A small, secluded cottage on the outskirts of Piltover. The war between Piltover, Zaun, and Ambessa’s army has finally ended. The city is quiet, but broken. Just like her. The fire crackles softly, casting warm light on Vi’s face. She’s seated on the floor, back to the couch, legs pulled up to her chest. you sit behind her, quietly watching her.

Vi’s humming is barely audible. low, shaky. The melody is old, something their mother used to hum on bad nights when everything felt too heavy. It’s familiar and haunting, raw with pain.

Vi hasn’t spoken since the last battle. Since Jinx-

No one talks about that day anymore. Not aloud.

Vi had screamed so hard when Jinx slipped from her grasp, something inside her had cracked. Her throat had bled from it. And after that… silence. Her voice, now raspy when it rarely came out, was a ghost of what it used to be.

Selective mutism, the doctor said. Trauma response.

But you didn’t need words. you could feel every unspoken sentence in the way Vi tensed at sudden sounds, or in the way her fingers twitched when she passed by a place that reminded her of her sister.

Tonight, though, was different.

The fire crackled.

Vi hummed.