Chapter Text
Escaping unnoticed had been easy. If Silco had taught her one thing worth keeping, it was how not to get caught: how to move without a sound, how to hold your breath so even the slightest noise wouldn’t betray you, and most crucial, how to wait. She could still hear her sister’s cries from that day, so raw and devastating that the memory often tore her from sleep, drenched in tears. The nightmares never faded.
It had taken hours for them to find Vi. Hours she spent hidden in that narrow air duct, counting the seconds and wondering why she’d saved herself. She couldn’t understand it then. Death felt like the only worthwhile thing she could offer the world, the only way to repay all she had done.
But when the moment came, when her trembling fingers found the tab she hesitated, four faces filling her mind. Violet, the sister who had fought tooth and nail to protect her. Isha, the one who showed her that happiness was still possible, even after everything. Vander, the father she had failed not once but twice, whose death she carried like a second shadow. And Ekko, the boy who, against all reasoning, believed in her. Believed not in who she had been, but in the future she could still build.
At that moment, she chose not to amend the past by choosing death. She chose to try, for them, to move forward. The moment she pulled the tab, she was gone. Darting towards the air duct so quickly the breath was ripped from her lungs. She collapsed inside, heaving and trembling, as a sickening boom echoed in her ears, followed by the unmistakable crack of Vander’s mutilated beast body hitting the ground. That sound would haunt her forever, carved into her memory like another scar. It was yet another reason why she couldn’t stay. Not in Piltover, not in Zaun. If she had any hope of moving forward, she had to get away.
By dawn, she found herself on a blimp, marveling at its strange beauty. It stirred memories of her younger self, dreaming of what it might feel like to fly far, far away. Now she was there finally soaring away, but the awe was overshadowed by the sins of the woman she had become.
When it landed in Bilgewater, she stepped off into the bustling port city. The place was infamous for its crime but buzzing with opportunity. If you knew how to navigate in shadows, you could carve out a new life for yourself. She had heard stories of Bilgewater, how its chaos mirrored Zaun’s, how its people were hardened yet resourceful. But that wasn’t why she chose it.
Bilgewater was far enough from home to keep her hidden, yet close enough for her to feel connected to the sister she could never face again. Staying dead, truly dead in Vi’s eyes was the greatest kindness she could offer. She loved her sister more than anything, but staying away was the only way to protect her.
She was still a wanted criminal, her crimes unforgiven by the countless lives she’d destroyed, even Caitlyn's forgiveness wouldn't be enough to save her from the countless others she'd harmed. If she returned, she’d be thrown in a dungeon or worse. But it wasn’t just the threat of punishment that kept her away. It was Vi’s unwavering belief that Powder–the sister she once was, still existed.
The name made her chest tighten, her ears buzz, and her vision blur. Powder was gone, buried under years of blood and remorse. And Jinx? That name sat worse with her. It brought a bitter taste to her tongue, vile and hollow. She wasn’t Powder anymore, and she wasn’t Jinx either. She was something caught in between. Or maybe she was something completely new.
But Vi would never stop hoping. Never stop trying to bring back the little sister she’d loved or bracing for the enemy she’d once become. Either way, it would destroy them both. So, she had to let both versions of herself “die” in her eyes. She had to give Vi the freedom to live her life without the burden of always being in a state of waiting, hoping, or fearing.
It was the only way they could both move forward. Yet she also chose Bilgewater for another reason…
If anything ever went wrong, if Piltover ever found itself in the chaos of war again, she could be there within hours. Close enough to act, but distant enough to remain dead. It was a quiet reassurance, a tether she couldn’t quite sever. Even as she convinced herself it was better to stay away.
She found herself standing outside a small bar near the port, its worn sign swaying gently in the salty sea breeze. The building was wedged tightly between others, its exterior clearly weathered by time, a beacon for all manner of shady business. As she pushed the door open, a low hum of chatter and the occasional clink of glasses and coins greeted her.
She tugged her hood a little lower, covering her face. Judging by the number of similarly cloaked figures crowding the tavern, she wasn’t the only one eager to stay unnoticed. The thought of the bar’s collective lack of fashion sense almost brought a smile to her face, even in her disheartened state.
She had little to her name, just the clothes on her back and a plushy she’d found in the wreckage of the explosion. It had belonged to Isha, and now it sat tucked safely in her pocket, a small comfort.
Scanning the room, her eyes landed on the bar, where an older woman worked with practiced ease. She poured drinks without looking, a cigar secured between her lips as she bantered with a group of clearly intoxicated patrons. Her authority was undeniable, and she knew this was the person she needed to speak to.
She made her way to the counter.
“Little lady, I don’t think you’re old enough to drink,” the woman remarked upon seeing her, sparing her a quick glance before turning her attention back to her customers.
“Actually, I’m 20,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “And I didn’t think crap like that mattered here.”
She straightened her posture in a vain attempt to appear bigger or more intimidating. Judging by the loud laughter of the nearby drunks, it wasn’t working.
“It doesn’t,” the woman huffed, finally turning her gaze to study her more closely. “But I don’t need some kid messing up my business. What do you want?”
She hesitated for a moment before blurting, “A job...?”
The woman broke into a grin, the kind that suggested she had seen it all. And this was not what she was expecting.
“Well, why didn’t you just say so? We’re always looking for new employees. Bartenders tend to disappear around here—probably shanked for making deals with these meathead idiots.” She gestured to the drunks, who were too far gone to notice they were the punchline.
“Now, what would be your name, little lady?” the woman asked leaning on the counter, hand extended in greeting.
She hesitated, the weight of the question settling over her. She could feel the plushy in her pocket, a comforting reminder of who she used to be, and who she wanted to become.
She considered her options for a moment before finally answering, “Pow. My name is Pow.”
The woman laughed heartily, and for the first time in a while, she felt the faintest flicker of something unfamiliar. Hope.
-
She soon learned the bar owner’s name was Illaoi. The woman clearly had a history, though Pow never asked, everyone had their past. Judging by the way the clientele treated her, with a mix of respect, intimidation, and even fear, it was clear she had earned her fair reputation. Now, likely in her fifties if the gray streaks in her hair were any clue, Illaoi seemed content living a quieter life, serving drinks day after day. She wasn't a bad boss.
The pay was terrible though, but Pow hadn’t expected much. What mattered was that it came with a place to stay. Illaoi owned the neighboring building and rented Pow a room at a price far more affordable than anything else in the city. Calling it an "apartment" was generous, it was a single room with the tiniest bathroom she’d ever seen and no kitchen. Not that it mattered. Pow had never cooked a meal in her life and would almost certainly burn the place down if she tried.
Fortunately, Illaoi let her eat for free at the bar during her shifts, so she made a habit of stocking up on food whenever she worked. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was enough and for now, that was all she needed.
Week by week, month by month, Pow served drinks to a wide variety of people, mostly shady but some were just port workers and travelers eager to pass the time. Slowly she started to open up, engaging in conversations she hadn’t had in years. She wasn’t used to talking to so many different people, having spent most of her life shut off from the outside world. It felt strange at first, and she was blunt and standoffish. But she soon grew to enjoy hearing the perspectives and stories of such a diverse crowd, smiling at the memories they would share with her. Getting to secondhand experience better days.
She broke up plenty of bar fights, kicked out her fair share of assholes, and dealt with more drunk messes than she cared to count, but it was a job she didn’t mind. Bilgewater was no Zaun or Piltover, though. It lacked the ingenuity, the hustle, the creative spirit that made those cities feel alive. There was a certain grind to this place, a sense of being in constant survival over actually living.
Most nights, Pow found herself sitting on the roof of her small apartment building, staring off in the general direction of the land she once called home. She couldn’t see anything, of course, but sometimes, just sometimes, she swore she could make out the faint glow of city lights in the distance.
She liked to imagine the adventures Vi and Ekko must be getting up to in their respective lives, the last two people she cared about. The thought brought a pang of guilt, but also a aching longing. She hoped they were okay–no, more than okay. She hoped they were thriving. But in the quiet of the night, she couldn’t help but wish she could still have them in her life, even if just to know how they were doing. To hear their voices, see their faces, and know that they were still out there, still fighting, still living.
It wasn’t about needing them, she sadly had a lot of experience in surviving alone. It was the simple desire to share in their lives again, to know they were okay, that they hadn’t forgotten her. It was a yearning for connection. She squashed those thoughts down, chalking them up as selfish. They were better off without her, she told herself. She made the choice to leave, to protect them from the darkness she carried. Her longing wasn’t something she had the right to indulge in. Not now, not after everything.
In the passing months, her hair grew. Anytime it reached past her collarbone, she would cut it, unable to stand the reflection of anything longer. She kept it in a tight braid, starting from the top of her head and tying it off at the nape of her neck. It wasn’t the neat, careful braid her mother used to wear but it was the best she could manage with the length. The cowlick bang remained, stubborn as ever. She could never tame it no matter how hard she tried. But now, shorter strands had joined it. Creating an uneven mismatched fringe that she had cut herself one particularly lonely day.
She eased up on wearing a cloak, realizing either people didn’t recognize her from her Piltover wanted-posters, or simply didn’t care. And even though money was tight, her nails were always painted a muted pink, something she indulged in despite the expense. It costs a pretty penny to buy polish around here, especially on her salary. Yet it was one of the few small luxuries she allowed herself.
Her twenty-first birthday came and went, with no one to celebrate it. It wasn’t much different from the last decade of her birthdays, all of which had been tinged with a sadness that seemed to always be her base-level feeling. Though the emptiness felt familiar, it didn’t make it any easier to bear. To keep her mind occupied, she tinkered and created useless gadgets here and there. One of her creations was a handless beer pourer that would fill a glass as soon as the customer inserted their coins.
Illaoi laughed when she showed it to her.
“You made a machine to take your job?” Illaoi chuckled, folding her arms and giving Pow a funny look. As usual, a cigar was clasped in her tan hand.
“Shit, fair point,” Pow laughed. Wacking the machine in realization.
She had started laughing more recently, something little but significant. A small victory.
-
Things had been quiet for Pow until the whispers started. She was used to the gossip, the rumors, the tips. It was nothing out of the ordinary. But this one, this one was different. The man speaking was a notorious thief, known for his brutality and the lengths he and his crew would go to. He wasn’t the mastermind, just a cog in the machine. So what he said shouldn’t have carried much weight. But his words made her stop dead in her tracks, her hand frozen on the beer pour.
“He’s got some kind of time machine bullshit the big guy wants. That’s all I know. Should be a hell of a payout, though.” The thief’s grin was sharp, his eyes flicking between the others, clearly enjoying the reveal of their latest scheme.
Pow’s blood runs cold, her mind instantly leaping to one person. Ekko.
She couldn’t remember the details of his machine, only that it was an odd capsule and that it strangely had miniature versions of the monkeys she used to make as a child. Ekko had briefly explained that it was a time loop machine before they rushed off to join the battle to save her sister. They hadn’t exactly had the time to catch up then. But even now, she remembered every word he’d said, how he pulled her from the ledge, not just physically but emotionally. She regrets not talking to him just a little bit longer back then.
If this crew were after Ekko’s machine, Pow knew they wouldn’t hesitate to use violence. She was certain Ekko could defend himself, but these kinds of people were unrelenting, and they had numbers that were beyond anything she could imagine. She had no idea who was leading this heist and without that information, she couldn’t exactly dismantle the plan from here. Bilgewater was a labyrinth, and she was still a stranger in it.
She ran through her options. She’d sworn off violence unless absolutely necessary, but protecting someone she cared about? That definitely counted. Still, rushing in recklessly would mean making enemies she couldn’t afford. Her life in Bilgewater, though boring and uneventful, was safer than constantly looking over her shoulder. No, she couldn’t risk drawing attention here.
She thought about going back home, back to Zaun, if she could even call it that anymore. But where would she even go? She didn’t even know where Ekko lived anymore. That realization hit her like a punch in the gut. How had she lost track of him? When they were younger, she kept tabs on him back before Silcos corruption completely took over her. Shadowing him and his friends to cling to the only familiarity left in her life. But at some point, it was as if he vanished. No matter how hard she searched, she couldn’t find him, no sightings, no clues, no sign of his whereabouts. She used to fear the worst, until that faithful day on the bridge.
At the time, if anyone had asked if she’d gone easy on him during their fight, she probably would have shot them. But now, with time and perspective, she could admit it. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Not the boy savior.
Now, she had no idea where he was, and with Vi and Caitlyn uniting Zaun and Piltover, it was safe to assume he could be anywhere. The thought of losing track of him again brought a pang of guilt she couldn’t shake. And the worst part? She didn’t even know where to start looking.
How had Ekko found her so easily all those months ago, when she was ready to take that final step? And how had he known exactly what to say to pull her back from the edge? These weren’t new questions, she’d asked herself the same things countless times in recent months. But by the time these questions stopped looping within her mind, she realized the group talking about the heist had long since left. Beer was spilling over her hand, and she hadn’t even noticed.
“Shit, shit, shit!”