fine, we'll do it this way," I groaned, pausing, but... no, nothing changed. Which meant that this wasn't a monitored, active conversation, but likely something DEATH had set up in advance. "Am I really that predictable?"

Still no answer, and, walking back out, I half expected to see a note that said 'YES', only visible as I left this section, but, for better or worse, the first two notes were the extent of my supervisor's communications.

Sighing, I just shook my head. "Challenge accepted. Asshole."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Opening the Gate, I checked either direction in the alley, but it was still deserted. Leaning back, I waved for both girls to follow, Violet and Powder, now 'Violetta' and 'Piper', emerging from the Gate after I stepped back into Runeterra proper.

"But why're we doin' this, if we're still going to be living back there. We are still gonna, right?" Piper questioned, jerking a thumb in the vague direction of the Gate.

"Yes, we will. The Sweet Home is better in every way, but we really can't keep doing this," I told the blue-haired girl, gesturing to the alley at large. "We've been getting fairly lucky, but after a certain point of prominence my disappearing and reappearing will be noticed, as will yours eventually."

"Why would Pilties care about us?" Vi scoffed.

Shrugging, I replied, "Well, your relation to me will eventually be enough all on its own." The girl frowned at that, but I wasn't done, continuing, "Given time and the development of your skills, there's a large chance you'll be noticed for reasons completely all your own."

"Hear that, VI, I got skills!" Piper crowed.

Smiling fondly at her sister, Violetta shot back, "He said after you work on 'em." Shooting me a considering look, she added, "You're talking 'bout us making things?"

"Yes, or at least for your sister," I answered the now white-haired teen, as we made our way into the streets. "And you want to pursue your martial pursuits, correct?"

"What?" she questioned, confused. "You mean my fighting?"

Nodding, I told her, "Not any time soon, but it's on my list to get you an instructor. There's still a number of things I need to work on, getting all this set up, but I'm, like... two-thirds of the way there?" I hazarded. "Maybe three-fourths? Getting you two a normal point to be seen entering and existing is a major step in that direction, and I can only pretend to be living at home or the lab, depending on who you ask, for so long. In the meantime, I need you to figure out how to train us. If that's okay with you."

Now the look the brawler sent me was wary. "Train you?" she echoed, clearly wanting clarification.

"You're a better fighter than I am," I admitted easily. "I'll be getting marksmanship training from my Piltovan patrons, and I'll need to find a blademaster that can keep his mouth shut, but hand-to-hand is always needed, and is something I need to get better with." That way I'd be utilizing both Science and Martial Talent in combat. If I could find a Mage I'd be able to start cracking Runeterran magic via the emulative nature of Soul Talent, while my Defenses would be enough to negate the backwash issues that Jayce had discovered might be present when using magic like those here did. However, at least for now, even improving my normal combat capabilities would be a boon, and what could be considered 'normal' here was pretty damn impressive.

"I... teach you?" Vi checked, incredulous.

"Oh, and me too!" Piper added, smiling up at her sister as we walked into increasingly richer areas, two Enforcers starting to stride towards us, until I looked them dead in the eyes with a challenging look, and, either recognizing me or my house's sigil, they both backed off.

The two girls, meanwhile, were wrapped up in their conversation enough that they didn't notice the occasional stare, and rarer hostile look, sent the two outsiders' way. Their fashion was within acceptable standards, but this was a very upscale area, and if I'd had similarly unusual colored hair, and they hadn't already seen me up and around, the locals would probably be sending me the same.

"I've taught you how to fight," Violetta argued.

"You could teach me more," her sister countered. "You can do it while you're teaching Jayce!"

"I haven't said yes!" the brawler objected.

Nodding, I replied, "It's okay if you don't want to. I can find someone else, though finding a Piltovan of your skill will be difficult. And even then, a lot of them have some weird ideas on what's 'allowed' in a fight, and what's not. Like how any blows below the belt aren't 'sporting', and neither are kicks."

I'd barely laid the bait before the older girl took it, demanding, "You think you can find someone here that's better than me?"

"Like I said, it will be difficult," I agreed readily, "but if you really don't want to I'll respect your wis-"

"Fine, I'll do it," Vi interrupted, before smirking in my general direction, "But don't think I'll be going easy on you, Pil- Jayce."

Making no comment on her slip, I smiled back. "Don't go for my face, as that'd raise too many questions, but as long as I can walk into work the next day, and turn a wrench, I'll do whatever you ask of me. Or I'll at least try."

"You're gonna regret that," the brawler promised, though not maliciously. Well, not entirely maliciously.

"In the moment, I'm sure, but it'll be worth it," I replied, spotting where we were going. This street was fairly empty, the home off the main street, but in this case this was absolutely a positive. Heck, it probably would've been a gated community if the city was larger, and the Enforcers weren't already at work keeping the 'wrong sorts' off these streets. There were surely still eyes on us, but that was part of the plan as well.

I'd visited a few key officials, this time without the girls, and had laid down a stronger foundation for their new identities. Under heavy scrutiny they would likely fall apart, but it would hold long enough to be of use for us, and any who looked deeper wouldn't be fooled by an additional layer or two of paperwork.

"I present you two, the Brentsworth estate," I waved, as we had reached our destination. In truth, it was the fantasy version of a brownstone apartment, or possible two of them pushed together into one unit, and it was probably just as costly.

"This is it?" Violetta scoffed, looking at the five-story structure with apprehension.

Pitching my voice to carry, I told them, "I'm sure it's not like anything you might've seen in Freljord, but I think you'll get used to life in Piltover."

"It looks great!" Piper agreed, running up to the door, only to find it locked, before turning back to me. "This is the right building, right? Which floor is ours?"

Shaking my head, as the girl was playing up her naivete a little too much, I slipped out the key and easily unlocked the doors, having made sure to, when visiting this house originally, say hello to the Enforcer on duty to make sure there weren't any. . . misunderstandings.

Opening it up, I told her, "All of them are," and the blue-haired girl raced inside while her white-haired sister easily took the stairs two at a time and strode in, looking every inch like she was trying not to be impressed, which she was, but for different reasons than our observers would likely come to.

Following her in, and locking the door, I flicked the switch to turn on the lights, the windows already unshaded, and the unsteady glow further illuminated the space. The flickering lanterns, as if they were flame instead of current running through crystal, were actually a feature of the building, not a bug. It was interesting, sociologically speaking, how much of Piltover was not 'original', but instead an active rejection of Zaunite norms, at least before it'd become the 'Undercity'.

Chemtech easily created uniform lighting, akin to neon, only occasionally flickering the way that light source did when it was starting to fail, and was miniaturized enough to work at a lantern level. While batteries already existed, small enough to make hand-held crystal flashlights, like the one I owned, the mechanism that created the 'flame' effect was large enough that it could only be used on lanterns at the very smallest, but came standard in any upscale home. It could be selectively deactivated if you really needed a uniform light source, it was just gouache and 'lower class' to use them in that manner consistently.

I made sure not to tell either girl that, as I was sure, if I had, I'd find Vi regularly setting them all to emulate chemtech just to fuck with me.

Tiny feet thudded down the stairs, Piper hanging off the rail to look at me in disbelief. "There's six bedrooms! And each one's almost as big as ours used to be!"

"Biggest one's mine, needs to be for a number of reasons," I added, as Vi was visibly unamused at my 'arrogance', "but pick any of the others and it'll be 'yours'. We'll have a cleaning service come in once every two weeks, so you'll need to sleep in them it at least once a fortnight or else they'll talk."

"Can't trust the help?" the older girl asked sardonically, as Piper ran back up the stairs.

"They work for my patrons, and so they'll report back to the Kirammans. Also they'll gossip to others who will gossip to others, and so on," I answered her. "I'm probably going to catch shit for having you here at all, but it's worth it. Having it seem like you're both sleeping in my bed, however, is a level of 'what the hell' that I do not want nor need. The Kirammans are known for their morals, and at least try to keep to them, so having it spread about that one of their own apprenta is sleeping with two women that live with him, let alone two children? Well, that's something they will not be happy with."

"Then why have anyone come at all?" Violetta asked, a touch scornfully. "Don't want to clean up your own messes?"

Shaking my head, I told her, "We would've had a live-in housekeeper until I put my foot down on it, as much as I could, being in the inferior position to my patrons, as having him, or her, here would mean that using my Gate would be a massive pain in the ass. Hell, it would invalidate half the reason of having this location in the first place! Trust me when I say I'd rather do this myself, but the 'Pilties' won't let me, because that's 'not done', but really they want their spy."

"What's the other half," the brawler questioned.

"What?"

"What's the other half," she repeated. "You said half the reason. What's the other half?"

"Giving you two legitimacy," I replied. As she frowned, I explained, "I'm known around here, I'm set, but for the two of you to be here, you need to be seen coming and going. If you aren't, no matter what you do, you'll always be dependent on me to get anything done, and need me for something as simple as going home, and that's not okay."

She considered that, leaning against the wall, folding her arms. "It'd give you one heck of a threat. Case you wanted us to do somethin'," the white-haired girl sent me a challenging look, as I glanced at her incredulously.

"Yes, obviously," I shot back. "That's why I don't want it."

"With your 'patrons'," she stated, giving the word air-quotes with her fingers, arms still folded, "the Pilty ones and the others, seems like one thing you want is power."

I blinked, not understanding the comment for a long moment. "I... what? Wait," I held up a hand, as her mild frown started to turn into a scowl. "I'm really not getting this."

"What's there to get?" she questioned.

"Apparently something, because those statements seem... oh," I realized. "I want the power to help people, not the power to control them."

"Same thing," the brawler scoffed, and part of me wondered where the hostility was coming from, but I honestly couldn't figure that out, so I decided to just handle this conversation as it came.

Nodding, I extrapolated out her actual statement, countering with, "Oh, I didn't realize you were constantly threatening to beat up your sister every time you asked her to do something."

This time it was her turn to go, "What!? I-"

"Wouldn't, yes," I nodded, cutting her off. "My learning to fight is me gaining 'power', the same kind of power that you have but I don't. If you want to get better, would it be fair to say that you just want power over people?"

"That's not the same thing!" she objected. I just stood there, waiting. "It's not!" she insisted.

"Me learning how to fight, and gaining power that way, is the same as me refusing to make people lives, people I'm ostensibly helping, worse to maintain control of them. That's what you're telling me," I stated. "Then what is you already knowing how to fight, if not a way to control others with the threat of violence?"

Frowning, she insisted, "It's different."

I waited, eventually prompting, "How?"

"It just is, okay?" she half-stated, half-questioned. "I'm not you."

I almost asked her what I was, but, hearing Piper tip-toe down the stairs above us, the sound barely audible, I changed tactics. "You probably haven't, and this isn't a mark against you, but have you ever heard of the actor/observer effect?"

She shook her head no, saying nothing.

"Short version is that people attribute their actions to their situations, something external, while they assume the actions of others are internal," I stated. "In this situation if you cut in front of me to get on the lift it's because you're running late for an important meeting because your friend needed something 'quick and easy' that was neither quick nor easy. But if I cut in front of you to get on the lift it's because I'm an asshole. It can be extrapolated out to communities, where the Undercity has problems because X, Y, and Z, while Piltover has problems because they're stuck-up assholes. Some people are assholes, yeah, but you need to look for evidence instead of assuming."

Looking directly at her, I stated, "And if I could make you a Mage, could make you ten times stronger, ten times tougher, you would accept it, if only to help you kill Silco. And while I can't give you magic, I can help you get better gear, better training, and please, honestly tell me you'd turn me down," I remarked, and Vi stubbornly met my gaze, working her jaw a little but not saying a word. "So, I'm seeking power, and so are you. Please, tell me, how is that different?"

"Because I don't trust you!" she snapped. "Okay!?"

"But I said-"

"I know what you said, but, but that doesn't mean anything!" she argued. "You can talk, and talk, and talk, but that doesn't matter!"

I considered her words, then realized I wasn't dealing with misunderstanding, I was dealing with... well, I was dealing with a traumatized teen. And that, if I pressed, I'd probably get some variant of 'Vander promised he'd be there for us, and then he died,', but that admission... forcing it would help her quickly, would help her confront it, but it would put her already strained psyche under even more stress. I was pretty sure she could handle it, but... what if I was wrong? And beyond that... did she need to? Eventually, yes, but today?

So instead, I just nodded, and told her, "Okay."

"O-Okay?" she repeated, giving me a searching look, not understanding.

"If talking doesn't matter here, then it doesn't matter," I informed the brawler. Smiling a little ruefully, I twisted the quote, "By my actions you shall know me. Since I'm going to do what I say, and since I now trust you to not get Powder, or yourself, killed, that's fine by me. In the meantime, though, you should go upstairs and figure out which room is going to be yours. I'm sure your sister's already messed up her bed, so not that one."

That didn't solve the initial problem of her stating that I wanted to maliciously control their lives, but... there was no way to address that issue this afternoon, given the conditions that'd she'd set for understanding and evidence.

Though, in a way, I'd start doing that very thing this evening.

I could hear Piper move away from the stairs on the floor above us, as Violetta stared at me for a long moment, but I'd said my piece, and any more words wouldn't reach her, only the fact that there were more words.

After a silence that started to get a little awkward, neither of us blinking, or even moving, Vi took a step backwards, exhaled, and turned away from me, heading for the stairs. I let her go, waiting until she was on the next floor up before I sighed, letting my shoulders drop as I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Traumatized teen," I reminded myself, once more. Dealing with teens by treating them like they were adults that just didn't know things worked, nine-times out of ten. It was basic adolescent psychology: treating them like they were children when they knew they weren't caused them to act like most adults would if you did the same, but without an adult's understanding of how to react to those situations.

But while I'd studied childhood and adolescent Psych to get my teaching certification, I hadn't spent nearly the same amount of time looking into trauma-responses, because I wasn't training to become a psychologist, or even work in emergency services, but perhaps I should.

Assuming, of course, that those books existed in my library. I was pretty sure therapists didn't exist on Runeterra, or a number of problems could've been solved.

Hearing steps coming down the stairs, and from the weight they were Powder's, Piper's, I stayed where I was, eyes closed and tired. I expected her to say something, and she did, professing, "I believe you, Jayce!" But what I didn't expect was for her to come up and hug me tightly.

A little unsure, I patted the small girl's back, reminding myself that she was traumatized too, if not as badly as her sister. That said, the blue-haired tween's younger age meant she had less of a foundation to handle things with, though that also meant she had less to break when her foundation was shaken as well. "It's okay, Pi-"

"It's not okay," she argued, her grip on my hip tightening. "You've done so much. You saved Vi. Saved me. You're magic! And she-"

"Doesn't trust me, because I'm, as you put it, magic," I gently rebuked, patting her on the head. Trying to figure out how to put the issue into words, I realized, in a way, that was the issue, so went with that. "Piper, you're a bit like me. We work in concepts, in thoughts. It's why I talk so much, because I'm trying to convey those things, but also why you believe me, because you understand the concepts I'm trying to convey. Strange and, well, arcane as they are. You get them right away. But... there aren't people like me in Zaun, are there?"

The girl didn't look up, and I was about to prompt her when she, almost whispering, said, "There was Vander."

"Vander was a great man, and will be again, eventually, but Vander and I are very, very different people," I replied.

"... You're both good. You both want to make things better...You both care," she murmured.

Sighing, I nodded, "Okay, in that way we're alike. But, Vander was special, wasn't he? Were there others?"

"Benzo," Piper answered without missing a beat.

Which, okay, yes, I'd forgotten about him a little. "Past that?"

Her silence spoke volumes.

"But there were people who acted like they were like Benzo and Vander, weren't there?" I prodded.

"But you're not like them!" Piper shot back, turning to look up at me. "You saved me! And saved Vi! And took care of us! And killed a lot of Enforcers!"

That last one's a little worrying, I noted, given how she phrased it as a reason to trust me, but continued with my planned response of, "And you get that, Piper, but Vi? Some people. Especially when they're used to something. They think the way they've seen things work is the only way things can be. You're not like that. I'm not. But a lot of people are. It's something you can grow past. It's something you can fall into. It's not good, but it's not permanent, not unless the person wants it to be. So Violetta doesn't trust me? Okay. She trusts me enough not to try and grab you and run. Enough to let us color her hair-"

"She looks like an old lady," Piper giggled, but her expression fell as quickly as it rose. "But, what can you do to make her trust you? Can I help?"

I could hear steps sneak down to the floor above us, with a slightly heavier tread, pausing at the last set of stairs leading down to our level, one sister's actions mirroring the other. "Powder, you can't make someone trust you. Not truly. All you can do is show yourself worthy of trust, and wait. Sometimes you can't wait long enough. Some people will never trust you, for reasons you can't control. But your sister's reasons, as annoying they might be in the moment, make sense," I admitted, the blue-haired girl frowning at that, clearly disagreeing. "Vi thinks I'm being... slick. That I'm lying, because that's easier than believing someone like me exists, but am only now showing up, in, if I were inclined to hurt you, the perfect time to strike and snatch you up. She thinks I'm spinning a web of words that has no substance, and if there's one thing Vander had in spades it was substance. So I'll just need to keep showing I'm worthy of her trust until she realizes I am."

"You are!" Piper declared, as if that was that. "Vi's being dumb."

"No," I disagreed. "Vi's hurt, in ways that potions couldn't fix, and she's a lot more of a physical person, so puts higher priority on actions than words. That's not a bad thing, well, the second one isn't. That doesn't make her dumb, that makes her cautious, and while it isn't fun to be called a liar for things that are completely truthful, judged for things you haven't done, I am the adult here, which means it's my job to be the more mature one. Even if only a little," I smiled, winking, getting a smile back from the small girl. "And for the first, just be there for her, like she's been there for you. Okay? Now I'm gonna go find a place to open a Gate, and then let's go get some lunch."

That got a full smile from the other girl, who nodded, and, when I glanced at her grip on me, she sheepishly let go so I could head up, hearing Violet quietly retreat back up to the room she'd claimed.

​

Neither sister commented on eavesdropping on the other, and I said nothing about it as we all headed Home. I had a few ideas on how I might be able to bypass the conceptual block without having to go through the hassle of contacting IT, something I'd found that my current outstanding debt to DEATH blocked, excepting emergency circumstances, which this wasn't, the standard Company response of 'Just Stamp them' so obvious that I knew any 'emergency' claim would be denied.

After that, and a quick change to shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers, I stood next to Piper as we faced Violetta, both girls giving me odd stares.

"What's that?" the older sister questioned, looking askance at my attire.

"Exercise clothing," I replied easily. "So, sensei, what's my first lesson?"

Piper chimed in, correcting me, "Our lesson!"

The white-haired girl stared at me, before rolling her eyes and muttering, "Spirits are supposed to be strange," under her breath. Looking at me directly, she stated, "If you're gonna fight, you need to be in better shape. So gimme, uh, thirty laps around the house!" she commanded.

For a half-second I wanted to point out that, with Body Talent I was already at peak fitness, but that wasn't the point of this. Nodding to her, I took off, Piper following and... easily keeping up?

What the hell?

The girl was half my height, almost literally, needing to take two steps for every one of mine, but not only was she keeping pace with me as I jogged, she didn't even seem winded. Completing my first lap, Vi commanded, "Faster!"

Pouring on the speed, breaking out into a run, the blue-haired girl struggled a little, but, once again, was easily keeping abreast with me.

Coming around again, Vi nodded, but once more ordered, "Faster!"

Breaking out into a full on, screw you, sprint, Piper was now putting in effort, but still keeping up.

This time round, my 'trainer' didn't say anything, nor did she the next time, or the one after that, and as we rounded the back of the building once more, having sprinted what felt like a mile straight, I asked, between gasps, "Vi, have you, do this, often?"

"Yeah!" the girl answered brightly, as if this was no big deal. "Do you not run a lot? At the Academy?"

"Mostly, sitting," I nodded, breathing hard, "Some, weightlifting. A bit, of forge work."

The other girl, starting to breath hard as my ass felt like I was slowly dying, just shrugged and continued to keep pace with me, like a blue-haired puppy out for an invigorating jog.

Okay, if she'd grabbed Powder I really couldn't've caught Vi, I admitted, glad it hadn't come to that. It was on lap twelve, however, that I finally realized what the fuck was going on.

In terms of standard Earth physiology I was at the peak. But this was Runeterra. I'd even noted myself how people like Vi had gotten to the levels they had. Which was how, even with beneficial terrain, Violet had managed to, wielding weapons she never had used before, wipe out Silco's entire gang, minus Sevika and discount Bane.

Focusing, breathing deeply, I could almost feel the mana-rich air enter my lungs, the energy available diverted to muscles that weren't good enough, to make them better to the point that near-physics defying parkour stunts became commonplace, and, eventually, Vi could punch a dragon made of stars in the face.

Well, I'd like to believe I could feel it. All I could really feel was burning pain and like I was being smothered by the world's thinnest pillow. But, if the eleven-year-old girl was easily keeping pace with me, there had to be something to it!

After all thirty freaking laps, my legs felt like they were going to fall off, and, soaked with sweat, I staggered over to the surprised looking Violetta, Piper breathing hard next to me, but otherwise fine. "What, next?" I gasped, between my attempts to shove as much air into my chest as humanly possible.

"Drop and give me two hundred," the sadistic demoness martial arts instructor demanded, though she sounded a little unsure.

"Push-ups?" I checked, and she nodded.

Trying to go down, I instead toppled, face-first, into the grass.

"Jayce!" Piper called out, worried, but I lifted an arm, giving them a thumbs up.

"mm goof!" I replied, mouth full of grass, as I brought my arms down, and tried to do a push-up, only to discover that they, surprisingly, used the legs a bit.

A fact that the rest of my body did not like.

But, screw it. I could apparently sweat my way to superpowers, One-Punch Man style. It took extra effort, given how the Enforcers weren't all superhuman beasts, but I didn't sign up with the Company to be ordinary now did I?

Straining, I lifted myself up, thighs and calves burning with pain, Vi keeping to my request of not involving my face in these things, and bit out a pained, "One!"

And then slammed face-first back into the grass.

Okay, this is gonna be harder than I thought.

Straining, this time I got to "Two!", and straining on the way down as well, lowered myself until the grass tickled my nose, before coming back up for, "Three!" which wasn't quite as bad.

That said, I really hoped she didn't have too much more of this, or I was going to puke.

After a short eternity, when I bit out, "Two-hundred!" and dropped, once more into the grass, groaning, her cheerful call of, "Okay, that's the warm-up!" didn't help in the slightest.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Life was all about the... unexpected.

So many worked so hard to build things, be they structures, organizations, even lives, and expected it to all to go to plan, never even allowing for the possibility that some stray event, that some unforeseen development, that some spectre of one's past could resurface at just the inopportune time, and, like a stray spark in a mine filled with gas, set everything you held dear ablaze.

And this... 'Justice', was certainly unexpected.

Zaun was not a fanciful place.

It never had been.

It was where dreams met reality, and reality won.

But, in doing so, was itself forever changed.

Vander had understood that, in a way. Had seen their fight as unwinnable, and, to his credit, it had been. Then. They were young, foolish, and the cost of their actions had been great, but it had been a worthy cost.

In time he'd forgiven his friend, even for trying to drown him. After all, in the years that followed, he'd done much the same to those that got in his way. No, it was what came after that which was the problem. The deal with Topside had been a necessary evil, yes, but it became a comfortable one, and the Hound of the Lanes had gotten used to his leash.

Topside had choked Zaun, through their dog, and rather than see the slow rot that had spread, the apathy, the smothering of that spark until none looked up into the distant sky and dreamed, his brother had kept his head down, claiming to look to the future, but only at the future his owners allowed. It was only in his dying moments that the real Vander, his brother, had finally cast off his chains and awoken, and it was as beautiful as it was terrible to behold, but far too little, far too late.

And then, after his death, his brother had shown he had access to resources the likes of which Silco could only dream of.

Magic was whispered of, but never seen, the spirits mere stories, to scare small children, but all this time Vander had the assistance of something, or perhaps someone, of unparalleled lethality.

And he'd wasted it.

Thinking about it, Silco had wondered if this 'Justice' was part of Vander's leash, a check on his friend's ambitions, and why, even to moments before the end, Vander had pleaded with his brother instead of fighting. However he had done his due diligence, and there was no record of this 'Justice' in the Academy's archives, nothing describing it in any myth or legend he could find, which meant, whatever it was, it wasn't local. Wasn't another of the Topsider's dogs.

He hadn't thought it was, but those fools were hypocrites dozens of times over, with their talk of opportunity, of progress, while stifling the very people who made that progress possible, while denying the people of Zaun any opportunity. It would only be fitting for the city that claimed to abhor magic and spirits to have one of the latter on their payroll. If the rumors were right, they were even dabbling with the former, though finding information on what this 'Hextech' actually did was turning out to be far more difficult than he expected.

In his office, deep in the Lanes, his harborside facility still unrecoverable, Silco turned over the shell casing, one of over a dozen he'd recovered, and considered the sigils engraved upon them. They were sharp, with a uniformity that, itself, spoke of magic, somehow burned into the brass with a precision that the metalworkers he'd contacted had marveled at. It was clearly a language, but one, again, that his people could find no record of, and one that, despite not understanding a word of it, still sent a cold chill down his spine, along with any that tried to read it, an effect so consistent that it, too, had to be magic.

The scarred man had to chuckle to himself, as he spun the metal, made of a brass that, itself, was just ever so off, the ratios of copper and zinc different than what was made in Zaun, that was actually slightly weaker than what they made. This 'Justice' had tried to kill Silco, and his men, had killed one, but it was clear that its priority was the girl, from its later performances.

If it had wanted Silco dead, Silco was sure he would've been, having not understood the danger he was in, as 'Justice's' later actions had shown.

Stillwater was a hole, a den of rot and corruption, a sword held over the head of any in Zaun that would dare oppose their Topside masters. Impossible to assault without declaring war, Silco had used it himself as a tool to remove unfortunates that he could not take off the board permanently.

Never had he thought of going after it.

But he wasn't a spirit, was he?

Silco had thought, perhaps, this 'Justice' might have been a man. After all, with Shimmer, his people could do impossible things, and he was not so arrogant to believe that he was the only, let alone the first, to find such 'enhancers'.

No longer did he hold such beliefs.

The survivors had not known why the spirit had come, though a few had spoken of an event that had even made some of the guards uneasy, many choosing not to partake, but whatever fell act it had been, it had been enough to incur the spirit's wrath.

And this 'Justice's' wrath had been... impressively thorough.

It had judged the guards, found them lacking, and carried out the sentence itself, leaving the prisoners to judge their fellows, having set several examples and allowed them to carry out their own justice. One spirit, killing well over a hundred men over the course of a few hours, with blade, blast, and bullet, until its task was done, without a hint of magic except its own supernatural nature, able to step between this world and the next as easily as a man might enter a room, taking bullets, blades, and bludgeoning blows without breaking stride as it meted out its due punishment.

Then it had taken off for Zaun, astride a howling device that left a ghostly green trail, and disappeared once more.

Leaving Silco to profit, picking up the pieces that 'Justice' left behind, and wasn't there just a delicious irony to that?

Silco had to laugh, as the survivors of Stillwater, bound by their shared trauma, reborn as they bathed in the blood of the wicked, were now his greatest allies. They, like him, had noticed something... off with this 'Justice's' pistol, able to fire, and fire, and fire, without ever needing to reload, and so had collected the spirit touched brass. They wore them like pendants, close to their hearts, as a reminder of having been seen, and, if not judged worthy, then allowed to continue to live. For now.

And Silco? Why Silco had encountered 'Justice' as well, and lived, so he, too, must be just as worthy as the rest. It was only common sense, after all. Why else would he have one of those irreplaceable, unfalsifiable casings?

Vander had led from the front, with courage, conviction, and an undeniable charisma, but Silco had a way with words, with understanding how people really worked that his brother had lacked. He might not be a towering mountain of muscle, but that made his earnest statements all the more convincing, with logic so simple that any who argued with him must be a dribbling moron.

And no one was more convinced of their own intelligence than those that were lacking in it, yet had just enough rattling around their empty heads to fuel their own fear of being found out.

Though, Silco wondered... was he judged worthy? The Spirit had called him 'Child of Zaun' after all, and while it declared itself his enemy, an announcement the scarred man would never forget, perhaps, like he had with Vander, Silco had the enmity of 'Justice', but also its respect?

The fact that it hadn't bust down his door in the weeks that followed suggested he might, but that was not something he should rely on, so he had gone to ground, and prepared for a retaliation that had never emerged.

Until 'Justice' had reappeared.

Silco had his people watching the Last Drop, having already caught several fools that thought to ransack the bar now that Vander had gone, the scarred man making it clear to others that it was under his protection now. It was all the scarred man could do to help his 'old friend', after all, and added much needed legitimacy to his own takeover. In time, he'd planned take occupy it himself, when it was clear that Vander was not 'coming back', remodel, and reopen the building, establishing himself in his brother's place.

And then 'Justice' had struck once more.

His men had all died, more of those shell casings littering the ground, the building stripped. Then, when the coast seemed clear, with the building searched, Silco himself had approached, only for 'Justice' to reappear, kill the guard that had stood right in front of him, and fly off, leaving the Last Drop's front to collapse in his wake, its iconic sign destroyed, the spirit's message clear as it met his gaze, flying up and away.

It was still beholden to Vander, or at least his memory, and would not brook disrespect of his brother's legacy.

Which, again, was unexpected, but Silco did not get where he was by being unable to ride the ever-shifting tides of changing circumstance.

A knocking at his office door broke him from his thoughts, and he glanced up, commanding, "Come in."

It opened, and Javar walked in, the fat man looking nervous, but fearful was his default state, so that meant little. "S-Sir? Y-You wanted to know if we found anything?"

"That is usually my desire, yes," Silco drawled. "Perhaps you can be a little more specific on what kind of thing it is that you've found?"

"I..." the man glanced at the shell casing sitting on the table. "It's th-that sir. There weren't records in the Academy, but Rici had a cousin, Narror, who had a brother in law, Zakkid, who-"

"Yes, yes, you didn't find this yourself. Get to the point," Silco interrupted, well aware of the man's incessant need to not be solely responsible for anything, lest it blow back upon himself.

Nervously nodding, the man reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of folded parchment, hesitantly stepping forward and placing it on Silco's desk, where the scarred man picked it up, unfolded it, and stared at its contents. At the top were two words, Mordekaiser and Ochnun, the rest of the page covered in painstakingly copied symbols that provoked a now-familiar reaction as he gazed upon them, the room seeming to chill ever-so-slightly, and a cold sweat started to form on the back of his neck.

Picking up the shell and turning it over, Silco saw the same runes as on the paper, though the casing's were sharper, more distinct, as if they were written with a practiced hand, while the ones on his paper were sloppy, akin to an illiterate thug making a copy of a report they'd spied, but unable to understand its contents. "And what, exactly," Silco murmured, pitching his tone to still cut across the room, "are 'Mordekaiser' and 'Ochnun'?"

Upon pronouncing the second word, there was an almost imperceptible sound, like whispers of a long cold grave, that cause both men to stiffen.

"Uh, t-the first isn't a what, it's a wh-who," Javar stuttered. "Old Noxian legend, sir. Twice killed, and, if the l-legends are true, e-eventually to be th-thrice born. But only twice born now. Said to have built Noxus' capital. Isn't around now, obviously. B-but they say he'll be b-back again, o-one day. S-Said he had power over the dead, he did."

"And Och- and the other?" Silco questioned, thinking better of it at the last moment.

"L-Language of the d-dead," the nervous man replied, pale. "S-said to be unspeakable by any living thing, it is."

Leaning back in his seat, the scarred man considered that. "And you, or your cousin's, brother's, second roommate or whatever, believe that this 'Justice' might be a servant of this 'Mordekaiser'?"

Surprisingly, Javar shook his head, firm on something, for once. "No, sir. He ain't."

When the other man said nothing more, Silco, with a touch of annoyance, prodded the messenger, "And that would be because why exactly?"

With a helpless shrug, Javar replied. "W-We're alive. M-Mordekaiser wanted ta conquer everything, and k-kill what he couldn't, 'till he was stopped. B-but he was said to have learned the language. Means others p-prolly knew it already, stands to reason."

"That it does," the scarred man mused. "That it does. I appreciate the information and will make sure your... whatever is compensated accordingly."

"I-I can make sure they get it," Javar offered, and Silco wondered if the source would see even a tenth of what the man before him would receive. Then again, if he, or she, wanted it, they should've brought him the information themselves. Writing up the amount, he offered the slip to the nervous man, who took it, read it, and grinned broadly. "Th-thank you kindly! I-If ya need any more info..."

"I'll make sure you know," Silco stated with a smile, such connections needing to be cultivated when they were profitable, just as they needed to be set right when they were not. "You may go."

The man nodded again, giving the burgeoning crime lord a half-bow, before scurrying out the door.

Turning his attention back to the runes, Silco muttered to himself, "I suppose that answers the question if you're really a spirit, 'Justice'. But the real quandary is if your business here is finished, or if it's only beginning. And if it's the later, how does one go about killing something that's already dead."

Lacking an answer, however, Silco looked over his reports, and not for the first time he wished he had someone to talk to about these things, someone he could trust. They didn't even have to be particularly skilled themselves, only intelligent enough to understand what he was saying, and perhaps point out something he had missed, as he often felt, at times like these, he might have. No man was an island after all, and while he was the peak of a mountain, with other, lesser men and women supporting him, that just meant he had further to fall.

However, he did not have such a confidante, and speaking to oneself was a bad habit to get into, giving one the appearance of insanity when one's underlings realized you were talking to people who did not exist.

Silco noted that the good doctor was recovering, the man having used an emergency dose of Shimmer to survive his extensive wounds. Their main Shimmer production facility was destroyed, burned to the ground, but only a fool kept all of their eggs in one basket, and, unlike Vander, Silco was no fool. Production had only started, but he had a few dozen vials already secured in several locations, ready to be used if the need was great enough. Additionally, while the good doctor's notes were gone, the man's mind was intact, and his memory as sharp as ever.

In fact, his desperate experiment in survival opened up a new possibility, using Shimmer not just as an enhancer, but as medicine. Silco's own scar seemed to throb in response to that thought, the river toxins that had given him his... unique appearance never having fully been purged, no matter what he tried, but even if Shimmer could not heal his old injuries, perhaps it could lessen their symptoms?

From what young Deckard had said of his experiences with the drug, before he was killed by Vander, while the come-down was particularly nasty, the feeling of raw power one felt while on it was undeniable, and the boy had been hooked after a single dose.

A drug that heals as it empowers... this has possibilities, Silco mused to himself, picking up another report.

Sevika had woken a few days prior, in a foul mood, if an understandable one. It hadn't taken too long to understand what had happened to the woman, not when a blast like the one that took her arm, if a smaller one, was seen coming from the window of the Academy within the week. That, combined with a certain high-profile trial, and the manhunt for Vander's children, painted a picture that even a simpleton could understand.

Vander's children had broken into this Jayce Talis' lab and stolen a prototype 'Hextech' device, setting off an experimental explosive in the process. The Topsider's secret weapons project being uncovered had then sent the Council into an understandable panic, resulting in a show-trial where they 'discovered' Talis' studies, but were, of course, convinced to allow them to continue, all while their leader tried to argue against it, maintaining deniability and his 'peaceful' persona.

Meanwhile, the Enforcers practically turned The Lanes upside down in their desperate search for the stolen weapons, fearing what someone like Silco could do if he'd gotten his hands on them, and rightly so. Their fear was such that they even turned against their leashed dog, the Topsider's Council needing to make an example, despite the fact that Vander was the only thing keeping The Lanes in order. Then again, if the Topsiders were smart, they never would've pushed the people of Zaun enough for them to have revolted in the first place, nearly a decade ago.

Vander's children, meanwhile, had kept the weapon, and, in their desperation had turned it against Silco in an inadvertently suicidal attempt to survive, killing themselves in the process. Vander's sons were found, dead, when the flames finally abated, and Marcus had proven his worth by capturing and eliminating the elder daughter, only the youngest still alive.

Though, given she was taken by a death spirit, perhaps she no longer was, which would tie things up nicely, though Silco knew better than to plan for things to go so well.

All in all, it was an unexpected occurrence, one that nearly ruined everything, but such was life. Looking at it from a different angle, though, one could call it an. . . opportunity. The fact that Sevika had thrown herself in front of Silco, losing her arm in the process, spoke volumes, and, as long as he made sure to repay her for her sacrifice, he could tie her to himself far tighter than Vander ever had, or could.

And, looking to the previous report, perhaps he had a way to begin to do so.

He'd have to impress upon the importance of keeping Sevika whole and relatively happy, as the good doctor could be... rough on his test subjects, but, if it paid off, she would become a walking advertisement, not only to the value of Shimmer, but in how Silco awarded loyalty, which would inspire more in turn.

And if he was going to achieve his dreams, make them reality, he was going to need a great deal of loyalty.

Silco had thought that the unexpected strength of Shimmer alone would be enough to secure his supremacy of the Lanes, and independence for Zaun, but with things like this spirit running about, perhaps he should... expand his horizons.

After all, while the Topsiders feared Mages, Silco wanted them to fear Zaun as well, and to fight something magical, perhaps one needed a bit of magic themselves.