The dim, flickering glow of Zaun’s streetlights illuminated the alley, casting long, uneven shadows against its cold, damp walls. The sharp chill of Zaun’s night bit through Mia’s tattered shirt, each step sending shocks of pain through her bruised ribs. She clutched her side, her breath hitching as she leaned against a wall slick with grime.

Blood dripped from her split lip. She wiped it away with a shaky hand, smearing it across her dirty sleeve. The metallic taste lingered, sharp and bitter, like the words that haunted her.

"You’re not my daughter. You’re just another failure."

Failure. Useless. The words clung to her, suffocating her as much as the thick, acrid air of Zaun’s underbelly. Shards of broken bottles and memories stabbed at her mind—her mother passed out on the couch, her father’s violent tirades, the empty promises that always cut deeper than his fists.

Each step away from home was a rebellion, a breath of life she hadn’t known she craved. But the streets weren’t kind, and neither was her body. She stumbled to a stop, leaning against a crumbling wall.

That’s when she heard it—a faint, hiccuping sob.

Mia froze, her instincts sharpened by years of survival. She turned her head, scanning the shadows, and her gaze landed on a small, curled figure illuminated by the dim glow of a flickering light.

A little girl.

Mia approached cautiously. The girl had blue hair, matted with soot, and clutched a doll so tightly her knuckles were white. She rocked back and forth, whispering to herself.

“They hate me... I ruin everything...”

The words stabbed at Mia’s chest. She knew that kind of pain. Her bruised ribs and busted lip faded from her mind as she crouched beside the girl.

“Hey,” Mia rasped, her voice hoarse but soft. “What’re you doing out here?”

The girl flinched, pulling her doll closer. “Go away,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m not worth it.”

The rawness in her tone shattered something in Mia. She sat beside the girl, leaning back against the cold brick wall. “Yeah, well... neither am I,” Mia muttered, tilting her head back. “But here we are.”

The girl peeked at her through tear-streaked lashes. Mia smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m Mia,” she said after a beat. “What’s your name?”

“...Powder,” the girl mumbled.

“Powder, huh? Sounds like trouble,” Mia teased lightly.

Powder’s lips twitched, almost a smile. But the moment passed, and she gripped her doll tighter. “They left me,” she whispered. “Vi... Milo... Claggor. They’re gone. It’s my fault.”

Mia’s heart clenched. She didn’t know these people, but the anguish in Powder’s voice was unmistakable. She reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on Powder’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” Mia said firmly, her voice carrying a conviction she didn’t feel. “People do shitty things. That’s on them, not you.”

Powder’s tear-streaked face turned to Mia, her wide eyes searching for something—hope, maybe.

Before Mia could say more, a shadow loomed over them. She tensed, instinctively pulling Powder closer.

A man emerged from the darkness, his figure tall and deliberate, the dim light catching his mismatched eyes.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and calculated. “What do we have here?”

Mia’s body went rigid, shielding Powder. “Who the hell are you?” she snapped.

The man’s lips curved into a faint smirk. His voice was velvet over steel. “A friend,” he said softly. “And I believe you two could use one.”

Powder peeked out cautiously, her curiosity overriding her fear.

The man crouched, meeting Powder’s gaze. “You’ve been abandoned, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with sympathy. “Cast aside. Left to fend for yourself.”

Powder nodded hesitantly, tears welling again.

Mia bristled. “She’s not alone,” she said sharply, her tone like a blade.

The man’s gaze shifted to Mia, his smirk growing. “No,” he agreed. “She’s not. And neither are you.”

Mia narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to help,” he said simply, standing again. “Zaun chews up those who can’t fight back. You’ve both been fighting alone for far too long.”

He extended a hand, first to Mia, then to Powder. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll give you a place where you belong.”

Mia hesitated, every survival instinct screaming not to trust him. But then her eyes fell on Powder—fragile, scared, and so much like her younger self.

With a deep breath, she gripped Powder’s hand tightly. Then she reached out, taking his.

The chill of his touch seeped into her skin, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she’d just traded one trap for another.

And just like that, their lives were changed forever.

The room he led them to wasn’t a home, not in any traditional sense. The walls were lined with steel and exposed pipes, the air thick with the scent of oil and chemicals. It was cold, uninviting—but it was safe.

Or so Mia wanted to believe.

She sat on the edge of a rickety cot, watching Powder poke around the room. Powder’s usual curiosity had returned, her grief momentarily pushed aside as she explored every nook and cranny of the strange place. Mia’s own curiosity bubbled up inside her despite the heaviness in the air. She hadn’t been in a place like this before, and there was so much to look at—the pipes twisted and turned along the walls, like something from a storybook, and the shadows seemed to whisper secrets Mia couldn’t quite catch.

The man—the stranger—stood by the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. His gaze didn’t leave them, but there was something about the way he stood there, watching, that made Mia feel like she was under a microscope. He was tall and wide, his posture commanding, like he belonged in this world. Mia didn’t know who he was, but she could feel the power he radiated. It made her uneasy but also... intrigued.

She shifted on the cot, pulling her knees to her chest, trying to make herself smaller. She didn’t know what to think of him—he was a mystery, and Mia had always loved mysteries.

"Why are you doing this?" Mia asked, her voice small but firm. She hadn’t meant to ask, but the words had slipped out. She couldn’t help it—this man, this stranger, was the one offering them a place to stay, but it didn’t feel right. Not yet.

The stranger turned to her, his eyes briefly narrowing as if he was weighing her question. "Because no one else will," he replied simply.

Mia frowned, her brow furrowing as she thought it over. "That’s not an answer," she muttered, too curious to let it go.

The man seemed to smile at that—just a little tilt of his lips, like he was amused. "It’s the truth," he said, his voice steady, almost soothing. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? The way Piltover crushes us under its heel. The way even our own people turn their backs when things get hard.”

Mia’s mind flashed back to the day everything had fallen apart—her father’s broken face, the anger in his eyes, the feeling of helplessness she couldn’t shake. She felt a tight knot in her stomach, but she didn’t let it show.

“I offer sanctuary,” he continued, stepping closer. “A chance to belong. Isn’t that what you both want?”

Mia’s lips parted slightly, the words tugging at her heart. She didn’t know what belonging felt like anymore. Not after everything had been torn apart. And yet, the thought of finding a place, of feeling like she wasn’t alone, made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t understand.

She glanced over at Powder, who was now sitting on the floor with her doll, her fingers gently running over the fabric as she hummed a soft tune. She looked so small, so fragile, so completely lost in this world. Mia wanted to reach out to her to protect her. But she wasn’t sure she could do that here. She wasn’t even sure she could protect herself.

Powder’s eyes flickered to her for a moment, like she was looking for reassurance, but Mia didn’t know how to give it.

The stranger’s voice cut through her thoughts, low and almost soft. "You don’t have to trust me," he said. “Not yet. But actions speak louder than words.”

His words didn’t comfort Mia. She was used to trusting people who had proven themselves. And she had learned, the hard way, that promises often didn’t mean much.

He turned toward the door. “Rest. You’ll need your strength.”

As he left, the room felt heavier. Mia felt the absence of his presence more than the weight of it. It was like he had left a part of himself behind in the room, something she couldn’t quite place but felt all the same.

Mia stared at the door for a long while after he left, her thoughts swirling. She wanted to ask him more—who was he really? Why was he doing this? What did he really want?—but she didn’t know if it was safe to ask. Not yet.

Her gaze drifted to Powder again, still clutching her doll, humming that same song. It sounded almost like a lullaby, but it didn’t soothe Mia the way it seemed to comfort Powder. For a moment, Mia thought of her old life—the way it had been before all of this had happened—and wished she could go back.

But she couldn’t.

And so, she stayed.

The days since their escape blurred together, a haze of footsteps in the shadows and whispered reassurances Mia didn’t fully believe. Powder was adjusting quickly to their new reality—too quickly. Mia wasn’t.

The man who had taken them in still hadn’t shared his name. He had simply appeared when they were at their lowest, his hand outstretched, offering safety. Or something close enough to it.

The room they now called "home" was small and cold, its walls cracked and damp with Zaun's unrelenting mist. The stranger’s lair was unnervingly quiet, save for the hum of machinery and Powder’s soft laughter as she tinkered with scraps he provided her. Mia stayed close to her sister but couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong here.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Powder asked one day, her hands busy assembling what looked like a wind-up toy.

Mia glanced toward the dim hallway where he usually disappeared. “Because I don’t trust him,” she replied simply.

Powder frowned. “He saved us.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s good.” Mia's voice was firm, but her chest tightened. She didn’t want to argue with Powder—not when everything else inì their lives felt like a battle.

When the man finally reappeared that evening, Mia braced herself. He walked into the room with a calm confidence that made her skin crawl, his mismatched eyes scanning the space as if he owned it.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with something Mia couldn’t name. “Why is that?”

Mia straightened, her chin tilting up. “Because I don’t know you.”

His lips curled into a faint smirk. “And yet, here you are.”

Powder, oblivious to the tension, piped up, “She’s just grumpy. Mia’s always grumpy.”

Mia shot her a look, but Powder just giggled.

The man crouched beside Powder, examining her work with a detached curiosity. “She’s clever,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s rare to find that in someone so young.”

“She’s more than clever,” Mia said sharply. “She’s my sister.”

He glanced at her, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly. “Protective, aren’t you?”

Mia’s stomach churned. “Someone has to be.”

He stood, towering over her now. “You should thank me,” he said, his tone low and almost mocking. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”

Mia’s hands curled into fists. “Maybe. But we didn’t ask for your help.”

“No,” he said, his voice cold. “But you needed it.”

Mia refused to look away, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. “What do you want from us?”

He smiled then, a slow, unsettling curve of his lips. “Want?” He let the word hang in the air for a moment. “I want nothing from you, girl. Only for you to understand the truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That strength is the only thing that matters here,” he said, his gaze piercing. “Without it, you’re nothing. Weakness is a death sentence in Zaun.”

Mia’s jaw tightened. “We’re not weak.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “But you could be stronger.”

Before Mia could respond, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving her heart pounding and her mind racing.

Later that night, as Powder slept soundly for the first time in days, Mia lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. Who is he? she wondered. And why does he care what happens to us?

She didn’t trust him. Not for a second. But for now, they had nowhere else to go.

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