The Blades and The Gauntlets [Vi x fem!oc]

Chapter VIII: The Run

For Mila, time had lost its meaning. She couldn't even pinpoint the exact moment when the tracker on her ankle had been replaced with the sleek bracelet she now wore. It felt heavier than the ankle monitor ever had - more like a shackle than a piece of technology meant to "monitor" her. They told her it was more discreet, a "progress" in her reintegration, but Mila knew better. It was just another way to remind her she wasn't free.

She had started school months ago. That had been part of the deal: more freedom in exchange for attendance. The Ravencrofts hadn't forced her, but there had been little choice. No one had explicitly said it, but the bracelet came with expectations.

So, there she was, sitting in yet another class, her chin propped up on her hand, staring out the window. It was history - again. She wasn't paying attention. She never did. Not when it came to Piltover's glorified tales of its "enlightenment" and progress. None of it mattered. Not when no one at school talked to her, and not when she felt the weight of eyes on her every second, watching, judging.

She wasn't doing great in her subjects, and frankly, she didn't care. It wasn't like studying Piltover's systems or politics was going to help her get back to Zaun or find Vi. If anything, it felt like a waste of time. The only thing she excelled at was sports, and even then, it wasn't because she wanted to. It was the only place she could let out some of the tension and anger that had built up inside her over the past year.

Mila shifted uncomfortably, her bracelet clinking lightly against the desk. The teacher droned on about the history of the Piltover Council's formation, and her mind wandered.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class and end of the day, and she was out of her seat before anyone else, her eyes fixed on the door. The other students kept their distance. She had been here a year, and still, no one talked to her unless they had to. They whispered behind her back, of course. The girl from Zaun, they called her, like she was some kind of oddity.

She pushed her way through the halls, heading for the sports field. At least there, she could pretend none of this mattered. She could run, train, push her body until everything else no longer mattered.

As she passed by a group of students, she caught snippets of their conversation.

"That's her, the girl from Zaun."

"Bet she doesn't even know how to read. Zaunites are like that, right?"

The blonde girl gritted her teeth, rushing past them without a word. It was always the same. She wasn't one of them. She never would be. Piltover wasn't her world, and no matter how many classes she sat through, no matter how many times she ran laps around the track, she knew she didn't belong here.

When she was running, when she was pushing her body to the limit, it was the one time she felt alive. The only time she didn't feel like she was suffocating under the weight of it all.

As she stepped onto the field, her footsteps quiet on the soft grass, she took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill her lungs. There were a few students scattered around, but none of them paid her any mind. That was fine. She didn't need their attention.

She dropped her bag by the side of the track and started running. Her feet hit the ground in a steady rhythm, the sound of her breath in time with the pounding in her chest. She pushed herself harder, faster, trying to outrun the weight that had settled inside her over the past two years. Every lap was another way to shake off the anger, the frustration, the constant feeling of being trapped.

But no matter how fast she ran, it was still there. Always there.

After what felt like an eternity of running, she finally slowed, coming to a stop near the bleachers. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, breathing heavily as she stretched out her arms.