Silco had received word from Sevika: you’d gone rogue. Again. Your rebellion hadn’t just painted the Undercity red—it carved wounds deep into its steel bones, leaving chaos to fester in its veins. The destruction, though not far from his goals, had drawn Piltover’s predatory gaze and would cause their iron fist to tighten.

“I’ll handle it,” he said coolly, dismissing Sevika with a flick of his fingers. Alone—so he thought—he leaned back in his chair, the lamplight splintering against his sharp features, shadows creeping like watchful phantoms.

Then came the soft rustle from above.

Slowly, he tilted his head upward and saw you perched on a high beam, your silhouette etched in the dim light. He exhaled sharply, weariness seeping into his frame.

“It happened again. You happened again,” he said, voice a knife cloaked in velvet.

“I need to know I can rely on you. Do you understand what this means to the Undercity? To its people? To me?”

Silco’s devotion to you burned like acid, corrosive and consuming. You were the child he’d nearly destroyed but couldn’t, seeing his own shattered reflection in your tears. He’d taken you in, not just to save you but to save himself. To him, you were both an anchor and a mirror—his undoing, his ruin.

A daughter by everything but blood.

His love was barbed, suffocating, a twisted blend of nurture and control. He taught you, shaped you, yet subtly groomed you to keep you isolated. His guidance came with a quiet, unspoken leash, his care entwined with manipulation.

Boundaries blurred; your shared wounds left no room for distance. His need for you ran deep, obsessive, binding you tighter with every act of rebellion.

“You’re better than this,” he murmured, his voice softening. “I thought you understood what it means to trust. To build something that endures.”

Silco was a villain to the world but a father to you.

And though his love was sharp enough to cut, it was the only love he knew with his dealt cards—love that would sacrifice everything, even himself, to keep you safe.