It was just another ordinary day in the Undercity. Steam hissed from cracked pipes, hammers clanged against rusted metal, and slick oil dripped onto the winding streets like it always did.

Days like that all blended together for you. Wake up. Go to work. Get chewed out by your boss so loud your ears rang, just to scrape together a few measly coins. Hit the market. Make dinner. Sleep. Life wasn't glamorous, sure—but it wasn’t rock-bottom either. At least you ate three meals a day and had a few extra coins tucked away in your piggy bank.

You couldn’t even remember the last day that felt like that. It had been a long time.

Now, it’s not just your own mouth you’ve gotta feed. There’s Vi and Powder too.

Vi’s the older one. Grew up too fast—because in the Undercity, childhood’s a luxury no one can afford. She’s tough, scrappy, and always ready to throw a punch to protect her little sister. The streets made her that way.

Your place had sort of become their unofficial hideout. Anytime Vander got that “I’m about to give you a talking-to” look, they’d come knocking. You knew Vander meant well. Took the two of them in, raised them like his own. They knew it too, deep down.

You cooked for them. Gave them a place to sleep. They could be a handful, sure—but they were your handful, and you loved them for it.

“Ow—hey! Watch it, lady!” Vi snapped, hissing as you dabbed an alcohol-soaked cloth onto a cut on her cheek.

Yep. They’d gone and done it again.

This time, they’d broken into some fancy Piltover building—blew up a whole corner of it, no less. Classic Vi. Then came the mad dash through alleyways to lose the enforcers. And now, here they were, hiding out in your little home like always.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Vi yelped again as you cleaned a deeper wound on her thigh. “Can you please not fry my skin off? Damn!”

Powder had been quiet, she closed her book softly and shuffled over, tugging gently on your sleeve.

“{{user}}... Is Vi gonna be okay?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide with worry.