(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
The past few days in the commune had been... eventful.
That was one way to put it.
Everyone seemed to have gotten comfortable inside Viktor's little "utopia," and Adriel couldn't exactly blame them for it. Vi, Jinx, and Isha had all settled in faster than he expected. Even Vander, still trapped in that monstrous body, seemed calmer here than he had been anywhere else. The commune was quiet, safe, and full of people who did not look at him like a beast waiting to snap.
For Zaun, that was damn near a miracle.
The place was comfortable.
Peaceful.
Warm, even.
Adriel wished he could say the same for himself.
Because right now, standing directly in front of him, was a very excited Sky testing her new body.
Her new old body, technically.
It was an exact replica of the one she had before the Arcane reduced her to ash. Same face. Same hands. Same voice. Same nervous, bright intelligence in her eyes. The only difference was that now, she moved like someone who couldn't quite believe movement belonged to her again.
She flexed her fingers.
Lifted her arms.
Touched her own face for the hundredth time.
Then laughed.
Softly at first. Then a little louder, because the sound itself seemed to surprise her.
Adriel watched from a short distance with his arms folded, pretending he wasn't feeling anything about it.
He was.
A lot, actually.
If he was honest, he would admit that this deviation had been worth it.
Because the smile on Viktor's face was something that could warm anyone's heart.
Before this, Viktor had looked like a man living on purpose alone. A man who believed he was doing the right thing because if he stopped believing that, everything holding him together would collapse. He had been calm, driven, and painfully certain in that dangerous way Adriel had seen too many times before.
But now?
Now Viktor looked like a person again.
Not fully healed. Not untouched by what had happened. But present. Grounded. Human in a way he had almost forgotten how to be.
Sky's return had done that.
She had pulled him back from the edge without even trying.
And Adriel could tell Viktor knew it.
There was something different in the way Viktor looked at her now. Less distant. Less consumed. Less like his mind had already moved three theories ahead while the person in front of him waited to be noticed.
This time, he was noticing.
This time, he wasn't ignoring Sky in favor of Hextech. He wasn't brushing her aside because the work was too important, too urgent, too close to breakthrough.
He had been given a second chance.
And, to his credit, Viktor looked determined not to waste it.
The moment itself had been overwhelming.
When Adriel created Sky's body and anchored her soul inside it, neither Sky nor Viktor believed what they were seeing. Even as it happened right in front of them, even as breath returned to her lungs and life settled back into her skin, they stared like their minds were refusing to accept the evidence of their own eyes.
Then Sky moved.
Then she breathed.
Then she cried.
After a few minutes of simply adjusting to being alive again—to weight, warmth, heartbeat, air—she did something she should have done a long time ago.
She confessed.
Not with perfect words. Not with some grand speech. Just an honest, trembling admission she had carried for far too long.
Viktor looked like he might break.
Not from sorrow this time.
From relief.
From grief finally meeting the chance to become something else.
And then he accepted her feelings.
He did not overthink it. Did not intellectualize it. Did not hide behind theory or purpose or the Herald's calm.
He stepped toward her, and Sky stepped toward him, and the two of them kissed like the world had given them back a piece of time that should have been gone forever.
Adriel wasted no time giving them privacy.
He had walked away before things got too intimate, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed somewhere ahead while something painfully soft settled in his chest.
It had been a long time since he felt like that.
Happy.
Not amused. Not relieved after surviving another disaster. Not temporarily distracted by food, jokes, or a nice moment in the middle of chaos.
Actually happy.
Fulfilled.
Like he had done something good without it being covered in blood five seconds later.
A good deed.
A real one.
Hell, maybe he had forgotten what being a hero was supposed to feel like.
That thought stayed with him longer than he expected.
Because so much of his life had become war. Prevention. Damage control. Killing monsters before they killed everyone else. Fixing stories that were already bleeding out by the time he arrived.
But Sky breathing again?
Viktor smiling?
That tiny sliver of satisfaction etched itself into his heart.
He felt happy for them.
And now he needed to make sure that happiness survived.
That was the hard part.
Because Viktor's commune was not going to stay untouched forever. Adriel knew that. He could feel the pressure building around the edges of this place, even if no one else noticed it yet.
Sooner or later, Noxus would come knocking at the commune's doorstep.
Sooner or later, Jayce Talis would return, broken and desperate, carrying answers he did not fully understand and fear he had no idea how to control.
Sooner or later, Anansi would make his move.
There was so much to think about.
So many angles.
So many possible disasters waiting in line like the universe had decided to become a damn scheduling app for trauma.
But right now?
Right now, Adriel was too lazy for that.
After witnessing Viktor and Sky have one of the most emotionally intense moments he had seen in a while, his brain had decided to take a short vacation. Not a long one. Not a responsible one.
Just enough time to exist in the commune without immediately punching, rewriting, or saving something.
He could afford that.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
So, for the moment, Adriel chose to be lazy.
He wandered through the commune with no real destination, watching people work, heal, and live. The soft glow of the sanctuary moved across the pale structures. Children ran past with baskets. Workers carried tools. Some of Viktor's followers tended the sick with calm hands and quiet smiles.
It was still too peaceful for his liking.
But he let it be peaceful.
For now.
Then his thoughts drifted toward Jinx.
And the laziness started to rot.
He really needed to talk to her.
She had been salty for days.
Not dramatically, which was almost worse. Jinx dramatic was easy to spot. Loud comments. Over-the-top gestures. Wild deflection. But this version of salty was quieter. Sharper. She still talked, still moved around the commune with Isha, still acted like nothing was bothering her.
But every time Adriel came near, there was that little edge.
That sting.
That look she gave him like she was trying to decide whether to be hurt, angry, or both.
And honestly?
Adriel couldn't take that shit.
Not because she didn't have a right to be upset. She did. He had said what he said, and even if he meant it as encouragement, it had landed wrong. Or maybe it landed exactly where it needed to and hurt because of that.
Either way, avoiding her was not going to fix it.
And apparently, the grand ancient technique for solving emotional problems was the one nobody in any world seemed to use properly.
Communication.
Revolutionary.
Adriel exhaled through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck.
He would talk to Jinx.
Properly this time.
No cryptic bullshit. No "I know more than you" energy. No trying to patch a wound with a sentence and hoping it counted as healing.
He would talk.
Listen.
Maybe apologize again, because apparently that was becoming his favorite hobby in this world.
After that fuckery was dealt with, he would check on Vi too.
Might as well kill two birds with one stone.
If he could keep both sisters emotionally stable for a while, he would consider that a personal victory.
After deciding on his personal mission for the day, Adriel started walking toward the area of the commune where he remembered Jinx had been staying.
It only took a few minutes to reach it.
The entire walk there, he kept going over possible word choices in his head like an idiot.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing too heavy. Nothing that made it sound like he was trying to fix years of absence in one conversation. Just a normal talk. That was all this needed to be.
A normal conversation.
Hopefully, one that didn't turn into another emotional dumpster fire.
Once he reached her door, Adriel stopped, exhaled quietly, and knocked.
Softly at first.
"Jinx?" he called, keeping his voice gentle. "It's me."
He waited.
A few seconds passed.
Nothing.
He knocked again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
Adriel stared at the door.
Then his expression slowly flattened.
She wasn't home.
All that stress. All that mental preparation. All those careful little lines he had arranged in his head so he could be as sensible as possible—and Jinx wasn't even there to hear any of them.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
He rubbed a hand down his face.
He had overthought an entire conversation that wasn't going to happen. Somehow, that made him feel more mentally tired than actually having the conversation would have.
And the day had barely started.
Adriel clicked his tongue and turned away.
Fine.
If Jinx wasn't here, he could try his luck with Vi.
Which was, honestly, a whole different category of dumpster fire.
Vi tolerated him at best. Maximum tolerance, minimum trust. Their relationship right now was like walking on cracked glass while pretending shoes existed. But maybe that could change too.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
Probably not easily.
Adriel was halfway into that thought when a familiar voice called out behind him.
"Well, well."
He stopped.
That was definitely Jinx.
For one stupid second, Adriel felt like he had been caught with his pants down. Which was ridiculous, because he had done nothing wrong. He had knocked on her door, found no answer, and was about to leave like a normal person.
Still, the feeling hit anyway.
He smoothed his expression before turning around, spinning back toward her with practiced casualness.
Jinx stood a few steps away with Isha beside her, arms loosely folded, eyes narrowed like she had caught him stealing something.
Adriel lifted one hand in a small wave. "Hey."
Jinx stared.
"I assumed you weren't home," he said, trying to sound smoother than he felt. "Was about to leave. Good thing you showed up before I disappeared."
Jinx did not look amused.
"What do you want?"
The delivery stung a little.
Adriel hid it well.
She was still salty. Of course she was. What happened near the fountain hadn't just vanished because a few days had passed. Jinx could carry a grudge like it was a weapon she personally modified and painted hot pink.
Adriel sighed.
"Look," he said, dropping the act a little. "I just wanted to hang out."
Jinx blinked once.
He continued before she could cut him off. "That's it. No lecture. No big speech. No me telling you what you should or shouldn't do. It's been years, Jinx. Last time we really knew each other, we were kids."
His mouth tightened slightly.
"And then everyone thought I died."
Jinx's expression shifted, but only for a second.
Then the wall came back.
"Right," she said. "So now you wanna catch up."
"Yeah."
"With me."
"Yes."
"The current version."
Adriel's brows drew together. "What does that mean?"
Jinx's smile turned thin. "Thought you'd rather hang out with the other one. The version of me that isn't psychotic. The one who builds cute little machines and doesn't blow stuff up."
Adriel's chest tightened.
"Jinx—"
"Nope." She turned slightly, already preparing to leave. "Come on, Isha."
Isha hesitated.
Her small hand tightened around the edge of Jinx's clothes, but she looked back at Adriel with visible uncertainty.
Adriel stood there for a second.
Was this really how things were going to be?
People tolerating him. Keeping him at arm's length. Letting him help because he was useful, but never really letting him back in.
The thought hit a little too close.
It reminded him of being a kid. Of classrooms. Of people avoiding him because he was weird. Because he said things wrong, reacted wrong, moved through conversations like everyone had been given instructions except him. It wasn't his fault that his autism made him different.
Then he stopped.
No.
He was doing it again.
Blaming his condition. His problems. His circumstances. Reaching for anything that made his choices feel less like his own.
Adriel cursed under his breath.
I'm so fucking stupid.
His parents had told him to stop doing that.
Not because his struggles weren't real. They were. They had always been real.
But they couldn't become a shield for every mistake he made.
He was as normal as anyone else.
He just needed more of a push sometimes.
A push.
Adriel lifted his head.
"Jinx."
She stopped, but didn't turn around.
He swallowed his pride.
"Please."
That got her attention.
Jinx slowly glanced back over her shoulder.
Adriel took a careful step forward, not enough to crowd her, just enough to show he meant it.
"I don't want this to keep going like this," he said. "You said I wasn't there. And you're right. I wasn't."
Jinx's jaw tightened.
"But I'm here now," Adriel continued. "So why waste that? Why waste the chance we got after so long?"
He looked at her directly.
"I don't care about some version of you that could've existed. I don't care about who you think I wanted you to become. I want to spend time with you. The you standing here right now."
Jinx went very still.
Adriel's voice softened.
"That's what I'd like."
For once, Jinx didn't have a quick answer.
She looked startled.
Not because of the words alone, but because of the way he said them. There was no smugness. No confidence so sharp it turned into arrogance. No untouchable boy genius from the past. No Spider-Man standing above everyone like he had already figured out the ending.
Just Adriel.
Vulnerable.
Awkward.
Trying.
Jinx had known him once as someone who seemed like he could do anything. The most popular kid in Zaun. The boy everyone looked at like he would succeed Vander one day. Smart, strong, impossible. Someone with no visible flaws, no cracks, no weak spots she could understand.
But now?
Now she saw them.
Not all of them.
But enough to know they existed.
Enough to realize that maybe the person she used to love, admire, and worship had more wounds than she ever imagined.
Jinx stared at him for a long moment.
Then she clicked her tongue.
"Fine."
Adriel blinked.
Jinx pointed at him. "But you better not take that back."
"I won't."
"Because if you do, I'm blasting you."
"I believe you."
"Good."
Then, with absolutely no shame, Jinx walked over and wrapped her arm around his.
Adriel looked down at her.
Jinx looked up at him, daring him to comment.
He didn't.
"Lead the way," she declared.
Isha looked between them, then smiled.
A small, pleased little smile that made her look incredibly satisfied with the outcome. She stepped closer and grabbed a small corner of Adriel's pants, holding on like she had decided she was joining this too.
Adriel glanced down at her.
Then at Jinx.
Then forward.
A small smile tugged at his face despite himself.
So showing emotion was worth something.
Embarrassing.
But worth something.
At least he had managed what he intended.
He wanted to spend time with Jinx, even if only for a little while. And Isha could tag along. She was fun to be around anyway.
The three of them headed down toward the streets of Viktor's commune, Jinx clinging closely to Adriel's arm while Isha orbited near them like a child who had quietly decided this was exactly where she belonged.
And for the second time, Adriel let himself smile like he had actually done something right.
Their little hangout lasted throughout most of the day.
And for what it was worth, the trio actually had fun.
Maybe they trolled a few citizens of the commune along the way.
Maybe a bucket ended up somewhere it definitely wasn't supposed to be. Maybe someone's fruit stall had its entire display rearranged into a smiling face when the owner looked away for five seconds. Maybe a few poor souls spent the rest of the afternoon wondering who had caused such oddly harmless mischief.
They would never know.
That was the beauty of it.
Jinx was delighted. Isha looked proud in the quiet, smug way only a child could manage. And Adriel, despite pretending he had only been dragged into it by association, did not exactly stop them.
That counted as participation.
They ate from a few of the small stalls scattered around the commune, though Adriel quickly discovered a grave and deeply offensive truth.
The place seemed to have no meat.
None.
Not a single piece.
Fruit. Vegetables. More fruit. More vegetables. Some bread. Some soup that looked suspiciously green. Something with mushrooms that he refused to trust on principle after what happened in the mine.
But meat?
Gone. Missing. Absent from the menu like Viktor had personally banished flavor in the name of peace.
Adriel couldn't fathom having such a limited selection of food.
Why would anyone do that to themselves?
Food, in his opinion, was the best sport there was. Right next to martial arts and the gym. Maybe video games could slide in there too if he was feeling generous.
Anyone too picky to enjoy food properly?
Skill issue.
Adriel had learned the hard way to eat almost anything after Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico. When options became limited, complaining stopped being cute real fast. You learned to eat what was available, be grateful, and move on.
That being said—
Fuck olives.
Those could disappear forever.
Adriel's opinion.
After wandering through the commune, messing around, eating what they could, and finding odd little things to do, the three of them drifted far enough from the busier paths to climb a small cliff overlooking the upper stretch of Piltover and Zaun.
The view opened wide before them.
A whole city divided by height, wealth, smoke, and history.
Piltover gleamed in the distance, its towers catching the last golden light of the setting sun. Zaun sprawled beneath it like a wound that had learned how to breathe. Between them, shadows stretched longer and longer as the day gave itself over to evening.
The three of them sat near the cliff's edge.
Jinx sat with one knee up, talking to Isha while the little girl nodded, laughed silently, and occasionally scribbled something down on the paper in front of her. Isha had taken to drawing random little things throughout the day, and Adriel had kept creating more paper and crayons whenever she ran out.
A small use of molecular manipulation.
Nothing dramatic.
Just enough to keep a kid entertained.
Isha seemed to think it was magic.
Jinx seemed to think it was cheating.
Adriel thought it was convenient.
The sky slowly darkened above them. One by one, stars began to appear, tiny pinpricks of light against the deepening blue. The moon pushed itself into place, pale and quiet, taking over the horizon as the sun finally sank away.
Adriel stared out toward the view, a piña colada in one hand that he had absolutely created because the commune's drink options were tragic.
Jinx kept stealing little glances at him.
Subtle, at first.
Then not subtle at all.
Eventually, she stopped pretending.
"Thanks," she said.
Adriel glanced at her. "For what?"
Jinx shrugged, looking away like the horizon had suddenly become very interesting. "This. The date. Hangout. Whatever we're calling it."
Adriel blinked. "Date?"
"Don't get weird."
"You said it."
"I said don't get weird."
Isha looked between them with the intense focus of someone watching entertainment unfold for free.
Jinx hugged one leg to her chest and rested her chin on her knee. Her Shimmer-tinted eyes stayed on the view instead of him.
"For listening," she added, quieter. "I know I yap a lot."
Adriel huffed softly. "You do."
Jinx looked ready to kick him.
He raised the piña colada slightly. "But I don't mind."
That seemed to disarm her more than the teasing did.
Because honestly, most of the hangout had been Jinx and Isha messing around while Adriel listened, laughed, and occasionally enabled their nonsense. He was fine with that. More than fine, actually.
Sometimes listening was easier than speaking.
Jinx noticed.
"You barely talked today," she said.
Adriel looked down at his drink, thinking for a moment.
Then he nodded. "Yeah. I guess I didn't."
Jinx watched him for a long second.
This time, her curiosity didn't look playful.
"What happened to you?"
The question settled between them.
Isha stopped drawing.
Jinx hugged her legs a little tighter, cheek resting against her knees now as she looked at him. "I mean... you were always quiet, sure. Serious. Confident. Like you had a whole plan in your head and everyone else was just trying to catch up."
Adriel said nothing.
"But now you're different," Jinx continued. "Still quiet, but... not the same quiet. You talk only when you need to. Like everything else takes too much energy."
Adriel's gaze lowered.
For a few seconds, he only listened to the distant sounds of the commune behind them. Soft voices. Working hands. Water moving somewhere below.
Then he exhaled.
"I think I've always been like this," he admitted.
Jinx didn't interrupt.
"I just used to wear a mask better."
His fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
"Not the Spider-Man kind. The other kind. The one where you act like you're fine, or untouchable, or like responsibility gives you permission to be insensitive."
Jinx's expression shifted.
Adriel kept looking at the horizon.
"There was a time where I lived in a fantasy," he said. "A stupid one. One I thought made sense because my life felt boring. Then reality hit me hard enough to shatter it."
His voice stayed calm, but something behind it lowered.
"And everything I thought I wanted to be just... broke."
The wind moved softly around them.
"So now I guess I'm returning to what I used to be before all of this. Or something similar." He paused, then gave a small, humorless smile. "Honestly, I don't know."
Jinx stared at him.
Isha did too.
Neither seemed to know what to say.
For Jinx, it was strange. Almost impossible. The boy she had known had felt untouchable. The smartest person in the room. The hero. The one everyone looked at. The one she had admired so much that admiration had blurred into something bigger, messier, and more embarrassing.
Back then, Adriel had felt like a god.
But now?
Now it felt like the god had become human.
And Jinx didn't hate that.
If anything, it made him easier to understand.
A man trying his best.
A man who failed.
A man who carried more wounds than she had ever realized.
The silence threatened to turn heavy again.
Jinx, naturally, decided that could not be allowed.
"So," she said suddenly, much too casually, "speaking of things I carried for years..."
Adriel glanced at her.
Jinx smiled.
It was the kind of smile that should have come with warning sirens.
"I definitely had dreams about you."
Adriel narrowed his eyes. "I remember something about that."
"Yeah, but I didn't explain the genre."
Adriel's entire body went still.
Jinx leaned back on her hands, looking far too pleased with herself. "Very dramatic. Very emotional. Very shirtless and naked. Sometimes, it was very wet in-between my le-."
Adriel choked on his piña colada.
Actually choked.
He coughed once, turning away as Jinx lit up with pure satisfaction.
"Oh my god," she said. "You should see your face."
Adriel wiped at his mouth, eyes wide. "Why would you say that?"
"To lighten the mood."
"That did not lighten the mood. The fuck was that?!"
Jinx ignored him completely and continued, because of course she did. Not in detail, thankfully, but enough implication to make Adriel stare at her like she had become a public safety hazard.
Even Isha slowly turned toward Jinx with the biggest, clearest what the fuck is wrong with you expression Adriel had ever seen on a child.
Jinx noticed.
"What?" she asked. "I'm being honest."
Isha's stare did not change.
Adriel placed his face in one hand. "I feel bad for my imaginary self."
Jinx burst out laughing.
Isha, after looking at Adriel for a second, copied him and facepalmed too.
That only made Jinx laugh harder.
Adriel sighed through his fingers.
He should have expected this.
Honestly, he kind of did.
Jinx being completely out of pocket was half of why people loved her. She could throw emotional vulnerability into a blender with chaos and somehow serve it with a grin. It was exhausting, inappropriate, impossible to predict—
And, annoyingly, not something he hated.
He lowered his hand and gave her a sideways look.
"You are a menace."
Jinx grinned. "And yet here you are."
"Unfortunately."
"You love it."
"Don't push your luck."
Her smile widened, because pushing luck was basically her hobby.
By the time night fully settled over Zaun, the three of them finally started making their way back toward the commune.
Jinx walked ahead with Isha trailing close behind her like a small shadow. Her hands were clasped behind her back, fingers interlocked, her long hair swaying side to side with every step. She hummed quietly, more at peace than Adriel had seen her in days.
Then she slowed.
Just enough to peek over her shoulder.
Her eyes found Adriel.
There was a happiness in them that caught him off guard.
"Thanks," she said again.
Adriel tilted his head. "For what this time?"
Jinx's smile turned softer, but still carried that bold edge that made it her.
"For fulfilling a wish."
Adriel blinked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Jinx turned around fully while still walking backward.
"Going on a date with my long-lost crush," she said, shameless as ever. "Didn't think I'd ever get to do that, considering everyone thought you were dead."
Adriel stared at her.
Then, despite himself, he chuckled.
Jinx's smile brightened in response, wide and genuine, almost brighter than the moon hanging above them.
"Fate's weird like that," she said.
Then she spun back around and kept walking, this time with a light skip in her step.
Adriel watched her go, a gentle smile tugging at his face.
He had fun.
That was the surprising part.
He had actually enjoyed the day. The trolling. The strange food. The cliff. Isha's drawings. Jinx's nonsense. Even the deeply cursed conversation about her dreams, which he was absolutely going to pretend never happened for his own mental health.
But that was Jinx.
Weird. Unfiltered. Chaotic in ways that made no sense until they somehow did.
And Adriel was used to weird.
He had to be.
So he followed them back toward the commune, hands in his pockets, mood lighter than it had been that morning.
At the very least, his day had been productive.
No one cried.
No one exploded.
And somehow, that felt like a victory.
The next day rose over the commune, and surprisingly, nothing eventful happened.
The flow of events seemed to have settled back into its original course.
Original-ish.
Viktor continued working with Vander, trying to reach the man buried beneath the beast. He and Sky spent hours studying Vander's condition, carefully searching for the pieces of his mind that still remained intact. They were persistent about it. Gentle, even. Treating him less like a monster to be fixed and more like a person trying to claw his way back from the inside.
The slightly surprising part was Sky.
Apparently, after being restored, she carried abilities similar to Viktor's.
That had been fun to discover.
Now there were two Heralds.
Great.
Just great.
Adriel wasn't exactly thrilled about that development, but he could admit it was probably better than the alternative. Sky did not seem like the type of person who would become a massive pain in his ass later. If anything, he hoped to God she could keep Viktor from going completely cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
Someone needed to.
And Sky seemed like the best candidate.
After observing both of them treating Vander with almost religious patience, Adriel decided to leave them alone. There was no point hovering. Viktor and Sky knew what they were doing, and if something went wrong, Adriel would know.
Probably.
Hopefully.
He stepped outside the main area of the commune, letting the softer noise of the sanctuary fade behind him. The path curved toward a field that stretched away from the commune's pale structures, the grass moving gently beneath the underground breeze.
That was where he saw Vi.
She stood near a tombstone, still deep in her emo phase, staring down at it like the grave might answer something if she glared long enough.
Adriel slowed.
For about a full minute, he debated whether approaching her was a good idea.
With Jinx, things had turned out better than expected. Weird, sure. Unhinged, absolutely. But better.
Vi was different.
Vi's anger had layers. Some aimed at him, some at Jinx, some at Caitlyn, some at herself. Approaching her felt like poking a bomb and hoping it appreciated emotional maturity.
He could make this easier.
The thought came uninvited.
His Guardian Aura could do wonders when he let it. Characters usually warmed up to him faster, trusted easier, relaxed around him without fully knowing why. It would be simple to lean into that and smooth out the rough edges. Nudge her mood. Make the conversation less painful.
Manipulating feelings was easy.
Too easy.
That was exactly why he didn't want to do it.
Not here.
Not with Vi.
Not after everything.
For now, he wanted to try a more honest approach.
Which sounded noble.
It also sounded like a terrible idea.
Adriel sighed under his breath, then walked toward her anyway.
Vi heard the footsteps.
Her head turned slightly, just enough to see who was coming. When she spotted him, she didn't react much. No glare. No insult. No immediate threat to punch his teeth in.
Just acknowledgment.
Then she looked back down at the tombstone.
Adriel stopped beside her, leaving a respectful amount of space between them.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Vi did.
"I still remember them."
Her voice was quiet.
Adriel looked at her, then followed her gaze back to the grave.
Vi's hands rested loosely at her sides, but her fingers flexed every few seconds.
"My parents," she said. "I remember when they'd come back after work. Long days. Hard days. They'd be sweaty, tired, gross as hell."
A faint scoff left her, but there was no humor in it.
"They always smelled the same."
Adriel stayed silent.
Vi glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
"You know what it was?"
Adriel didn't answer immediately.
He could have pretended he didn't know. Maybe he should have. Maybe that would have been kinder.
But the stare Vi gave him said enough.
I know you know.
So Adriel sat down on a nearby rock and gave her the answer.
"Axle grease."
Vi looked back at the tombstone.
Then she scoffed.
"Of course."
Adriel said nothing.
"You always know," she muttered. "Everything. Even things you shouldn't."
Her voice sharpened, but not into a shout. Not yet.
"How would you even know that? You weren't there when they were alive. You weren't in the picture. You didn't know them."
Adriel lowered his gaze.
Vi turned more fully toward him now.
"That's what pisses me off about you," she continued. "You just... know things. You walk around with answers other people would kill for. Do you know how easy my life would've been if I knew even half the things you do?"
Adriel let her speak.
He already knew this conversation was going to be annoying as fuck. He had expected that. Vi wasn't going to give him softness just because he showed up and decided he wanted closure.
That wasn't how people worked.
And the thought that had brought him to Jinx came back again.
Communication.
The most obvious solution in any world, and somehow the one everyone avoided until everything was already on fire.
It was frustrating. Messy. Usually painful.
But it was the only real way to mend anything.
So Adriel listened.
Vi kept going.
"All my life, I've been guessing," she said. "Fighting with scraps of information. Making choices in the dark. And then you show up, knowing everything, acting like you're tired of explaining yourself."
Her breath hitched slightly, anger and old hurt mixing.
"What the hell happened to you back then?" she asked. "When we first met. Why did you say those things? Why were you so cruel to everyone?"
Adriel's jaw tightened.
Vi's voice cracked harder.
"Why did you play hero while treating people like they were nothing?"
He let the words hit him.
Even though they had talked about this already.
Even though part of him wanted to say they had gone over it in her apartment, that repeating it wouldn't change anything, that he had already apologized.
But that was not how wounds worked.
People did not forgive and forget because one conversation happened.
And yeah, it was annoying to repeat himself.
But this time, repeating the same apology would not help.
So he didn't.
Adriel stood.
Vi looked at him sharply, startled by the sudden movement and the silence that came with it.
"What are you doing?"
He stepped toward her.
Vi tensed.
Then Adriel hugged her.
Her entire body stiffened.
For half a second, she didn't move at all.
Then her hands shoved against his chest.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she snapped. "Adriel, get off—what the fuck is wrong with you?"
Adriel loosened his hold enough that she could pull away if she truly wanted to.
But he didn't let the care vanish from it.
He held her gently, not as a trap, not as a demand, but as an answer he didn't know how else to give.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Vi froze again.
His voice was different.
No sarcasm. No deflection. No tired complaint hiding behind a joke.
Just hurt.
And something painfully kind.
"I'll take care of everything," Adriel said. "Properly this time."
Vi's breathing shifted against him.
"I won't blame other people for what happened to me," he continued. "I won't pour my past onto you and pretend it was your fault. I won't do that again."
His arms tightened just a little.
Not enough to force.
Enough to mean it.
"Can you trust me again?" he asked, voice low. "Please."
Vi didn't answer.
She didn't know how.
His face was hidden against her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her back, and for once, he didn't feel untouchable. He didn't feel above her. He didn't feel like the impossible boy from her memories or the ghost in the back of her head.
He felt human.
And that made everything harder.
Vi stared past him, eyes unfocused, thoughts tangling violently together.
She thought about the past.
About the words he had said to her years ago.
About how small he had made her feel.
About the conversation in her apartment a few days before Jinx arrived.
About the apology.
About the anger she still carried.
About the way he sounded now.
Hurt.
Trying.
Scared, maybe.
She hated how conflicted she felt.
She hated that part of her wanted to shove him away and scream until her throat gave out.
She hated more that another part of her wanted to believe him.
A few seconds passed.
Then Vi's hands slowly lifted.
They hovered near his shoulders at first, uncertain.
Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him back.
Not tightly.
Not completely.
But enough.
"Okay," she whispered.
Adriel stilled.
Vi closed her eyes.
"Okay," she repeated, softer this time.
For a moment, they simply stood there.
Then Vi's voice came again, lower, hesitant in a way she clearly hated.
"Is this gonna work?"
Adriel slowly pulled back just enough to face her.
Vi didn't let go right away.
Her eyes searched his. Tired. Guarded. Hopeful in a way that looked like it hurt.
"This," she said. "Us. Vander. The commune. Everything."
Her throat bobbed.
"Is it gonna work this time?"
Adriel looked at her.
And for once, there was no hesitation.
Determination settled into his face, clear and sharp.
"I'll make it work."
Vi stared at him.
Adriel's voice lowered.
"I have to."
His eyes did not move from hers.
"I won't let what happened before happen again."
The words carried more weight than Vi could fully understand. They were not just about her. Not just about Vander or Jinx or Zaun.
They were about worlds she had never seen.
People she would never know.
Failures Adriel still carried like ghosts stitched under his skin.
"I refuse," he said.
Vi looked into his eyes for a long moment.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she chose to trust him.
Not blindly.
Not completely.
But enough to take the first step.
She leaned back into the hug.
Adriel held her gently.
Around them, the field stayed quiet. The commune continued behind them, alive and fragile, pretending peace was something that could last.
Adriel knew better.
But he also knew what he wanted.
He was going to make sure everyone got their happy ending.
Somehow.
No matter what he had to break to make it happen.
A few more days passed with essentially the same routine.
Vi and Jinx had started communicating more with Adriel, which, in his opinion, was a sight to behold.
Before, everything between them had been quieter. More tense. Filled with awkward pauses, sharp looks, and words left unsaid because everyone was too stubborn, too hurt, or too proud to say them properly. But after Adriel forced himself to stop avoiding the problem and actually talk to both girls, things had changed.
Not perfectly.
Obviously not perfectly.
But better.
Vi still had her edge. Jinx still had her salt. And Adriel still had the emotional grace of someone trying to defuse bombs while blindfolded.
But they were talking.
Laughing, sometimes.
Existing near each other without immediately turning the entire conversation into a weapon.
That was something.
Adriel couldn't ask for much more.
For now, patience was the move.
Days kept passing.
Viktor and Sky continued doing what Viktor had done in the original flow of events: tending to Vander and trying to restore the man buried inside the beast. It was a tedious process. Careful. Slow. Emotionally exhausting for everyone involved, especially Vi and Jinx.
Vander's humanity was there.
They all knew that now.
But pulling it back to the surface was not as simple as reaching in and dragging the old Vander out. His mind had been tangled with instinct, pain, trauma, and whatever horrific procedures Singed had forced onto his body. Viktor and Sky worked with him every day, using their abilities with painful patience.
Days turned into weeks.
Adriel started losing track of how long they had been in Viktor's commune.
Strangely enough, he didn't mind.
The place was still too peaceful in that suspicious way, but he had gotten used to its rhythm. The quiet work. The soft glow. The people moving around like they had finally found a corner of the world that didn't immediately want to crush them.
Then Viktor came to Adriel's small abode.
The people of the commune had gifted it to him not long after he arrived. Adriel still didn't know how to feel about that. A little place of his own, tucked inside a commune that already looked at him like some resurrected myth.
It was comfortable.
That was part of the problem.
Comfort made warnings feel louder when they arrived.
Viktor stood at the entrance with his face visibly tense.
Adriel knew before he spoke.
Noxus was at the commune's doorstep.
Not metaphorically.
Ambessa's forces had arrived close enough that it was only a matter of time before they forced their way in to take Vander. The moment Adriel felt that pressure shifting around the commune, the peace started to feel less like peace and more like a breath held too long.
Viktor asked for a favor.
He wanted Adriel to accompany him during the negotiation talks.
Not as the main speaker. Not exactly. Viktor knew how to speak to people like Singed. Men of science, men of reason, or at least men who dressed obsession up as reason.
Adriel would be there as the final deciding factor.
Insurance.
Because Viktor knew, without a doubt, that Adriel was the most powerful being inside the commune.
At least from Viktor's knowledge.
Sure, they had discovered that Sky carried the same abilities Viktor had now, both connected to the Arcane in that strange, impossible way. But even with Sky beside him, Viktor clearly felt better having Adriel nearby.
Honestly, Adriel couldn't blame him.
Noxus did not come to places like this to ask nicely.
And, to his credit, Huck had apparently grown some massive balls.
The man had stood in front of a fully prepared army as if he was about to stop an invasion with nothing but vibes and a calm expression. It would have been hilarious if the situation wasn't so tense.
The only reason it hadn't immediately become a slaughter was because Singed—Corin Reveck, if Adriel wanted to be technically correct, which he usually didn't—had convinced Ambessa that he could speak with Viktor.
Some bullshit about them being men of science.
As if that automatically meant they would understand each other.
Adriel already knew the negotiation was going to go poorly.
He could feel the migraine creeping in around the edges of his skull.
He just hoped nothing outside the original flow changed too violently.
That was the real problem.
He had already changed future events by reviving Sky. That alone had shattered a major path that should have happened. Anansi was going to do something about it. Adriel was certain of that.
And knowing Anansi, "doing something about it" most likely meant someone was going to die.
Adriel sighed to himself.
Singed had motives. That was the frustrating part. He was not just some cartoonish madman poking corpses for fun. Somewhere underneath all that cold logic and inhuman experimentation was a father desperate to save his daughter.
Adriel could respect the feeling.
The lengths a parent would go to for their child?
That was something he understood.
But Singed had crossed a line so long ago that the line was probably a distant memory by now.
Rio had been one of the first victims of that obsession. A poor little creature with regenerative properties, used and pushed and studied because Singed needed to understand how life could be improved, extended, forced to survive beyond what nature allowed. Shimmer itself carried that same ugliness—nature and science stitched together until one could no longer tell where healing ended and violation began.
Then came other test subjects.
Other bodies.
Other failures.
And eventually, Vander.
Vander's corpse had not even been allowed to rest.
The mixture of it all—the regenerative biology, Shimmer, animal instinct, human remains, science without restraint—was not progress.
It was defilement.
Adriel found it repulsive.
Which was, admittedly, a little ironic.
He casually messed with causality, reality, and the rules of existence whenever he needed to.
Adriel shut that thought down immediately.
Nope.
He was not giving himself a moral dilemma right now.
Not today.
About an hour after Viktor asked him to assist, Adriel entered the enclosed garden where Vander was being kept.
Viktor and Sky were already there, working with him again.
Vander rested low to the ground, his massive body still, but not peaceful. His breathing was heavy. His claws occasionally flexed. His body twitched every so often, as if the beast inside him was dreaming of violence even while the man buried beneath tried to sleep.
Viktor stood near him, one hand lifted toward Vander's head, the faint glow of his power moving across his palm.
Sky stood on the other side, mirroring him.
Together, they looked like two halves of the same miracle.
But Adriel noticed something almost immediately.
Viktor was waning.
Not collapsing. Not visibly breaking. Not yet.
But his strength was thinning. His power was still there, still controlled, but it did not move as cleanly as it had before. He was hiding it well. Or trying to. But Adriel had spent far too long reading exhaustion in people who thought pretending was enough.
Viktor was pushing himself.
Again.
Adriel opened his mouth to comment—
And Singed walked into the garden.
No dramatic announcement.
No sudden sound.
Just that quiet, infuriating entrance of a man who behaved like he belonged anywhere he chose to step.
Viktor did not look surprised.
"I expected you," Viktor said.
Singed's gaze rested on him with open fascination.
The old doctor looked at Viktor as if seeing a thesis written in living flesh. His eyes moved over Viktor's altered body, the calm glow of his presence, the strange stillness in the way he carried himself now.
"What I would give," Singed said softly, "to see the world through your eyes."
Then he reached out and grasped Viktor's shoulder.
The effect was immediate.
Viktor stiffened.
His eyes unfocused.
Adriel knew what he was seeing before Viktor even reacted.
Orianna Reveck.
Singed's daughter.
Sick. Fragile. Preserved inside the strange coffin-like chamber that kept her from fully leaving the world. A life suspended because her father refused to let death have the final word.
Adriel understood that.
He did.
A father wanting to save his daughter was not hard to sympathize with.
But understanding the motive did not excuse what came after.
Animals had suffered.
People had suffered.
Vander had suffered.
And all of it had been done in the name of saving one life by destroying pieces of many others.
That was where sympathy ended.
Viktor snapped out of the vision, breath catching slightly.
Before he could speak, Singed's attention shifted.
To Adriel.
For a moment, the old doctor simply stared.
Then his expression changed.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Recognition.
Wonder.
"So it is true," Singed said. "The legend lives."
Adriel said nothing.
Singed studied him with the unsettling brightness of a scientist looking at a problem he had once assumed solved by death.
"How unfortunate it was," Singed continued, "to believe you had died. Spider-Man. The boy who thought beyond the limits placed before him. Brilliant. Unusual. A mind that seemed to know things no one else could understand."
Adriel remained expressionless.
Being glazed by an old madman was not on his list of things he wanted to experience today.
Actually, it was probably somewhere near the bottom of that list.
"Glad to disappoint," Adriel said dryly.
Singed did not seem bothered.
"I am pleased your story did not end there."
Adriel's expression tightened slightly.
"Yeah," he said. "Sure."
He would much rather Singed stop talking to him and continue whatever conversation he had come here to have with Viktor.
But then Singed saw Sky.
And everything stopped again.
His eyes widened.
For once, the old doctor's composure genuinely cracked.
"You…"
Sky stood straighter.
Singed stared at her as if his mind had run into a wall.
"You were dead."
Sky said nothing.
"Reduced to ash by Hextech." His voice quickened, losing some of its calm restraint. "There was no body. No viable state of recovery. Not even tissue degradation to reverse. You were gone."
His eyes moved to Viktor, then Adriel, then Vander.
"No," Singed whispered. "Unless…"
Adriel already hated where this was going.
Singed took one step closer, thoughts clearly accelerating.
"Did you use the specimen's regenerative factor? Did you extract something from him? Some application of the Arcane in combination with biological restoration? How did you anchor consciousness? Was there a residual imprint? A preserved pattern? What process did you use?"
Viktor's expression hardened.
"No."
Singed looked at him.
Viktor's voice was calm, but firm. "You will not receive that answer."
The doctor's gaze sharpened. "Viktor—"
"No."
Sky glanced toward Adriel for half a second.
Viktor had promised not to expose him.
And despite Singed's push, despite the raw desperation behind the questions, Viktor stood his ground.
"You ask as a scientist," Viktor said. "But your purpose is not understanding. It is application."
Singed's jaw tightened.
"My daughter—"
"I know," Viktor said.
That stopped him for a breath.
Viktor's gaze shifted toward Vander.
"And I know what you are willing to sacrifice for her."
Singed followed his gaze.
His expression cooled again.
"The creature is remarkable," he said. "Its regeneration—"
Adriel's scowl formed before he could stop it.
"Careful."
One word.
Low.
Flat.
The garden seemed to grow colder.
Singed paused.
Viktor saw Adriel's face and visibly panicked.
Sky did too.
Not because Adriel was yelling.
Because he wasn't.
They had both seen enough to understand there were levels to this shit, and Adriel was so high above everyone else that angering him was not a risk worth taking.
Viktor stepped in quickly.
"This discussion is over," he said.
Singed frowned. "I have not yet—"
"I said it is over."
Adriel's eyes stayed on Singed.
Viktor's voice did not rise, but there was a command in it now. "I will not sacrifice Vander for your cause. I will not allow you to reduce him to material. Leave."
Singed looked as if he wanted to argue.
Maybe he had come here with a full speech prepared. Maybe he intended to present his case more carefully. Maybe the conversation was supposed to last longer, unfold differently, follow the path it once had.
It did not.
Not with Adriel standing there, one bad word away from removing Singed from the garden permanently.
The doctor's expression tightened with restrained anger.
Then he turned and left.
No farewell.
No apology.
Just the quiet retreat of a man who had not gotten what he wanted.
Once he was gone, the air loosened.
Viktor turned toward Adriel.
"Are you alright?"
Adriel blinked once.
Then looked at him.
"I'm fine."
Sky studied him carefully.
Viktor did not seem convinced.
Adriel exhaled through his nose. "I just don't like the motives behind all this. Noxus. Singed. Vander. Everything."
His eyes moved toward the sleeping beast.
"Vander is a victim. So were those animals. That creature Rio. Every body Singed touched because he thought the end justified the method."
His voice lowered.
"And Vander's soul couldn't even get a break after death."
Viktor looked down.
Sky's expression softened with quiet sadness.
Adriel was about to continue—
Then everything paused.
Not slowed.
Paused.
The water in the garden stopped mid-ripple.
The leaves froze in place.
Viktor did not breathe.
Sky did not blink.
Even Vander's massive chest halted between one rise and the next.
Reality itself held still.
Adriel knew instantly.
The quectosecond it happened, he knew.
There was only one person he could think of who would do this now.
His gaze shifted toward the entrance of the enclosed garden.
And there he was.
Anansi.
In all his glory.
Adriel had expected him to use the other form. The one with the cosmic skirt hanging below his knees, the bandana covering half his face, the exposed divinity that made him look less like a person and more like a myth wearing skin.
But no.
This time, Anansi wore his green spider suit.
A sleek, dark suit edged with neon green light, glowing faintly along the lines of his body like circuitry stitched into fabric. The spider motif across him pulsed with quiet power, every movement carrying that casual arrogance of someone who knew the room belonged to him before he even stepped inside.
He looked almost relaxed.
Like he had just decided to visit.
Anansi lifted one hand.
"Hi."
Adriel stared at him.
His body went still in a completely different way from the frozen world around them.
Anansi looked around the garden, amused.
"I expected this, you know. Not exactly this. Not Sky alive again, definitely not that. But the buildup? The pressure? The way everything has been crawling toward this moment?"
He smiled.
"Almost inspiring, really."
Adriel's fists slowly clenched.
Anansi kept talking, as if they were catching up over coffee instead of standing inside a paused reality.
"Everything the Guardians have done to reach Piltover. The regions. The wars. The deaths. The desperate little victories. Incredible."
His glowing eyes settled on Adriel.
"The possibility of you becoming stronger was always low. You and the others. I did not expect all of you to push through impossible odds this consistently."
Adriel's expression did not move.
"That deserves celebration."
Adriel finally spoke.
"You really think I'm in the mood to celebrate?"
Anansi chuckled.
Adriel's voice sharpened. "About time you showed your face, you fucking bastard."
Anansi's smile widened.
"There he is."
Adriel took half a step forward.
Anansi lifted a finger.
"Hold your horses. Not yet."
Adriel stopped.
Barely.
Anansi's gaze flicked toward Sky's frozen form.
"I only came to peek. See how things were going. And wow…"
He laughed softly.
"You changed quite a lot, didn't you?"
Adriel said nothing.
"Sky alive. Viktor altered. The future rewritten before it could properly suffer."
Anansi tilted his head.
"I was expecting Piltover and Noxus to crash into each other properly. A full war. Blood, panic, ideology, desperation. And when everything reached its worst point, that was when I planned to intervene."
His voice turned pleased.
"You know. As Darks usually do."
Adriel's jaw tightened.
"But now?" Anansi continued. "Now that road is cracked. The canon future changed. A new future has been born."
He stepped closer, slow and casual.
"So I came for one thing."
Adriel's eyes narrowed.
"Are you truly committed to what you are planning?"
The question hung between them.
Anansi's tone stayed light, but the pressure behind it was anything but.
"Because if you are, I am certainly not going to make this easy."
Adriel's hands curled tighter.
Anansi pointed lazily toward the commune beyond the garden.
"The fight is still coming. Noxus will invade. Viktor's little sanctuary will burn one way or another. And when that happens…"
His smile sharpened.
"That is when we have our fated battle."
Adriel's face hardened.
Anansi looked like he was holding back laughter.
"Assuming you are truly sure you want to throw hands with me."
Adriel's eyes darkened.
"Things might not go how you intend, Adriel."
The neon green lines of Anansi's suit pulsed brighter.
"I have reached a level of power beyond boundless. I have connected this verse to an infinite chain of realities. Every video game, from the first ever created to the present, all tied together through me. Endless worlds. Endless systems. Endless rules feeding into one web."
The garden creaked.
Not physically.
Conceptually.
Adriel could feel it.
For one horrifying second, he truly looked.
Not at Anansi's body.
At his weight.
At the impossible amount of power coiled behind that casual posture.
Anansi was not bluffing.
That was the problem.
"Do you comprehend what that makes me?" Anansi asked softly.
Adriel's breathing stayed controlled.
Barely.
"This fight is between you and me."
Anansi blinked.
Then snorted.
Adriel's voice stayed firm. "I'm not dragging the others into this. I'll spare the Guardians that suffering."
Anansi's amusement faded into something colder.
"That," he said, "is a very big mistake."
Adriel didn't answer.
Anansi's form flickered.
For a second, he looked like a glitch in the system of everything. Green light tore into static. His outline split apart, folded, and erased itself from the frozen world.
"See you soon."
Then he was gone.
Reality resumed.
Water fell.
Leaves moved.
Viktor inhaled sharply, as if the world had skipped a frame and his body hated it.
Sky blinked.
Vander's chest rose again.
No one had seen Anansi.
No one except Adriel.
He stood in the middle of the garden, fists clenched at his sides.
Viktor looked at him and seemed to go pale.
"Adriel?"
Sky looked closer.
Unlike Viktor, she did not mistake his expression for anger.
Adriel was not mad.
Not really.
He was scared.
Because the moment he truly analyzed Anansi's power, something cold settled into his bones.
This was beyond anything he had ever faced.
Anything.
He was not even sure he could win.
But that didn't matter.
He couldn't lose.
Not because of pride. Not because of obligation. Not because he wanted to prove himself as a Guardian.
He couldn't lose because everyone depended on him.
Piltover.
Zaun.
Runeterra.
The Guardians outside the dome.
Every world Anansi had connected to his web.
Every game, every story, every reality caught in that infinite chain.
Adriel looked toward the commune beyond the garden, toward the people living in fragile peace, completely unaware that war was coming for them.
His hands slowly unclenched.
He was scared.
Fine.
He could be scared.
But he would still fight.
And when the all-out war came, he would give everything he had.
Because if Anansi wanted video games to die here—
Adriel would make him bleed for every inch.
To Be Continued...