Chapter 47: Dear Friend Across the River

The room fell into tense silence.

Singed's eyes flared wide, his hand extending toward Orion as if examining a rare artifact. The sheer intensity made Orion's skin crawl.

Silco broke the quiet, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Healing magic? Your current state is such compelling proof!" Silco exclaimed, his expression full of doubt.

Irritation flickered across Orion's face as he replied, "There's a cost to it- for me. I didn't want it discovered and I needed more time." His voice was steady, but a bitter edge lingered.

"You're safe enough now. Show us," Singed said eagerly, his fascination evident as he leaned forward, disregarding Silco's menacing glare.

Silco's gaze returned to Orion, nodding.

'It isn't a request, is it? If I don't...' Orion's thoughts trailed off grimly.

"Do you have food?" Orion said, his voice tight. "I told you, it comes with a cost. I'm already starving," Orion added.

Silco tilted his head toward the stairs and nodded silently. Though Orion couldn't see whom he was signaling, the message was clear enough.

Singed touched his chin, his brows furrowing. "Ah. The magic draws from your vitality! Fascinating..."

When Orion nodded in response, Singed's fingers began tapping his chin with growing excitement. "Such traits... rare, even amongst mages. Theories suggest it only happens when the magic itself is too potent. Or perhaps when the wielder lacks control."

Orion hesitated, his gaze dropping down to his wounds. He had already decided the order of healing back in the Piltover jail- his abdomen, leg, side, and finally any smaller lacerations. The problem was the company.

Silco's voice cut through Orion's hesitation, low and taunting.

"Don't be afraid," Silco remarked with a knowing smirk. "You've already come this far. Don't let fear drag you back to weakness."

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Protests and riots erupted after news of the Last Drop incident broke, the news spreading like wildfire. Enforcers were forced to evacuate as furious residents actively hunted them down, seeking vengeance for their brutality.

Tensions had already been simmering for some time, barely kept in check by the Enforcers' heavy handed tactics. But now, that was gone.

Along the main road Enforcers set up a perimeter, retreating street by street, withdrawing their forces as the riots intensified. Residents from every corner began joining the uprising, seizing the opportunity to fight back.

At first, it was viewed as minor unrest- some isolated groups causing trouble, manageable for the Enforcers. But deep into the evening, the unrest grew uncontrollable.

On the Progress Bridge, Enforcers stood in formation, their rifles drawn with grim anticipation of further escalation.

Triumphant cheers erupted as the Enforcers were finally forced from the Entresol level. People were celebrating arm-in arm, the second taste of victory in their lifetimes since the previous rebellion!

Vander and Benzo remained unseen- at first. But when they finally emerged, gauntlets soaked in blood, they led the downtrodden and forgotten from both Sump and Entresol with grim determination. Echoes of old chants rose from the crowd.

'Oh do not despair children of the underground,

For the old hound has taken up his claws once more

And with a vengeance, he will cull the arrogant sheep once more' 

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"Vander, stop this. Before more lives are lost."

All activities between the two sides of the river were suspended- no trade, no travel for work, nothing. Ships awaiting passage through the canal were on standby, their crews guarding the vessels in case rioters attempted to take advantage of the chaos.

Under the harsh glare of floodlights on Progress Bridge, Enforcers stood with guns drawn behind professionally built barricades and reinforced weaponry. Opposite them, an angry mob pressed against makeshift defenses of wood and metal sheets, shouting and raging with defiant fury.

Vander and Greyson stood face-to-face, their expressions dark and tense. Neither yielded. Neither blinked. The weight of this standoff, the consequences, hung heavy between them.

Vander's gaze flicked past Greyson, taking in the more professional soldiers lined behind her, before returning to meet Greyson's gaze.

"You should train your boys better," Vander said, restraining his anger behind a low voice.

"Marcus will be behind bars," Greyson negotiated, gesturing to the mob behind him. "The lockdown ends. No more barricades. We'll put out warrants instead and handle this the right way."

"It sounds too good to be true," Vander answered skeptically. "Does the Council know of this?"

Greyson shook her head. "No. Not yet."

"Then your word means nothing," Vander replied. Sighing, he extended his gauntlet fist with an upward gesture. "I understand your good nature Greyson. Trust me, I didn't want this either."

His gaze hardened, voice tightening. "But we both know this falls on the Council."

"Then give me time, Vander," Greyson pleaded, her gaze softening. "At least until tomorrow evening, so we can talk this out on both sides. I doubt many on your side truly want to die."

Vander growled, "Plenty are willing to sacrifice themselves for what topside has done. Was last time not enough proof?"

Falling silent, Greyson could only shake her head in reluctant acknowledgement. An agreement seemed close when Vander broke the quiet with a sharp demand.

"Return Orion to us as well," Vander said firmly.

Greyson froze, hesitating as her gaze returned to Vander's glare. "He did nothing wrong. Everyone knows that."

A long pause followed. Greyson's expression wavered- hesitance, grief, frustration swirling as she spoke.

"Orion's dead, Vander."

The words seemed to knock the breath from him, his face falling as grief took hold. 'What am I going to tell this kids?' The thought echoed in his mind.

"Or at least, that's what the paperwork says." Greyson's voice contradicted itself with uncertainty.

Vander gritted his teeth, head snapping up at Greyson as his gauntlets trembled at his sides. "Show me the body."

Greyson shook her head. "The body crossed the river already. It... it shouldn't have processed so quickly." She hesitated, glancing away.

"Are you suggesting foul play?"

She shook her head with uncertainty, neither acknowledging or denying it. "I'll show you the papers. Vander, I cared for him too. He was a good kid..."