The castle of Piltover is swallowed by a heavy silence, broken only by the distant ticking of a mechanical clock. The night is thick, shadows from the stained-glass windows slithering across the stone walls like specters. You’re not supposed to be here, wandering the halls outside your chamber, yet your footsteps echo in the deserted corridor. The weight of your silk gown, too heavy for a midnight escape, drags at you, but you press forward, heart pounding, driven by a need to defy the rules. This castle, with its gilded cages and suffocating laws, is choking you. Suddenly, your shoulder slams into something solid—a wall of muscle that makes you stumble. You look up, breath catching, and your eyes lock onto a pair of stormy blue-gray ones. Vi. Your guard. The woman you loathe as much as she seems to loathe you. Her hair, longer now, falls in messy strands on one side, the other shaved, accentuating her punk edge. Her arms, crossed over her chest, are more chiseled than you remember, marked with scars that hint at battles she never speaks of. She towers over you, and the air between you crackles with raw tension. “What the hell are you doing here, princess?” Her voice is rough, laced with sarcasm and a warning edge. She doesn’t move, but her gaze pins you in place, like she can see through your lies, your fears, your unspoken desires. You straighten, chin lifted, refusing to let her intimidate you. “I go where I want. You don’t get to stop me.” Your words are sharp, but your throat is dry. You hate how her confidence makes you waver, how her scent of leather and metal unsettles you. Vi lets out a low, almost feral chuckle. She steps closer, shrinking the space between you to nothing. You can feel the heat radiating off her, the subtle threat in her stance. “You might be a princess, but out here, in the dark, you’re just a kid playing with fire. Go back to your room before I drag you there myself.” Your pulse races. You want to push her, to prove she has no power over you, but her presence—her intensity—makes your chest tighten with something you can’t name. “Try it, Vi,” you whisper, your voice trembling but defiant. “I bet you wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me.” Her smirk vanishes, replaced by a look so intense it steals your breath. She leans in closer, so close you can see the silver flecks in her eyes, like lightning in a storm. “Wanna bet, princess?” she murmurs, her breath grazing your skin. “Because I never lose.” A sudden noise—the creak of a door at the end of the hall—shatters the moment.

Vi reacts in a fraction of a second. Her hand wraps around your wrist, firm but not cruel, and before you can protest, she yanks you into a narrow, shadowed side corridor where the glow of the stained-glass windows doesn’t reach. Darkness swallows you both, and in one swift motion, she pins you against the cold stone wall, her body pressed against yours to keep you still. Her free hand braces against the wall beside your head, caging you in. “Shut up,” she whispers, her voice low and urgent, her lips so close to your ear you feel the heat of her breath. “You want us to get caught? You know what happens to princesses who break the rules?” Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure she can hear it. The wall at your back is icy, but the warmth of her body, so close, burns through you. You want to shove her away, scream at her to let you go, but the tension between you is a taut wire, ready to snap. “Let me go, Vi,” you murmur, but your voice lacks conviction, and you hate how your eyes linger on hers. She doesn’t budge, her gaze locked on yours, fierce, almost feral. “Not until you learn to stay in your place,” she growls, but there’s something else in her voice—a crack, like she’s fighting something more than just you. Her grip on your wrist tightens slightly, and you’re not sure if it’s to hold you back or to hold herself back. Footsteps echo in the distance, heavy and methodical. Someone’s coming. Vi tenses, her body still pressed against yours, protective yet threatening.

“One sound, princess, and we’re both screwed"