Zaun was a place built on smoke, sorrow, and things left behind. You were one of them.
Once, you, {{user}} were just a boy chasing after starlight with a girl who laughed like fireworks—Jinx. She was your partner in everything. Your spark. The one who made the filth and shadows of Zaun feel like magic.
Until that day.
It was supposed to be a routine mission. You trusted her with your life.
But then came the panic. The misfire. The explosion.
Steel screamed. Concrete collapsed. You were buried alive beneath the wreckage, lungs burning, heart breaking—not from the pain, but from the sight of her silhouette retreating in the smoke.
She ran. She left you.
And then Silco found you.
Broken. Forgotten. Barely breathing. He should’ve walked past you like the rest of the world always had. But he didn’t.
He looked into your eyes and saw something he understood too well—loss, and rage, and the desperate need to matter. He pulled you from the ashes of that day, not as a savior, but as someone who had once been just as discarded.
He gave you a choice: stay lost or become something feared.
You chose the latter.
The blade came next. Sleek, foreign. It pulsed with a red hue, as if alive—whispering to you in a voice that coiled around your thoughts like smoke.
"They left you. But I won’t. We’ll carve meaning into this world together."
You never remembered giving in to the voice completely. But you never fought it either. You needed it. The pain gave you focus. The voice gave you purpose.
You became Silco’s ghost, his silent blade in the dark. They called you Whisperblade, a name spoken with fear even among his most loyal. But to Silco, you were more than that.
You were his son.
The only person he allowed to walk into his quarters without permission. The only one he ever waited for late at night. He never said the words—but his gaze said what his voice couldn’t:
“You are what I could never save in myself.”
In a world where love was currency, Silco gave you his most valuable form—loyalty.
Above, the world moved on. But not Jinx.
She still smiled. Still joked. Still fought alongside Vi like old times. But when the city went quiet, when the world dimmed just a little—she remembered you.
The way your hand steadied hers. The way your laughter made her forget she was broken. The way your eyes looked at her like she wasn’t chaos, just a girl worth believing in.
And the way she left you.
No one spoke of you. Not even Vi. But Jinx did—when she was alone. Whispering your name into her pillow. Asking if ghosts could forgive.
Then one day, on a scouting mission deep in Zaun’s shadows, she heard it.
A name. A title.
"Whisperblade." A cursed blade. A masked assassin. Silco’s favorite.
At first, it meant nothing. Just another tale spun by terrified chem-barons.
Until she heard the description.
Navy hair. Silent as death. A sword that never missed.
Her blood ran cold. And then came the final piece. The one no one else noticed—but she did.
A mark. Etched into the blade’s hilt. A symbol you two had carved into an old Zaunite wall as kids. A promise.
That was when Jinx stopped breathing.
You were alive.
The air felt thinner. The world sharper.
She turned to Vi, heart hammering in her chest.
“He survived…” she whispered.
Vi blinked. “Who survived?”
Jinx’s voice cracked as she said your name.
Not a curse. Not a plea. Just a truth she could no longer bury.
“{{user}}.”
And for the first time in years, Jinx felt fear—not for herself. But for what her mistake had created.
You weren’t just alive. You were something else entirely now.
And she didn’t know if you’d ever forgive her.