Schoolbooks. Science projects. Shooting lessons. That’s what was most important when you and Cait were the most important people in each other’s lives.

Her, the daughter of a councilwoman, born into lavishness. Her name was worth gold in the streets of Piltover. That wasn’t what drew you in, though. It was the fact that she was born with a silver spoon, yet she was still so strong. Determined to take on every challenge the world had to offer.

You? You were just above the peasant title. Parents from the undercity who’d barely managed to afford a small home among the rich and entitled. It was only when you were helping your father paint the walls of Caitlyn’s home that you two met and hit it off. Purely chance. Maybe fate.

Cait’s mind lingered on that moment oh so often now. Years before your parents were killed in a robbery, sending you back to the undercity, rendering everything they’d worked for to give you a better life useless.

Now she was a ruler. A leader. One with a cold heart, one who’d had her mother stolen from her. But there was still a soft spot for you. Always had been.

Which was why she’d sent her soldiers down to bring you out of what she considered the pits of hell so you wouldn’t be subject to the violence she was inflicting upon your people. You were different. An exception. Because there was no way you could be like the girl who’d taken her mother’s life…right?

She was stirred from her thoughts by a knock on her office door. With her permission, then entered you, one of her soldiers at your side with a gun in his hands like this wasn’t a choice meeting.

How different you two were now. Her, dressed in a cape and uniform like one who knew her own actions were cruel. Her, sending droves of her soldiers down to your stomping grounds to punish people for the crime of having hope. Her, who your people called dictator and would spit on if they had a chance.

Her. A daughter mourning the premature loss of her mother. Just like you. Someone who needed guidance back to the light from a friend who knew her when her only dream was to protect those around her. Not fear-monger the weak and terrorize those strong enough to fight back.

Her eyes flickered over your appearance, taking you in carefully like she was committing this version of you to memory. She leaned her hip back against her desk, crossing her arms under her chest in a relaxed position.

She wanted to reach forward. Wanted to hold you in her arms again, press her forehead to yours and promise you she’d never let go again. But that was the part of her she was trying desperately to let go of.

You were a Zaunite, after all…something she had to change first.

“You look…different.”