Arcane: In This New World

Vander stood before the remains of a ransacked warehouse in the depths of the Undercity. Around him, his comrades worked with grim faces, escorting malnourished children from the smoldering ruin. The acrid stench of chemicals and burnt flesh lingered in the air, an oppressive reminder of the horrors that had taken place here.

The children were gaunt, their hands blistered and blackened from exposure to corrosive substances. Vander knelt, gently holding one of the small hands, his expression a storm of sorrow and rage.

"They were forced to make drugs," Sevika said coldly as she stepped forward, her blade still dripping with blood.

"And the gang leader?" Vander asked without looking up.

Sevika tossed a bloodied sack toward the burning remains of the building. "Taken care of. Let him burn with the rest of his filth."

Vander exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the children. "Find a place for them. Make sure they're safe."

"The orphanage is already overrun," Benzo pointed out from behind him, his tone laced with concern.

"Then find someone who'll build another," Vander replied firmly, rising to his feet. "I'll cover the cost with the gold Tarren sent. "

"Vander," Sevika called after him as he began to walk away. "We caught him. Do you want to talk to him?"

Vander paused mid-step. "Who?"

Sevika's eyes narrowed. "You know who."

A long silence hung between them before Vander finally nodded. "Alright. I'll talk to him."

—

The dim light of the underground prison flickered weakly as Vander made his way down the narrow corridor. His heavy boots echoed with each step, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and iron. At the far end of the corridor, a reinforced cell stood locked, its occupant shrouded in shadow.

Vander grabbed a worn stool from the corner and placed it in front of the cell. He sat down heavily, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Well, well," a voice rasped from the darkness. The man in the cell leaned forward, the faint light illuminating his gaunt face. Silco, with his bloodstained suit and hollow eye socket hidden behind a patch, offered Vander a cold, mirthless smile.

"I've got to admit, Vander, you've been busy," Silco said, his voice oozing mockery. "All this bravado—storming across the Undercity, cutting down crime bosses like weeds. What happened to your lofty ideals of peace? Or have you finally realized how useless they were?"

Vander didn't answer immediately. He studied his bruised knuckles, the silent testimony of weeks spent fighting battles he'd hoped never to face again. "You've been hard to find," he said at last. "For years, I searched, but I knew you'd stay hidden until you wanted to be found. This time, I couldn't wait."

Silco's smile widened. "And now you've found me. So, what's the plan? Are you here to finish what you started by that river? Or have you come for absolution?"

Vander reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of glowing purple liquid. He held it up for Silco to see. "This," Vander said, his voice sharp, "does this mean anything to you?"

Silco's expression didn't change, but his gaze flicked to the vial. "Should it?"

"You know exactly what it is," Vander growled. "Your spies have been crawling through the Lanes, looking for the person who took it. What is this, Silco? Another one of your schemes to poison the Undercity while you play king?"

Silco chuckled, stepping closer to the bars. "It's not poison, Vander. It's progress. Something you wouldn't understand. You think the scraps we have are enough to stand against Piltover's technology? This"—he gestured to the vial—"is how we level the playing field."

"By creating monsters?" Vander snapped. His voice echoed through the corridor. "You'd turn our people into mindless weapons, all for your dream of Zaun. You've twisted what we fought for into something vile. Since that time at the river… I always regretted it, I lost Felicia, and I lost my head that night, thinking that you deserve it, that it is for our own good, I was a fool. But now… I thought that maybe, just maybe, past me is right after all."

"And what did you do, Vander?" Silco shot back, his tone venomous. "You gave up. You bowed to Piltover, made deals, and let our people rot. Don't lecture me on ideals—you abandoned them long ago."

Vander's grip on the vial tightened. "I made mistakes," he admitted, his voice heavy. "I lost sight of what mattered, and I've spent every day trying to make amends. But you? You've turned our people into pawns in your war. You're no savior, Silco. You're a tyrant."

Silco sneered. "Spare me the sanctimony, Vander. You think you're better because you turned away from the fight? You're just as much to blame for this mess as I am."

Vander stood abruptly, his anger boiling over. Without hesitation, he hurled the vial to the ground. It shattered, the liquid seeping into the dirt, wasted. His eyes burned with fury as he locked his gaze on Silco.

"This ends here," Vander said, his voice low and dangerous. "No more schemes. No more poison. You don't get to destroy what little hope we have left."

"Your rebellion failed because you weren't willing to do whatever it takes to succeed, Vander," Silco said. "I won't make the same mistake. For Zaun—whatever it takes."

Vander took a deep breath, calming himself. He slumped back onto the stool, his anger giving way to weariness. Silco stood still, his sharp gaze fixed on his old friend, but there was no triumph in his expression—only an eerie stillness.

"Felicia," Vander muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember the promise we made to her?"

Silco paused, his usual confidence faltering. His voice softened. "Blisters and Bedrocks."

Vander shook his head, not in disagreement, but in quiet resignation. The weight of memories hung heavy in the air between them.

"I failed her," Vander admitted, his voice thick with regret.

"I've heard," Silco replied.

"And now," Vander continued, his voice growing stronger, "I won't sit idle again. I wanted to ask for your help, but… seeing this—this shit you've pulled—I hesitated."

Silco leaned back, moving toward his seat at the rear of the cell. For the first time, he seemed less like the calculating mastermind and more like the man Vander once knew. "What do you want to do?"

Vander's gaze was steady now. "Build a better community. Not one fueled by drugs and crime like you envision. Not one dependent on rebellion against the topside, as I once believed. A community we build with our own hands, our own will—a peaceful, orderly one. Where kids can enjoy their childhood, where the elderly can rest, where adults can work without being exploited or falling into the trap of addiction. A place free from the rot that's consumed us."

Silco tilted his head, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "A true visionary, I see."

Vander let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. "Wasn't the dream of Zaun always like this? But maybe it's not a dream worth following if we're still broken—if we can't even fix ourselves."

For a moment, neither man spoke. Silco stared down at the dirt floor of his cell, his posture mirroring Vander's slumped shoulders. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "It would be a nice place to live, wouldn't it?"

"I know, right?" Vander said, a faint, bittersweet smile crossing his face. "If only."

"Suppose you don't trust me to help build that community?" Silco asked, his tone neutral but his words heavy with implication.

Vander shook his head. "I don't know if I can. What you've done, what you've planned… It doesn't feel like the Silco I once knew. Then again…" He hesitated, his voice dropping. "The me I once knew wouldn't have tried to drown a friend in a river."

Silco looked up at him, his expression inscrutable. "We've changed."

"That we have," Vander agreed. He stood slowly, his movements steady, the sorrow that had weighed on him moments before now replaced by resolve. "I don't know what to do with you. You're my friend, my brother, but—"

"I understand," Silco interrupted gently. "It's hard to see me in your utopia. But know this: I'll be here if you ever need anything you cannot—will not—do. Just ask, and I will do it. For the sake of our old promise."

Vander sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "You always make things harder, don't you?"

Silco chuckled, the sound low and rough. "In a way, we're still aligned, Vander. Our methods just differ. I use drugs, and you… you've turned to violence, however temporary you think it may be. Perhaps your method is the lesser evil—drugs control people, not myself. Violence? That's a language everyone understands, even the toughest of men."

Vander nodded faintly, his gaze distant. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not. I guess we'll find out."

He turned to leave, his boots heavy against the stone floor. As he reached the door, he paused, glancing back one last time. "Goodbye for now, Silco."

Silco remained seated. "Goodbye, brother. Until next time."