SCARS

Guilt Between Glints

It had been two days. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes since Calypso had left. Vi could count it down to the seconds if she wanted. She'd felt each one pass like a drop from a leaking tap. Calypso had left. She'd really, truly left. In all those hours, it had somehow gotten no easier to believe.

Vi hadn't been able to sleep. Her sadness had kept her awake that first night, but by the second night, it had twisted into something worse, something bitter and hollow. She told herself it didn't matter, that if Cal wanted Piltover, then fine—she could have it. Yet each empty room, every quiet corner, seemed to echo with Calypso's absence, mocking Vi with the silence left behind.

Vi sat in her dark room, her hands trembling as they pressed against her face, the quiet around her like a cage. The words she'd thrown at Calypso, cruel and hot, circled in her mind, cutting into her in the emptiness that followed. She'd lied. She'd lied to herself, to Cal, to the whole damn world if she had to—but she'd never wanted Cal to leave. Not truly. Not for one second. But in that wild, raw moment, that mess of fear and pride, the words had slipped out like poison.

Just leave.

She could still feel the force with which she'd said it, the bitterness that had coated every word, as if they were meant to shield her, to keep her safe from the ache of caring, the vulnerability that came with needing someone like she needed Cal. She'd said it as if she could push Cal away for her own good, as if that would protect her. But the truth burned, searing and relentless—she hadn't wanted Cal to go, and yet... she'd made it impossible for her to stay.

But Calypso had lied, too. She'd said she was just getting air, a simple escape to clear her mind, to settle her breath. I need some air, she'd whispered, her voice breaking like the words were spilling from a wound. And Vi, still caught in her anger, her pain, had believed her. She'd let herself believe it, thinking Cal would slip back inside, that she'd be gone for a breath and return. But Cal hadn't come back.

Cal had left.

Claggor, Mylo, and Powder had been restless for these past two days too, exchanging glances filled with silent questions and worries. Vi's door had remained shut, locked tight, with no sign of movement from within. She hadn't come out to eat, hadn't been seen slipping into the bar for water, hadn't let any of them in. They whispered, trying to piece it all together, assuming Calypso was in there with her, that they were probably just sorting through whatever happened after "carnival night".

But something about the silence that seeped from behind that door was different—thick, almost eerie, like the room held its breath along with them. Powder, her nerves frayed with worry, had watched Claggor and Mylo share anxious looks, each unwilling to be the one to knock, to disturb whatever was going on behind that door. But today, Powder had had enough. She couldn't stand it anymore; she needed to see Calypso and Vi, to feel their warmth and hear their voices, to ask Cal to braid her hair the way only Cal knew how.

Without another word, she pushed past Claggor and Mylo and approached the door, her heart hammering as she lifted her hand and knocked softly. "Vi?" she called, her voice small and hesitant. There was no response. She knocked again, louder this time, her hand trembling slightly. "Cal?"

Silence.

Powder's fingers twisted around the door handle, and slowly, she pushed the door open. The room was pitch black, the curtains drawn, an oppressive darkness filling every corner. She squinted, her eyes struggling to adjust, a cold shiver creeping up her spine. "Cal?" she whispered again, her voice barely a breath.

A figure shifted in the corner, just a shadow at first, until Vi's face emerged from the dark, her expression hollow, her eyes rimmed with the dull red of days without sleep. Powder's heart twisted as she took in the sight of her sister, the fierce, unbreakable Vi, looking so fragile and broken.