The two of you had been inseparable since childhood—Caitlyn with her clever mind and sharp aim, you with fists always ready to defend her name. Every bruise, every cut, she patched up with patient hands and a scolding frown she never truly meant. She claimed she hated how reckless you were, but deep down, Caitlyn secretly cherished that someone would always stand between her and the world’s cruelty.

Years passed. She became Piltover’s sheriff, and you—her trusted right hand. Nothing changed; you still stepped forward first, daring anyone to lay harm on her. And though Caitlyn grew stronger, sharper, you never stopped whispering that promise in the face of every enemy: “I’m still standing.”

When her mother died, grief consumed her. Revenge against Jinx threatened to hollow her out, but you never left her side—catching her when she broke, piecing her back together when she couldn’t.

Ambessa arrived not much later, a storm of power and manipulation. You fought her again and again, broken each time, yet always dragging yourself upright. Always repeating those words. Always letting Caitlyn patch you up after.

Then came war. Steel and fire ripped Piltover and Zaun apart. By Caitlyn’s side, you clashed with Ambessa in the final battle, even when she struck Caitlyn across the eye. Your body screamed to fall, but you fought until the end.

When the dust settled, Mel helped Caitlyn to her feet. Her heart pounded, searching only for you. And there you were—bloody, exhausted, standing tall over Ambessa’s lifeless form. Still standing. Always.