Excitement arose in his chest, filling his tingling rib cage with unearthly delight. Oh, how he wished he could’ve been there to witness the bloodshed, the carnage, the complete disregard for morality and precious life. Each soul extinguished like little more than a candle lit flame. He knew someday she would return, whether it be happenstance like now or a need to revisit old demons.Like a masked murderer, you could always count on creatures of emotion to return to the scene of their greatest traumas. He had been back to his decrepit abode many times throughout the years, he had walked amongst the people of Niobi village, visited the widowers of the men and women he’d abducted, he even visited the empty graves of his very first victims. Splendid memories, those were. But never in his wildest dreams would he have expected Lois to run off and do something like this. She had surpassed him, she had undoubtedly beaten him at his own game - and decidedly so. His creeping jealousy was overshadowed by his elation.

Before recognizing his true potential he saw her as a lover, but her stubborn unwillingness to adapt soured his tastes for Lois. In recent times he looked to her as a pupil, a protege with limitless potential if only she would submit to her baser instincts. Deep down in his unfeeling heart he couldn’t deny a piece of it still belonged to her. But how could he love a woman who found his work repulsive…? Until now… He walked the blood strewn streets, marvelling at the corpses so raggedly disposed of. Like a drunken butcher her cleaving was imperfect. The lacerations left on these lifeless bodies often cut to the bone. He had always been fascinated with the arcane strength Yordles possessed. During the raid on Temple Thanjuul she manipulated her cleaver with unrefined grace, a weapon nearly twice her size was used to great effect.

It was obvious the weight affected her cuts and slashes, but the way she wrapped the momentum into her next attacks is what made it brutal, yet beautiful all the same. Jhin hated that he was falling in love all over again. He had fallen in love with the idea many years ago, a perfect match to his set of skills. A woman who brought the arts of murder along with the intelligence to refine it. Someone to elevate his craft, work with him and not for him. He had tried other candidates. Sister Aijin was beautiful, an excellent talent in her own right. But she was too emotional and too desired by her peers. Sister Akaiken was gifted but far too annoying to be taken seriously. Sister Haken would logically be his next best choice but she was and still is very much in love with her Demon. All his potential suitors paled in comparison to Lois’ promise.

He finally approached it, the centerpiece of Niobi square. In his past life he used to entertain folk that gathered around this very same fountain. The magically influenced pumps from the bottom of the octagonal basin ran up the stone stem and out of the top through four openings. The villagers always took very good care of it, cleaning it of leaves in autumn and shoring its architecture every other year. The water had always been pristine, flowing clearly and beautifully something like an aquifer’s produce. But now they were crimson and dirtied. Corpses floated on the overflowing surface of the fountain’s basin. The magical pumps circulated bloody water up through the spigots, recycling the grimey viscera in a sickening loop. How ironic that the man who was chiefly responsible for caring for the village fountain was now swimming dead in it. Jhin spared half a chuckle at that, rolling up his sleeve to reach down into the red water. He pulled from it coins. Donations given to the spirits in return for protection against their malevolent cousins. Even more irony.

“What did you find?” A half dead, half alive voice croaked in his direction.

Jhin turned to spy Yuzaru, the executioner possessed of more than one personality - irrespective of his Demon. It seemed he was somewhere between the two, now. “Just memories.” Jhin replied, candidly.

Yuzaru took a step closer to spy the coins in his hand. “You’d better hide that, Aijin is picking this place apart.” A creeping, raspy chuckle made its way past the man’s vizard.

“Even in service to the Blood Moon that woman can’t keep her greedy hands to herself.” Jhin spat, his patience thinning. “Bring her here, there’s one last place I need to check before we return.” His eyes angled up the valley beyond the perimeter forest to the hill overlooking the village.

Yuzaru started off just as Jhin began meandering his way up the dirt road. It wasn’t long before the pair of them rendezvoused with him half way up the hillock. He glanced back to see Aijin in full Blood Moon attire. Deep red dress robes detailed with gold adorned her pale hourglass figure. A single baggy sleeve veiled her left arm, cropping out the shoulder. The dress descended into strips of loincloth that fell across the crotch and the behind, covering her womanhood but leaving her hips and the top one third of her thighs exposed. A strip of cloth further reinforced by a large, beaded belt secured her dress at the waist - and tall thigh-high cloth and leather sleeves covered her legs. On her back was her golden wheel, faintly glowing with malevolent energies. And covering one half of her face was her mask, completing her ensemble. His eyes fell to the bouncing coin purse tied at her waist, scoffing.

“Something to say, Myoshu?” Aijin shot a glance back at him.

“Was it not your lack of focus that put you here in the first place?” He fired.

“That’s none of your business.”

“If I’m not mistaken Brother Matsuro rightfully made me the star of this performance, it is my duty to make sure every dancer knows their steps. And you, my dear, have fallen out of step.” Jhin lectured as they walked along.

Yuzaru lacked any interest for the topic but did find Aijin’s sudden silence amusing. The unhappy half of his personality came to the fore, pessimistic as ever soon thereafter. He placed a steady hand on the hilt of his blade, resting it there as he turned the two of them.

“What is Master Jikan and Brother Matsuro’s interest in Nehel, anyways? She’s never been important before and suddenly Matsuro makes her Matron? I find this task ultimately pointless.”

Despite the fact Yuzaru hardly knew any better Jhin was nearly beyond replying, finding his ignorance and his lack of educated assumption enough to dismiss his question entirely. Aijin instead found her confidence after Jhin’s fiery retort had faded from recent memory.

“Brother Matsuro says her Demon is one of a kind. She is of no importance.”

“Every Demon is one of a kind.” Yuzaru followed up just as they began to crest the hill, spying an old homestead beyond a barren crop field.

Jhin separated himself from the conversation, noticing the fields had recently been harvested. Even in his absence they’d maintained the crops. He wondered if anything else had been looked after while he was gone.

Aijin groaned at his perceived stupidity. “I guess your obsession with skulls has emptied your own… The realm of the Blood Moon is a twisted reflection of our reality. There are inequalities there just as there are here. Myoshu’s other half has gifted him with knowledge of summoning rites to unleash our Demonic allies into reality, a powerful gift, no?”

Yuzaru said nothing, but paid his attention in full with an unsettling stare.

“In comparison to someone like the lost Matron Kumo his powers are trivial.” Aijin continued. “Nehel is speculated to be the firstborn of the progenitor.”

Yuzaru’s continued silence spoke to his understanding. He slowly nodded and averted his gaze, letting the weight of that realization settle. The half of Aijin’s face that wasn’t masked gave a look of cool disbelief and disappointment. He had proved her point without even realizing it himself. His Demon, while martially strong, was no doubt at odds intellectually.

“If I’m not mistaken Demons choose hosts most like themselves… That would mean that Nehel sees something in her that reflects upon himself?” Yuzaru added.

Aijin deferred to Jhin this time, glancing his way. A silent sigh fell past his lips. “That was the point of her promotion. Every Matron must be bound wholly with their Demon, expediting the process of her Binding. Master Jikan and Brother Matsuro could more easily investigate Nehel if he had equal control of Lois.”

“Lois?” Yuzaru inquired, his dull inflection hardly conveying his surprise.

“So that’s her name.” Aijin hefted her wheel higher on her shoulders, trekking through the dirt of the field. “Yuzaru, what’s your real name?”

Yuzaru’s fleeting surprise turned to disbelief behind the mask, he blinked hard, consciously urging his brain into action. But he just couldn’t. He grit his teeth, gripping the hilt of his blade a little harder in a second attempt. But still he couldn’t. “I… I don’t remember. I was a swordsman… I helped people… Lots of families in Ionia knew of me…” His compatriots could practically hear the cogs turning in his skull.

“Sister Akaiken knows, she knows.” He finally replied, his voice now alight with an air of optimism.

Jhin had finally arrived at his old farmhouse. He was surprised to find it wasn’t in absolute ruins. He could hardly count the years he’d been away from this place. He made sure not to let his nostalgia become too obvious, his history was his and his alone to keep. He stepped onto the patio, finding his old chair still where he had left it. Memories of the sunsets he’d painted found him again, nearly putting a smile on his face.

The door was left cracked. He prepared one half of his Brush, holding the carbine up as he gently pushed the door open with his foot. He swept the foyer from left to right, finding nothing that warranted caution. Aijin and Yuzaru strode in behind him, looking about the place. Remnants of his other life were no longer. Jhin had been smart enough to dispose of any personal belongings years ago. None of his portraits remained but he imagined each of them still hanging on the wall where they once were. His eyes naturally gravitated towards the far wall above the crumbling fireplace. A distant Jhin hidden somewhere beneath the extravagant showman saw the ghost of his favorite piece. He’d spent weeks on that painting, having Lois pose for hours at a time. The fraction of himself that wanted to remember was so small he struggled to picture it.

It was of the two of them, he knew that much. But he couldn’t remember the background he’d painted, nor could he remember what outfit they’d worn in that picture. He failed to even remember which of his styles he’d portrayed them in. The only thing he saw with clarity was Lois’ eyes. Those purple eyes gleaming like Amethyst in her big sockets. He shook away his fascination and turned to continue searching.

Aijin’s keen perception drew her eyes to Myoshu’s idleness, tracing his vision to the empty spot above the fireplace. But just like Myoshu she was a very good actor, passing off her suspicion as just another unconscious glance. And it seemingly worked as he went off to continue clearing the cottage. Aijin stepped back outside, turning to look upon the barn adjacent to the farmhouse. She rounded the patio banister and started towards it, leaving Yuzaru and Myoshu alone with themselves.

Jhin stepped into the bedroom now, finding his bed still intact. He glanced over one shoulder before coming to its side, sweeping the dust off the sheets with a hand. His tastes back then were so garish in contrast to what he preferred nowadays. The baroque pattern is really what unhinged him, though. At least the colors still fell in line with his present palate. White and gold with maroon-purple sheets underneath. With the bed came more memories. The nights he’d spent with Lois in it were freshest. Having someone half his size at his side gave him a sense of dominance he had only been able to replicate in his art.

He often strived to replicate and portray feelings in his works. It was only now he realized how many of them had been mirroring feelings felt with her. He nearly gagged at the butterflies swirling in his stomach. The excitement of Lois’ massacre mixed with the fond memories were almost overwhelming. And he hated that. For so long his art was his only passion. But this new desire for his old flame had him reeling. He found it impossibly hard to accept he actually cared for someone again. Disgusting, unpalatable, ridiculous! He turned and made for the door only to notice something he hadn’t when entering. A bloody palm print, relatively fresh and pressed low against the frame stood out against the warped wood. He squatted and ran a finger through it… It was just the right size, too.

A moment later he emerged. “Come, Yuzaru, the talent we seek has gone.”

Aijin pushed the old barn doors aside, revealing the interior. It was everything she expected. Storage for harvests that had gone unused for years, hay for animals that no longer called this place home and rusty farm tools. A discoloration in the hay drew her attention, though. Most of it had been cleared away but the strands that remained were charred black. Something was burned here. She swept aside the piles of hay, investigating further until something colorful stood out in the straw. It was a burnt corner of a picture, a painting to be exact. She couldn’t make out any detail beyond red stage curtains. She pocketed the remnant and scanned for anything else, hurrying back when she came up empty-handed.

Aijin and her allies converged on the patio.

“Find something?” Yuzaru asked, folding his arms and notching his chin up towards the woman.

“Just some old burnt hay. You?” Aijin looked to Myoshu in search of any emotion hinted in his one good eye. He displayed none.

“Nothing.” Jhin’s eye contact held strong, unphased by her sudden attention. “If we haven’t found her by now she’s too far gone. It would probably take her only another day to reach a portal that would send her back to the realm of Yordles. We’re at least two days behind. She’s practically unreachable there.”

“Practically?” Yuzaru echoed.

“To enter the realm of Yordles would be foolish. She’s told me that Humans experience heightened emotion and senses there. We’d be too busy enjoying their cocktails to bother retrieving her.” Jhin followed.

“Then we send a Demon.” Aijin challenged.

“Our Kin wouldn’t know how to navigate an alien realm, much less survive in it. Besides, I have a feeling another opportunity will present itself sooner or later.”

“The real question is does Matusro have enough patience to wait that long…” Yuzaru wondered aloud, his pessimism showing again.

“His patience is irrelevant. If what Myoshu says is true, then she’s beyond our reach until then.” Aijin exhaled. “Let’s head back.”

“And leave the village as it is?” Yuzaru cut in.

“They’re Ionians. They’ll figure some Spirit took vengeance upon the town for not paying enough tithe or something.” Aijin reasoned with half a scoff, gripping her Recall Stone.

“I… Take offense to that.” Yuzaru said, doing the same.

Her eyes shot open, breaking apart the sleep that hung around her dry lids. She looked left, finding a woodwoven door and a night stand, then to her right - finding a wall. She was in the comfort of a bed, enveloped in woolen sheets lovingly sewn together by hand. The stunning pain in her hip sent waves of agony through her person, ending in a dull headache she so badly wanted to be rid of. The daylight from the window on the far side of the room stung her eyes. She tucked her head back under the sheets, hoping to fall back asleep before realization swept over her. The moment she threw them away again she was greeted by the grim visage of Nehel who had so suddenly appeared at the foot of her bed.

“The village still sleeps, we take the surgeon’s life and leave.” He grumbled, his bass voice only amplifying her headache.

“Our body is still weak! We could hardly kill him if we tried!” She retorted with a stern whisper.

“False. We have the strength.” His emphasis on “We” very obviously meant “I”, he clutched his palm into a balled fist, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Just- Let us gather ourself for a moment!” She pleaded, wiping her eyes of the sleep that still clung to their edges.

Nehel’s chin rose in begrudged agreement, standing to press his massive back against the wall beside the door frame. He was many times taller than it, and for a moment Lois wondered why he interacted with the world as if he truly existed in it. But that was a question best saved for another time. A question he likely already knew since they shared each other’s thoughts completely now. Before the Binding their minds were their own, but now she could read his violent intent and feel his unending bloodlust as readily as her own thoughts and emotions.

She dashed the covers aside, looking to the bowl of water and the damp rag beside her. The surgeon had been tending to her in her sleep it seemed. That made committing to his murder all that much harder. She took a moment to wash her face and check her bandaging before catching a glimpse of herself in the standing mirror nearby. She approached it slowly, unsettled by the changes she saw in her physical form. Her eyes were no longer the deep purple she was accustomed to. Instead they were bloody crimson. She blinked to make sure it wasn’t some sort of advanced hallucination, and it wasn’t.

Beyond that her physique had grown a little more toned, her assets a little more pronounced and her nails a little longer. She looked down at them to see they were black, long and retractable, disappearing into her flesh with a single thought. She went about dressing herself in the mirror just as Nehel’s reflection appeared behind her, too tall to even fit in its frame.

“This is better.” He declared with certainty.

“I-... I guess…” Lois replied with a lack of confidence. She didn’t hate her new look, but the fact she was that much closer to Nehel unsettled her. It was like she was less of her own and more of him. But then again that seemed to the point of her anomalous transformation.

Without warning her hand extended and her cleaver was summoned into it. She looked down with wide eyes at her body acting without her own input. Usually when this happened the Blood Moon was high in the sky and she became unconscious for the duration of that, lest she was called to the fore by Nehel. She looked up just as control was given over, seeing her eyes burst aglow with blue-red light and purple haze.

“We will show you.”

“Nehel, wait! We said we’d do it!” Lois’ vision shrunk into the third-person as her body was turned away from the mirror. She wasn’t watching herself, but instead she was seeing Nehel in place of herself. This hulking monstrosity now hefted her cleaver, appropriately sized for his proportions. She ran after him, grasping towards him. Her attempts found no purchase, though.

Whatever strange magics plagued her mind had swapped their positions. She was Nehel’s spectator and Nehel was in the driver’s seat. He wandered out of the room, ducking his head. The weight of his steps still didn’t translate as he stomped his way into the foyer and past it towards the bedroom hallway.

“You lie, we both know it.” He said, letting his cleaver meet the floorboards, dragging it behind himself as an early warning of his arrival.

“We aren’t lying, Nehel! We aren’t lying!!!” She shouted, hopelessly attempting to stop him. She tried to put herself in front of him but he simply stepped over her, such was the length of his stride.

He swung open the first door on the right, finding a washroom with no one inside. He swung open the next door on the left, just a closet full of medical supplies. Lois sensed him make a note of that for later. The final door at the end of the hallway swung open to reveal a bedroom of which was occupied. The old man was just stirring in his bed when Nehel entered. For a moment Lois could see a shadow of herself stepping past that threshold with a wicked smirk. A smirk Nehel shared.

Nehel approached the side of the bed and the old man flinched, tumbling out the other side and onto the floor. His eyes were focused lower on Nehel’s form as he dragged himself towards the door.

“Wh- What are you doing, little one?!” He panted, stumbling to his feet.

Lois nearly gasped as Nehel closed the distance in the blink of an eye, cutting low to take a limb. The old man screamed as his left leg was excised just above the knee. He collapsed onto his stomach yelling for salvation. Nehel calmly walked after him, hoisting his blade high into the air. Lois came to the old man’s side, knowing well enough she couldn’t stop what was about to happen.

The cleaver fell with all the anticipation of a guillotine, cutting across his torso to nearly bisect the old man into two halves. Despite the length of Nehel’s blade being large enough to completely slice him in two, it didn’t quite reach the head. Reality and her perception of it were skewed further when, what she presumed to be ethereal blood splashed her face. She wiped it away to find her palms bloody. The lines of what was real and what wasn’t became blurry, so blurry she subconsciously began to warp the inconsistencies until they no longer existed. I couldn’t have done that, could I?

She struggled with herself until she noticed Nehel was heading for the front door, cleaver now held aloft on his shoulder. Just like before she could sense his bloodlust rising, filling him with a carnal need to murder. “Stop, stop! That’s enough! We can leave now! No more!”

She ran but couldn’t reach him before he swung open the door. “Please!”

“You will learn to enjoy the killing! Eventually you will kill for fun!”

It had been nearly a year of searching and still she was empty handed. Ionia was a small island but when pruning its breadth for a single soul it could’ve been its own world. Chelle began to question if this was even the right decision. Lois was a mysterious woman with mysterious motivations. She was secretive and intelligent, seeking her out was bordering on pointless. But her blind devotion to her lover was more than enough to keep her looking well beyond the logical limit. She had started in the adobe atop the tortoise, branching out from there to Ionia city, the neighboring forest Lois had taken Enzo into and the rest of Navori before trekking south to Bahrl island and east across the water to Zhyun. Months of travel all for nothing.

The only place she could think to look now was Piltover. A long time ago Lois mentioned something about her establishment. An alchemist shop if she recalled correctly. The streets of Piltover were busy as ever, bustling with nobles, businessmen and courtesans. Their style was entirely their own and their city was shaped on the ideals of prosperity and progress - hence the name ‘The City of Progress’. Everything here reflected that. Both Piltover and Zaun were leagues above competing nations technologically. It was like stepping into the future. While magic had its place it was very clear tech was a permanent part of Piltover’s atmosphere.

The architecture was impossibly elaborate, bordering on chaotic. The thematic presentation told newcomers that this was a city of wealth first and foremost. Last generation’s buildings constructed of brick and wood had been given a facelift with latticework bronze detailing, elaborate metallic entryways and framed windows with angular grilles. The old buildings were seamlessly infused with the new clean marble architecture that bristled with golden-silver inlays. All of it flowed with the topography of the city, even spanning over the chasm that descends down into Zaun with arching inhabited bridges. The most eye-catching feature was the towers jutting up from the smog that hid Zaun from Piltover. They were creations of little uniformity with outcroppings, side rooms and glass upon glass upon glass reaching higher than the last tower until they plateaued above the tallest buildings.

Bilgewater was a place that often made her feel small, but this place achieved that ten fold. During her early life as a voyager she often brought shipments into this city, but that was so long ago. Piltover was hardly recognizable, now. Chelle finally refocused, venturing through the tangled streets in search of Lois’ establishment. She asked about and was eventually led to the Sapphilite Row in South Piltover. It was a district of commerce most certainly, bustling with merchant kiosks and bold storefronts. She was so intrigued by the many things on display she nearly walked past the glass storefront decorated with glowing potion bottles and exotic antiques. The collage of potion bottles came with splendid variation from bottle shape to the color of the liquid, its viscosity and its clarity. Some even had the blended consistency of a cocktail. On the opposite side of the steps leading up to the glass door were relics and heirlooms from across Runeterra, likely fabricated for display purposes. They still caught the eye, though, enticing passersby to enter and peruse.

She turned her attention upwards to see a vintage wooden sign with the words, “Little Elixirs & Antiques” written in golden calligraphy across it. She pushed through the door only to be greeted by an infectious aroma of Jasmine and Lavender, a scent she vaguely remembered Lois possessing at the beginning of their employment with her. The interior looked very much like a jewelry store with impact-proof purple stained glassing around labelled potions and interesting antiquities. In the center was a circular display case and along the walls were half-circular display cases. Dotted throughout the floor were spinning display cases for the less important but more visually appealing merchandise. Generously scattered across the tops of each display were inert but colorful potions that helped further the aesthetic.

Her feet were met with plush, velvety, purple carpet as she approached the central ringed display case that also doubled as a counter for transactions. Another Yordle stood behind it, unfamiliar. She had pristine sky blue skin, amber-yellow eyes and crimson, braided hair. Chelle found her look a little strange if not for the fact it was so similar. She was dressed in Piltover garb with a regal brown-golden corset over her white business blouse and slacks combo. She had a pleasant, entrepreneur’s smile on her face, ready to sell Chelle on her wares by look alone.

“Welcome to Little Elixirs and Antiques, how can I help you?”

“Uh- Yeah, hi… I didn’t come to buy anything? I’m actually looking for someone. Her name is Lois, I was told she worked here?” Chelle was starting to wonder if she got the right place.

“Oh, my partner? She’s away on business, I can leave a message for when she returns if you’d like.” The redhead replied.

“I know, I was a part of that business... Is there any way you could contact her? Any sort of places she frequents? Anything?” Chelle felt her desperation coming across, but at this point she was beyond saving face.

The clerk took a moment to think. “There is one thing... She gave me an enchanted earring in case of emergencies.” She reached a hand up to one ear, feeling beneath the fold to reveal a simple golden stud. She placed it down on the countertop with the backing. “Just pinch it for a few seconds and you should be able to speak directly to her… If she’s wearing it.”

Chelle took the earring, inserting it into one of her empty piercings before pinching on the stud. A few seconds of hopeless silence passed before she heard noise erupt into her ear, causing her to cringe. The faint sound of screaming provoked a small, “Lois?” Out of the Yordle.

More silence…

A sinister, half-familiar and bass voice rumbled into her skull, violating her drums with a weight of implied violence that could make even the most confident soul uncomfortable.

“Try again.”

“Wha- Who the hell are you? Where’s Lois?!” Chelle used a palm to try and isolate the sound.

“Indisposed.”

“Indisp--” The abrupt silence gave her pause. “Hello…?” No reply. Nothing… Chelle pulled the stud free, placing it back down on the display. Worry both for her friend and Mica’s future threatened to boil out of her. The innocent entrepreneur abated at seeing Chelle’s hair fray and break in real time, shaping itself into jagged edges. Her confusion took a backseat to her growing fear.

Before Chelle could terrify the Yordle into escorting her out she turned and left, pressing through the glass door that noted her departure with an upbeat chime. She nearly cringed at the sound, gritting her teeth harshly, fists balled and eyes low. Chelle hadn’t felt this helpless in years. She thought back to the trauma of losing her family, something she believed had been behind her for a decade, now resurfaced. Tears welled in Chelle’s eyes as her demeanor so suddenly failed her. She threw herself into the nearest alley, pressing her forehead up against the cold stone facade of a Gentleman’s Parlour.

Her fingers clawed weakly at the stone as she fought to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. The thought of Mica’s state becoming permanent made that impossible. Her voice cracked as a guttural wail left her throat. All this time wasted! I’m a failure! What would Mica think of me now?! All the time and resources she invested in me and I can’t even repay her kindness! Her tears, hot like magma, cut across her cheeks. The more she tried to sober herself the harder it became to stop. Could she really take care of Mica? She hadn’t the first clue of what that responsibility would entail. Only in recent memory had she not been entirely dependent on Mica for… Almost everything. All the pressure was now placed on her to perform. She’d have to get a day job, something stable, something safe enough that Mica wouldn’t worry. That would be hard enough as an ex-convict, nevermind that the idea of a nine-to-five in Bandle City was almost painful to think about.

It soon occurred to Chelle that she was right back where it had all begun, voicing her misfortune quietly to the world in a dirty backstreet nestled somewhere in a populated city. Flashbacks of her early life after her years of voyaging plagued her again. Sleepless nights using garbage bags stuffed full of dirty blankets as pillows, stealing from vendors too old and unaware to catch her, being thrown in and out of jail for petty theft. What a pitiful creature she was. Even the constables took pity on her. Suddenly she was disgusted with herself. She had nothing and no one before Mica. Even the inkling of abandoning her was enough to dry her tears. Mica needed her now more than ever. And she was determined to be there, with or without Lois.

“I honestly can’t thank you enough, guys. It’s been forever since we spent this much time together, I just-... I just wish it were on better terms.” Mica, still determined to be of some use, rolled out of her abode and past the garden, a tray sat in her lap with freshly squeezed lemonade.

Her siblings, Rutile and Cobalt, looked up with smiles of understanding. Cobalt was her big older Brother. A massive Yordle by their diminutive standards, strong and broad shouldered with a muscular frame forged by and for his profession of carpentry. In the same vein as most of his family his coat of fur was a shade of tan, noticeably lighter than his little Sister’s. His two ears, unlike his sisters, stood tall and upright at the sides of his head. A modest, burgundy mullet mohawk ran between them and a collar of natural fur of the same color adorned his clavicle. His toothy smile let on to his bright personality, ever the optimist with a hopeful outlook on life.

He had been Mica’s support ever since she was a child. At times he was more of a Father to her then her actual Dad. A generous, charismatic and always understanding individual who could genuinely flip the mood of a conversation for the better at will. Over the past year he provided Mica with invaluable confidence in the face of her crippling injury. The nights she couldn’t bear the weight of reality were made less tragic by his presence. Sitting with her for hours on end just talking, laughing and telling stories from work. His jade green eyes softened at his sister’s kind words.

“Mica- Really, it’s fine. I’m always happy to come by and lend a hand.” The depth of his vocal range appropriately matched his physique. He was a working man with a strong yet quiet delivery that carried his unspoken charisma and delightful charm.

Mica’s sister; Rutile was a bit more reserved than her Brother. Where Mica was polite and understanding and Cobalt was pleasantly lovable - Rutile was an outlier. Her demeanor often came across as motherly and protective. Their Mother; Violane often differed to her when she couldn’t be around for Mica’s childhood. As a young woman she did what she wanted, made her own way but never broadcasted it, trusting in her instincts to make decisions without their parents’ guidance. Rutile was never the type to argue, holding her opinions and decisions close to the chest unless they were asked for. Mica often looked to Rutile for advice, adversely looking to her Brother for support. Mica owed Rutile for much of the woman she was today.

Rutile’s aesthetic only furthered her personality. Rutile wore her charcoal black hair in a messy bob with bangs that completely fell over the eyes. Instead of Mica’s canine-esque ears that fell forward across the top of her head, Rutile’s ears were very long and leporine, descending along her back like a pair of pigtails. Her skin, lightly coated in fur at the rises, was a grey-silver color and her eyes, golden yellow like bowls of honey, sat in slim but large sockets.

“Honestly I needed a little bit of time away from the tracks. Pa has been a real pain recently.” Rutile admitted, wiping her brow as she stood in search of refreshments. Her voice had a husky rasp to it that mirrored her age, lacking the normal range of emotion and inflection due to her slight monotone.

Mica’s baggy style and overalls was a consistent theme throughout her family, save their Mother. Before their Father designed trains he worked on them, and before that he shovelled coal in the railyard. He was a hardworking blue collar for most of his long life and a pair of overalls were the clothes he always found most comfortable. A variation on that style persisted in each of their outfits.

“Boyfriend stuff?” Mica held out the tray as they neared.

“Yeah. He’s always breathing down my neck about it.” Rutile sighed, bringing the glass to her lips.

Cobalt wasn’t one for gossip, especially when their parents were involved, but his curiosity got the better of him eventually. “Are we ever going to meet this mystery man?”

“Don’t count on it.” She shrugged, taking a sip. Her brows perked at the taste.

Mica awaited her review with half a smile. The two of them often exchanged recipes throughout the years for new and unique dishes. But sometimes things became competitive as they compared and contrasted their own special ways of creating the same eats and drinks. Mica’s secret this time was to add a hint of lime and mix in some peach juice, giving the lemonade an appetizing infusion of pink.

Rutile let it play on her taste buds for a moment, brow now furrowed as she ruminated on what to rate this concoction. “Mmmn… Five out of ten.”

Mica’s visage stung of disbelief, only to be replaced by an unamused glare when Rutile began to smile. “Eight. I’ll give it an eight.”

Her optimism was restored, her smile blooming again. “Any tips?”

“Mix in some of the peach pulp next time, it gives it more texture.” Rutile advised, taking another sip.

Cobalt slammed his empty glass back down onto the tray in Mica’s lap, having chugged it all in one go. “Ten. Out of ten.” He declared with a sigh of satisfaction.

Mica nearly blushed. “Thanks, Cobalt… So, uh- How’s it coming?”

Cobalt glanced over his shoulder, stepping to one side. “All done. Your house is now completely wheelchair accessible.” The three of them turned and looked at the final ramp in a series of others that was seamlessly integrated into the steps outside her front door. “I would’ve gotten it done sooner if I wasn’t dealing with a commission.”

The three of them turned now to head into the cool interior of Mica’s home. Cobalt wheeled Mica along and into the foyer that now featured slopes down into the sunken parlor.

“Oh, a commission? You don’t get very many of those.” Mica said as they came to sit down on the sofa.

Cobalt nodded. “It’s really stretching my knowledge of carpentry… She’s some big spender from out of town, really beautiful. A little strange, though, I will admit.”

Rutile rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go again.”

Cobalt’s ears willowed at Rutile’s comment, frowning. “It’s not like that… I’ve-... Given up on dating.” He exhaled, defeated. The two sisters could sense the deflation in his voice, finding it disturbing considering how optimistic he otherwise would’ve been in any other circumstance. Cobalt’s single biggest flaw was his inability to garner attention from the opposite sex. For all his jovial allure he completely crumbled in the face of a woman. Both his sisters were well aware of his shortcomings, and so were his parents. Being the only son meant he was solely responsible for their legacy. In his eyes it was less a responsibility and more a burden at this point. Rutile wasn’t the only one who got stern talkings to. But in his case it was much worse.

“Well, what’s she like?” Mica inquired further.

“She’s quiet, kind of mysterious…” He inhaled through the nose, looking down as he conjured an image of this woman from memory. “She has these crimson eyes like I’ve never seen before. And she talks funny. She says “we” and “us” instead of “I” and “me”. I’ve tried to ask about it but she doesn’t seem to want to talk about herself much.”

“Maybe she’s just shy. Don’t give up on her, this could be your chance to find someone special, Cobalt.” Rutile placed a comforting palm on his shoulder. “What’s she got you building, anyways?”

“I don’t know, some sort of merchant vardo? It’s pretty elaborate, I’ve had to outsource a lot of work for it. But she’s paying well so it's worth it. Hopefully it’ll be done in the next few months.”

“Well, if things do fall through with her at least you’ll have a ton of money.” Mica said, presenting the brighter side of things.

Rutile finally finished the rest of her glass, setting it down on the coffee table. There was a brief stint of silence before Cobalt found himself again, turning to Mica.

“Enough about me, damnit, what about you? Has Chelle found this Yordle she’s looking for yet?”

Rutile huffed with contempt at the mention of Chelle’s name. The two of them didn’t get along very well and for good enough reasons. Rutile saw in Chelle what Mica chose to ignore. The fact she was a delinquent with a shady past. Mica tried her best to ignore the criticism levied at their relationship and Rutile, knowing a similar pain with their parents, didn’t voice them often. But there was clearly bad blood between them.

“She got a dead end lead in Piltover where our friend used to work, but nothing beyond that. She left again a few weeks ago to hit up Bilgewater, our friend has a connection there she wants to pursue. If she doesn’t find anything then she’ll…” Mica’s gaze grew distant suddenly and she shrugged. “Give up, I guess...”

Everyone understood the gravity of those words. Cobalt and Rutile both knew little of this woman who was supposedly able to heal wounds with blood powers. The first time Mica explained it to them they hardly believed her. But Chelle’s word helped rid them of their skepticism. Hope was fleeting, though. And none of them wanted to admit it.