Chapter 22:  The Other Timeline

Tarren sat alone in the waiting area of the Piltover Police Department, his body slumped into a rigid chair. The bustling noise of officers and the clattering of boots against marble floors blurred into an indistinct hum. His gaze was fixed on the polished floor tiles, but his mind was far away.

How did it come to this?

No. He knew exactly how.

He had underestimated the force of fate, the weight of destiny, and the unpredictable chaos of the butterfly effect. In trying to change the course of events, he had acted too rashly, too confidently. His arrogance had led him to believe he could fix everything. And now, here he was, left to pick up the pieces of someone else's shattered life.

The sound of footsteps approaching jolted him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Sheriff Grayson, her uniform crisp and her expression grim. 

"Tarren?" she asked, her voice firm but not unkind. "You're the brother?"

"Adoptive," he muttered, looking weary.

Grayson nodded and motioned for him to follow. Tarren rose slowly, his legs heavily weighed down by the guilt he carried. The two walked down a long corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly, its dim lighting casting eerie shadows on the walls.

At the end of the hallway was a room with a steel door that opened to reveal the sterile chill of the morgue. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, illuminating the single slab in the center of the room. A body lay upon it, covered by a pristine white sheet.

Grayson walked over to the head of the slab, her hand resting momentarily on the edge of the sheet before she pulled it back, revealing the lifeless face beneath.

It was Vi.

Her features, once so full of defiance and fire, were now pale and still. Tarren stared at her, his expression a bitter acceptance.

Grayson glanced at him. "Is this her?"

Tarren let out a humorless chuckle, one that caught in his throat as his lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah," he said softly. "It's her."

"I'll contact her guardian," Grayson said.

"No," Tarren interrupted, shaking his head. "I'll do it."

But the sheriff gave him a look that brooked no argument. "I know Vander," she said firmly. "I'll handle it. You need to rest."

He didn't argue further, though the weight of the room kept him rooted in place. As Grayson stepped out, her boots echoing down the corridor, Tarren found himself alone with the body.

He gripped the edge of the slab's railing, leaning forward as he let out a deep, shuddering sigh. His fingers tightened, knuckles whitening, as he stared down at the floor.

And then, he spoke.

"I told you," he began, his voice hoarse. "I told you it was a bad idea. But you couldn't listen, could you? Just like my parents. Stubborn as hell. Thought you knew better."

He exhaled sharply, his breath trembling.

"All you had to do was stop. Just… stop." His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw, willing the tears to stay where they were. "But you didn't. You never listened, Vi. And now—"

His words faltered as his gaze shifted to her face.

"Now you're here. Damn it, Vi."

The room was silent save for his ragged breathing. He let his head hang, the weight of his failure pressing down on him.

"Was it worth it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Was proving yourself worth all this?"

The lifeless form gave no answer, of course.

Tarren released the railing, his arms falling to his sides. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the floor as if it held some answer to the chaos swirling in his mind. Then he straightened, brushing his sleeve across his face before turning on his heel to leave.

He paused at the door, glancing back one last time.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

And then he stepped into the hallway, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing like a final farewell.

—

Tarren approached the counter again, his posture tense as he looked down at the officer. His voice was sharp. "I want to see the kids. Let them out."

The officer shook his head. "They're still being processed. Rules are rules."

Tarren's jaw tightened, anger boiling beneath the surface. "They just lost their sister, and you're locking them up like criminals? They're kids. They didn't murder anyone."

"It was a robbery gone wrong," the officer replied. "But a robbery is still a robbery."

That was the last straw. Without thinking, Tarren reached across the counter, grabbing the officer by the collar and yanking him forward. His voice dropped to a low growl, tinged with the raw edge of his Undercity upbringing.

"Listen here, you little—"

Before he could finish, the enforcers around them sprang into action, weapons drawn as they moved to subdue him. The tension in the room was thick, crackling like static electricity.

"Stop!"

The voice was calm yet commanding, cutting through the chaos. Everyone froze and turned to see Professor Heimerdinger entering the room with an air of casual authority.

"As adults, I trust we know how fragile the mind of a grieving boy can be," Heimerdinger said, his words both a reprimand and a plea. "Let's not make this worse, shall we?"

Tarren blinked, his grip on the officer's collar loosening as Heimerdinger's words reached him. He stepped back, releasing the man with a frustrated huff.

"Thank you," Heimerdinger said, nodding toward Tarren. "Now, my boy, let's have a private word."

Tarren hesitated but eventually nodded, following the professor out of the office and into the quieter hallway that led toward the morgue. The hum of the office noise faded behind them, replaced by an oppressive silence.

"What are you doing here, professor?" Tarren asked.

"I heard what happened," Heimerdinger replied, his tone gentle. "An explosion of that magnitude doesn't go unnoticed."

Tarren sighed, rubbing his temples. "So you came to… what? Lecture me? Offer sympathy?"

"I came to check on you," Heimerdinger said simply. "And to help however I can."

Tarren let out a bitter chuckle. "Thanks, but I don't need help."

"Ah," Heimerdinger mused, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "Yes, because the Tarren I just saw, moments away from throttling an officer, is clearly in complete control."

Tarren groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I was—ugh. I'm used to dealing with discrimination. I knew coming to Piltover meant facing it. But this..."

Heimerdinger placed a small, furry hand on Tarren's arm. "You're right to feel anger. But anger, unchecked, can be dangerous. Especially now."

Tarren didn't reply. Instead, he turned and walked back toward the morgue. Heimerdinger followed silently, his small footsteps soft against the cold floor.

When they entered, Tarren moved to the covered corpse, his movements slow. He hesitated for a moment before pulling back the sheet to reveal Vi's face once more.

Heimerdinger froze, his wide eyes locking on her still features. "She is so… young."

"She was a year younger than me," Tarren murmured. He turned away, unable to meet her lifeless gaze. "Her whole life, she was told we're lesser. That people like us belong in the shadows. Her parents were killed by enforcers. My parents were killed by enforcers. And now…"

He gestured toward the corpse, his hand trembling. "Now she's here, in the morgue of the very enforcers who killed her parents. And me? I'm out there, fighting them just to let her siblings mourn in peace."

Tarren's laugh was bitter and hollow. "This is our reality. People like us either rot in the Undercity or die trying to escape it. And all of this… all of it happened under your watch, professor. You're the head of the council."

Heimerdinger flinched as if the words had struck him physically. His face, normally so composed, crumpled with regret. He stepped back, his gaze falling to the floor.

"You're right," Heimerdinger admitted softly. "Perhaps I've grown… detached. I've seen so much, over so many centuries, that I've lost sight of the present. But when I look at her…"

His voice faltered, and he shook his head. "I see so much potential. Potential now forever lost. And for that, I bear some responsibility."

The room fell silent. Finally, Heimerdinger straightened. "Come. Let's get your friends out of their cells."

—

The scene shifted to the holding cells, where Powder sat on the floor, her small frame shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably. She had been begging the officers to let her see Vi, her cries raw and desperate.

Mylo and Claggor sat in silence, their faces pale and heavy with guilt. Neither had the heart to lash out at Powder, despite their own anger and grief simmering beneath the surface.

When the cell door creaked open, Powder leapt to her feet, her tear-streaked face lighting up as she saw Tarren. Without a word, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist and clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

Tarren crouched, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head. "It's okay, Powder," he murmured. "It's okay. We're going home now."

Powder's sobs quieted slightly, though she didn't let go.

Tarren looked up at Mylo and Claggor, who stood hesitantly by the cell's threshold. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you all home. Let's get Vi home."

[ARC II: END]