Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

THE BLACK ROSE:
LeBlanc lingered in the Black Rose chamber. A stark, white room devoid of color. Her gaze stayed fixed on the wall as her hand traced smooth, deliberate motions, weaving shadows into a shape with her magic.

“Every path we take seems only to draw us closer to chaos.” The voice was soft, yet edged. She turned slightly at the sound.

Vladimir entered, idly rolling a sphere of blood between his fingers. His eyes followed hers to the wall, where the silhouette of a wolf was taking form. Mel Medarda, rendered in shadow.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, “we should think instead of the opportunities that have drifted to us.”

“Unforeseen turns are the nature of any path.” LeBlanc replied, her tone calm, her attention never wavering from her work.

But when Vladimir recognized what she was shaping, displeasure darkened his face. “Yes. And yet that, my dear, is a step too far. Even for us.”

She cast him another glance, cool and deliberate. “Piltover was a lesson, Vladimir. Calamity is always near. Sometimes, its arrival is merely closer than we expect.”

Her work completed, the shadow solidified into a new shape of a Darkin glaive, ominous in the chamber’s white glow.

“Our next move must be bolder.” She said. “Not safer.”

“Safer?” Vladimir echoed, his voice sharp with irony. “If not for the spawn of Sparda, the Herald and the elder Medarda would have damned Runeterra. And in its ruin, our true foe and his dark angel would have been unleashed.”

“Mm. Yes.” LeBlanc said simply, a wisp of amusement in her tone. “We owe him gratitude, even if he strayed from the design we laid before him with Ambessa.”

Vladimir’s eyes narrowed. “And what assurance do we have he won’t unravel us again? As he did a year past… with that little mage girl in Zaun?”

LeBlanc’s smile deepened, though her gaze remained fixed on the shifting shadow before her. 

“Because this time, he and his wayward partner have chosen to chase what was lost. His other half…” Her voice dropped, velvet and final. “This the moment we move.”

JINX:
Jinx looked down at Warwick, his claws raking at her legs as he tried to climb. She glanced back up at Vi. The platform groaned under their combined weight, bolts snapping loose one by one.

“Always with you, sis.” Jinx said softly.

Vi’s eyes went wide. Her gut twisted. She knew what that meant. But it was too late for her to do anything. 

Jinx slammed her fist against the glowing gemstone core of Vi’s Atlas gauntlet. Sparks burst, the gem cracked, and the gauntlet powered down. With its grip gone, the heavy gauntlet slid free. And began dragging Jinx and Warwick with it.

Time seemed to stretch as they fell. The roar of the battlefield vanished. All Vi could hear was her own scream ripping out of her throat.

Jinx, falling, let out a shaky breath. Her eyes softened. A small, broken smile tugged at her lips as tears streamed free. She turned toward Warwick, no, Vander. Not the monster clawing at her, but the man who once carried two terrified little girls out of a massacre. Who held them when the world burned. Who made them believe they could be safe, if only for a night.

“Thanks for saving us, dad…” she whispered.

She cradled his beastly face as if it were still human, and slipped a Chomper from her belt. Its light glowed red, corrupted by the demonic gemstone she had fused into it. She yanked the pin without hesitation.

The world erupted. A blast of red and blue fire swallowed Jinx and Warwick whole, ending them both in an instant. But from the heart of the explosion, a single pink streak streaked free, arcing into the Hexgates shaft before vanishing.

The streak of pink light tore from the heart of the blast, a comet in the void, trailing sparks as it shot into the Hexgate’s vast ventilation shafts. The wards and conduits screamed as the surge of energy passed, metal buckling under the shockwave.

Inside, the light sputtered. The streak faltered, and what emerged was not whole. Jinx’s body, torn and broken, tumbled through the shafts. Half her skin was charred raw, bone gleaming white beneath seared muscle. One arm hung useless, her legs twisted, smoke still rising off her hair. She coughed blood, laughing and choking all at once.

“Guess… I’m harder to get rid of than I thought,” she rasped, her voice shredded.

The pain was endless, blistering. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer smashing against her ribs. She pressed her forehead against the cold steel wall, leaving a smear of blood and soot. She should have been dead. She wanted to be.

And then, heat surged through her veins, alien and familiar at once. Dante’s blood, mingled with hers stirred like wildfire. It crawled across her ruined flesh, knitting sinew, sizzling against bone. The burns crackled, blackened skin flaking away as new tissue grew in its place, raw and pink.

It was slow. Agonizing. Her body twitched violently as the demonic essence rewove her frame, every nerve screaming. The healing was imperfect as she had jagged scars carved her arms, patches of her skin never quite smoothing. But it kept her alive. It refused to let her go.

She dragged herself deeper into the shafts, leaving a trail of blood that sizzled where it fell. Each movement was a war. Each breath tasted of smoke and iron. But she was moving. Still here. Still alive.

And as the firestorm behind her died, her cracked lips twisted upward, into something between a smile and a snarl. “Sorry, sis… not done yet.”

Jinx jolted awake with a ragged gasp, her good hand clutching at her chest. The roar of fire, the screams, the sight of Warwick’s face, it all tore away like smoke, leaving only the soft hum of engines and the groan of wood and steel.

The blimp rocked gently in the night sky. Its lanterns swayed, casting pale orange light across the cramped cabin. She sat slumped in a hammock, a bandage wrapped tight over her left eye, her left arm strapped in a sling. Sweat slicked her skin. The phantom heat of the explosion clung to her as if she’d never left it.

Her fingers brushed instinctively at her neck, finding the two pendants resting against her collarbone. The first, the worn bullet Dante had pressed into her palm back in Snowdown nearly a month and a half ago. She squeezed it like a lifeline. The second, colder and heavier, the broken blue shard of the perfect amulet. The piece of something whole, something that belonged to Vergil long before she met Dante, and he had entrusted it to her days ago, as their blimp cut its path away from Piltover’s ashes.

The whole world thought they were dead. That was the point. Her idea, her trick. She could still hear Vi’s scream in her skull, even if it had been days since the war in Piltover against Ambessa and Viktor’s Glorious Evolution.

“You awake?”

The voice pulled her from the spiral. Dante leaned in the doorway, one arm braced against the frame. His coat was stripped off, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, scars bare in the lanternlight. He held two mugs, one steaming faintly. His eyes, always sharper than his smirk, studied her like he already knew the answer.

Jinx swallowed hard, shifting in the hammock. 

“Dreamt it again,” she muttered, her voice cracking at the edges. “Boom, fire, sis screaming… me playing hero.” 

She let out a breathy laugh that died before it reached her lips. “Except I lived. Guess even my head can’t keep its story straight.”

Dante set the mugs down on a crate, then crouched beside her. He didn’t reach out, not yet. Just sat there, heavy with silence. 

“Sometimes,” he said finally, “your head makes you relive the worst so you don’t forget why you’re still here.” 

His gaze flicked down at the amulet resting against her chest. “And why we’ve got somewhere to go.”

Jinx fiddled with the shard, letting it swing on its chain. She gave him a sidelong glance, mismatched eyes glinting beneath her bandage. “You really think finding your brother’s gonna fix all this? Fix you?”

Dante’s smile was small, wry. “No. But it’s the only shot I’ve got.”

For a moment, the hum of the blimp was the only sound. Jinx leaned her head back against the hammock ropes, her lips curling in a crooked half-smile. “Guess we’re both chasing ghosts, huh?”

Dante’s eyes softened, just a fraction. “Guess so.”

“So…” Jinx drawled. “How much juice does this flying bathtub actually have?”

Dante’s eyes flicked to the control panel, then quickly away. “…Don’t ask.”

Jinx narrowed her eye. “Dante. Please don’t tell me we’re about to fall outta the sky.”

He smirked without missing a beat. “Hey, you’re the one who insisted on the blimp. I just agreed to steer the damn thing.”

“So what, you’re blaming me?” Jinx shot back, throwing her good arm wide. “You’re the guy with the sword and the swagger, shouldn’t you also know how to fly a balloon without turning it into a death trap?”

“It’s a blimp, not a balloon,” Dante corrected flatly, gripping the controls.

“Oh, sorry, mister technicalities! Next time I’ll call it a majestic floating coffin!”

Dante groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Three months together, and somehow you’ve gotten even louder.”

“Three months together, and you’re still terrible at dates,” she fired back, jabbing a finger at him with her slinged arm. “Snowdown? You bought me a bullet! Our ‘romantic getaway’? Now I’m in a sky-hog with duct-taped engines!”

“Hey,” he countered, pointing a finger right back, “this ‘sky-hog’ is keeping us off everyone’s radar. You want luxury or survival?”

Jinx leaned back, grinning crookedly. “Why not both? You’re supposed to be the big-shot demon hunter, Dante. Spoil your girlfriend a little.”

He smirked, eyes still on the sky ahead. “Spoiling you usually involves explosions and property damage. Thought I’d give the world a break.”

Jinx snorted, half a laugh and half a scoff. “Old man excuses.”

“Old man?” He arched a brow, finally glancing at her. “Really? Calling me old because I’ve got white hair again. Blue, I’ve been putting up with your chaos since you were barely taller to ride a ride. You don’t get to pull the age card.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned in close, her mismatched eyes gleaming, teasing. “And yet here you are. Stuck with me. Guess you’re just whipped.”

Dante gave a slow, amused exhale. “…Yeah. Guess I am.”

For a moment, silence settled, softer than their words, just the steady thrum of engines and the creak of ropes. Jinx blinked, caught off guard by how easily he said it. 

She fumbled for a comeback, then just let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Idiot.”

He smiled faintly. “Yours.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. Jinx fiddled with the pendants at her neck, tracing the worn grooves of the bullet with her thumb. The amulet shard pressed cold against her skin, grounding her. For once, her mind wasn’t buzzing with noise, it was… still.

Her voice came out softer than she meant. “Y’ever wonder what they’re doing? Back home, I mean.”

Dante tilted his head. “Which ‘they’ are we talking about?”

“You know.” She glanced away, pretending to study the lantern light swaying above. 

“Ekko, Zeri… Vi, Caitlyn. After all that mess with Ambessa and Viktor’s shiny nightmare machine… just feels weird not knowing. Like maybe they all…” she trailed off, her throat tight.

Dante leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying her with that quiet patience he rarely showed anyone else. “You think they’re gonna miss us?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t even know if they’d care if I was gone. Not really. Whole world thinks I blew myself to bits… which, ha, not far from the truth.” 

Her good hand tugged at the edge of her bandage, then dropped. “Feels like I’m haunting them, and I ain’t even dead.”

Dante didn’t say anything at first. He just reached forward, covering her hand with his own. His grip was firm, grounding, the kind of touch that didn’t ask for permission but gave it anyway.

“Listen,” he said quietly. “Whether they care or not doesn’t change one thing: you’re still here. With me. And that’s what matters right now.”

Her eyes flicked to his, searching for a crack in his calm. She found none, just that strange mix of steel and warmth that was always Dante.

Jinx swallowed, the lump in her throat heavier now. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But easy’s never been your style anyway.”

She let out a small, broken laugh, and before she could stop herself, she leaned forward. Dante met her halfway. The kiss wasn’t frantic or fiery. It was slow, steady, like they had all the time in the world. When they pulled apart, Jinx rested her forehead against his chest, closing her eye. For once, she wasn’t thinking about what she’d broken, who she’d lost, or what waited ahead. Just the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear, reminding her she was alive.

“…Guess I really am stuck with you, huh?” She murmured.

Dante chuckled, low in his throat. “Yeah. You are.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jinx didn’t mind the idea of being stuck.  

The steady hum of the engines lulled them into silence. Jinx stayed tucked against Dante’s chest, the beat of his heart grounding her in a way nothing else could. It was rare, too rare that she let herself feel safe.

Then the cockpit filled with a shrill, grating beep-beep-beep. Red lights flashed on the control panel.

Jinx flinched, then groaned. “…Seriously?”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “Low fuel alarm.”

She stared at him, then balled her good fist and thumped it against his chest. “You knew!”

“Hey!” He protested, rubbing the spot with mock offense. “It’s not like I planned it.”

“You didn’t plan not to, either!” Jinx snapped, though there was more exasperation than anger in her voice.

He sighed and walked to sit on the pilot’s chair, he then leaned back. “Relax. We’ve got a few hours. More than enough to figure something out.”

Jinx rolled her eye, then hopped off the hammock. She dug both hands into Dante’s long red coat until her fingers closed on something crinkled. With a victorious grin, she yanked out a folded map of Runeterra.

“You hide everything in these pockets,” she muttered, spreading the map across the console.

“Comes in handy,” Dante said with a shrug.

“Mmhm. Until I fish out a half-eaten sandwich or something.”

Her finger trailed across the expanse of Runeterra, tapping at different points, muttering under her breath. “Nope, nope… definitely nope… ugh, more Noxus…” 

She squinted, then jabbed at a small mark along the coast. “Here. Morris Island. Port town. Fuel. Booze. Food. Everything we need.”

Dante froze. Just a flicker, but she caught it. His smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing at the name like it was a wound reopened.

“…You okay?” Jinx asked carefully, tilting her head.

His answer came too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”

But his grip on the wheel was tighter now, knuckles pale in the lanternlight.

Jinx frowned, tapping the map again. “Doesn’t sound fine.”

“Trust me,” Dante said, his voice low, final. “It’s nothing.”

The engines droned on, carrying them toward the shadowed coast. But the name, Morris Island, hung heavy in the air between them, and Jinx could feel in her gut that whatever waited there wasn’t “nothing” at all.

By dawn, the blimp was moored on the outskirts of Morris Island. The port town was alive with the usual morning noise. Such as sailors shouting over crates, gulls circling for scraps, and the faint crash of waves against the piers. Compared to Piltover’s brass-and-gear skyline, Morris Island was simpler. Weather-worn stone streets, wooden rooftops patched with tar, oil lamps. A working town. A breathing town.

Jinx tugged her hood lower as they moved down the street, her sling tucked close to her body. People barely gave them a second glance. Thing such as outsiders weren’t uncommon, so long as they had coin to spend.

“Place looks… boring,” Jinx muttered, kicking a loose pebble as they walked.

“Good,” Dante replied, his coat swaying at his heels. “Boring keeps us alive.”

They ducked into a diner just off the main square. The bell above the door gave a tired jingle, and the smell of frying bread and salted fish hit immediately. It wasn’t much, just a handful of tables, a cracked counter, and a few old men sipping bitter coffee. But it was warm, and quiet.

Jinx slid into a booth, dropping the handful of coins they had onto the table with a clatter. 

“All the riches of Noxus,” she quipped. “Think we can buy half an egg with this?”

Dante smirked, settling across from her. “Half an egg, maybe. But I’m calling dibs on the yolk.”

She scrunched her nose at him, then leaned back against the seat, fiddling with her necklaces as she watched a waitress shuffle over. “Been a while since I ate somewhere that doesn’t explode halfway through.”

The waitress gave them both a tired smile, scribbled down their order—“the cheapest you’ve got”—and shuffled away.

For a moment, the two of them sat in the quiet clatter of the diner. Jinx glanced around at the simple folk, the fishermen and dockworkers, the ease of it all.

“…Weird,” she said softly. “Feels almost normal.”

Dante’s eyes lingered on her bandaged face, then shifted to the window where the town square bustled with morning life. His voice was low when he answered. “Yeah. Almost.”

But Jinx noticed he hadn’t touched the map since the night before. And every time someone said “Morris Island,” she caught that same flicker in his expression.

The waitress dropped off two chipped mugs of coffee and a plate with bread and salted fish. Jinx immediately tore into the bread, chewing like she hadn’t eaten in days. Dante, though, just watched her for a moment, leaning his elbows on the table.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked finally.

Jinx looked up mid-bite, blinking at him. “Whatcha mean?”

“Physically. Mentally. Both.” His tone was even, but his eyes didn’t waver. “You’ve been healing fast these last few days, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy.”

She tore another piece of bread, shrugging with her good shoulder. “Arm still aches. Eye itches like crazy under this stupid bandage. Sometimes I wake up and my skin feels like it’s still burning.” 

Her voice dipped quieter. “But… it’s better than it was. Way better.”

Dante nodded softly. “And in here?” 

He tapped his temple.

Jinx swallowed, suddenly finding the cracks in the table very interesting. 

“…Sometimes it feels like I’m still falling, y’know? Like the dream keeps tugging me back down. But then I wake up and—” she reached up, fingering the bullet pendant—“you’re still here. So I guess that counts for something.”

For a moment, the air between them was steady, warm. Then Jinx gave a crooked grin. “Also, I kinda miss our sexy time.”

Dante raised a brow, sipping his coffee. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a mischievous little snort. “Been, what… two weeks? Three? Feels like forever.”

“More like twelve days,” Dante corrected dryly. “And you need rest more than anything else right now.”

She groaned, throwing her head back against the booth. “Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” he countered, smirking. “But keeping you in one piece comes first. Once you’re healed, then we’ll talk.”

Jinx pouted, sticking her tongue out at him. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t collect interest.”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

For a few moments, all that filled the space was the clink of dishes and the low murmur of dockworkers at the counter. It was almost peaceful and even almost normal.

But even as Jinx teased, she caught the shadow still lingering in Dante’s eyes whenever he looked past her, out toward the harbor.

Dante had just started tearing into the bread when the door creaked open. A man in a worn coat paused mid-step, his eyes locking on Dante. Something flickered across his face. A mixture of recognition, shock and then he stepped inside, heading straight for their booth.

“Anthony?” The man said softly.

Dante froze, mid-bite, and slowly looked up. “Huh?”

Jinx’s eye darted between them, fingers tightening around her mug.

The man came closer, his voice trembling. “It’s me. Ernest. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

Dante closed his eyes for a beat, leaning lazily back in the booth, his expression unreadable. “How about you explain how you ‘remember’ someone you’ve never met?”

Ernest’s lips curled into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Still the same tone. That cranky attitude, I’d know it anywhere. There’s no mistaking you.” 

His eyes softened, but there was weight behind them. “I get why you wouldn’t want to remember. That night was… horrific. But at last, you’ve come back. And now—” he leaned in, lowering his voice “—I can finally clear your name. You and your mother. I’ve found proof, Anthony. Irrefutable proof it was a demon that caused it all. You’ve got to believe me.”

Dante’s jaw tightened at the name “Anthony,” but his face stayed neutral. Only Jinx, sitting across from him, noticed the subtle tremor in his hand as it curled against the table.

It was only then that Ernest’s gaze shifted to Jinx. His brows lifted at the sight of her sling, then at the bandage covering her left eye.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said quickly, almost tripping over his words. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. You must be in pain. What’s your name, miss? And what happened to you?”

Jinx froze, caught off guard by the directness. People usually stared at her, sure, but rarely with that kind of… soft concern. She blinked once, twice, then darted her eye around the diner. Her gaze snagged on a crooked sign above the counter that read Hazel’s Place.

“Hazel,” she blurted. “Name’s Hazel.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed faintly, but he said nothing.

Jinx fumbled for an explanation, waving her good hand. “This? Eh, bar fight gone sideways. Didn’t duck fast enough. You know how it is.”

She forced a grin. “But I’ve had worse.”

Ernest nodded sympathetically, though his eyes lingered with quiet worry. “I’m sorry to hear that. It looks painful.” 

Then his expression softened further, flicking between the two of them. “And you’re with Anthony?”

“Yup,” Jinx said quickly, leaning across the booth and resting her chin in her hand. “Me and Tony, partners in crime. Thick as thieves.”

Across from her, Dante’s jaw flexed as he gave her a sharp sidelong glance. Anthony. His eye roll was small, but it carried the weight of a groan he refused to make out loud.

Jinx caught it and smirked, almost daring him to contradict her.

Ernest’s eyes lingered on Dante, like he was staring at a ghost that had finally stepped out of the grave. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Before Dante could open his mouth, Jinx leaned forward, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “Memory’s not his strong suit. Trust me, I’ve had to remind him of his own birthday twice.”

Dante shot her a sideways look, but she kept right on going.

“Besides, we don’t usually get to sit down for a nice breakfast without, y’know, explosions or assassins ruining it. So maybe we just… don’t dig up the past while I’m trying to enjoy my bread?” She tore off another chunk dramatically and stuffed it in her mouth.

Ernest blinked, clearly thrown off by her energy, but his focus slid back to Dante. “Anthony—”

“Tony,” Jinx cut in smoothly, slapping the table for emphasis. “Call him Tony. Way cooler. Don’t you think so, Tony?”

Dante pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slow.

Ernest gave a small, apologetic smile at her antics, but his voice softened again, carrying something earnest under the words. “I understand. But Anthony… when you’re ready, meet me. Please. I’ll be at the old watchtower on the east pier. It’s important.”

Dante didn’t answer. Didn’t nod, didn’t even twitch. Just stared back, unreadable.

Jinx leaned over and snatched the last bit of bread off the plate. “Thanks for the concern, Ernie, but me and my Tony here have places to be. Boats to catch, skies to conquer, you know how it is.” 

She shoved the bread in her mouth, muffled: “Good talk though!”

She stood, tugging Dante’s sleeve with her good hand until he rose with her. Together they stepped past Ernest and out into the sunlight.

The door jingled shut behind them, leaving Ernest standing in the diner, watching their backs vanish into the crowd. His hand tightened into a fist, but his eyes stayed soft.

Dante, meanwhile, walked in silence, jaw clenched, coat swaying with each step.

Jinx glanced up at him, her voice teasing but low. “So, Anthony, old buddy, gonna tell me what that was all about, or do I get to make up stories until you break?”

Dante didn’t answer. His silence said more than words could.

Dante carefully peeled away the old bandage from Jinx’s eye, his touch steady despite the raw, bloodshot skin beneath. The socket was slowly knitting back together, the faint glow of healing still there, but it twitched at the faintest glimmer of light.

“I’ve got you, babygirl,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lightly along her cheek before setting the fresh bandage in place. But the way her good eye lingered on him made his brow furrow. “You wanna tell me something?”

Jinx chewed her lip, then exhaled. “Still thinking about what that guy said. Y’know… Ernest.” 

She fiddled with her sling as she spoke. “You did go by Tony when we were kids. And Tony’s short for Anthony.”

Dante’s hands stilled for just a second before he tied the bandage off.

“And he picked you out of a crowd, like… boom, no hesitation. Not everyone’s got white hair and just happens to pick Anthony as their fake name. Especially not as a kid.”

Dante leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. “…So?”

Jinx tilted her head as she gave him that sly little grin, the one that always meant she wasn’t gonna let this drop.

“So, Anthony…” she sing-songed, poking his chest with her free hand. “Last night I drop one little name. Morris Island and suddenly you’ve been looking at every brick and alley like they’re old friends. Kinda funny, don’t you think?”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “You’re imagining things.”

“Ohhh no, I’m not.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping into something softer, but sharper too. “You’ve been chewing on ghosts all day. And you still haven’t told me what you were even doing between thirteen and eighteen, while I was stuck with Silco and his creepy bedtime stories about power.”

He glanced away, adjusting the strap of her sling almost just to keep his hands busy. “Doesn’t matter.”

Jinx smirked. “It matters to me. I mean, c’mon, five whole years? That’s like… forever. I tell you all the dumb crap I did growing up. You don’t think I wonder what you were up to?” 

She tapped her temple, eye narrowing playfully. “Don’t make me start painting my own version in here, ‘cause spoiler alert, it’s gonna involve brooding, bad haircuts, and you writing sad poetry on Morris Island.”

That actually made his lip twitch, but he stayed quiet.

Jinx leaned back, staring at him for a beat. Then her voice softened, teasing giving way to something more raw. “…I’m not asking ‘cause I wanna dig up stuff you hate. I’m asking ‘cause I wanna know you, Dante. The real you. Even the messy, ugly, Anthony parts. Especially those.”

Dante let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down his face before finally meeting her eye. “We’ll talk to Ernest. Later. If he’s right and there’s a demon involved… that’s what’s got my attention.”

Jinx arched a brow, lips curling into a sly grin. “Mhm. Always the demons first. Even before your poor, half-broken girlfriend.” 

Her voice dipped into something sultry, a purr under the words. “Guess I should start growing horns if I want top priority…”

Before she could lean closer, Dante moved. Smooth, sudden, pinning her gently against the mattress with one hand braced at her side. His other hand slid up, fingers combing into her short, choppy hair. 

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmured, his smirk brushing against hers.

Her breath caught as his fingers trailed through the uneven strands, still cut close like Vi’s old style. He tugged lightly, making her grin widen despite herself.

“You still rockin’ your sis’s haircut,” Dante teased, his voice low, almost fond. “Gotta say, though… looks a hell of a lot better on you.”

Jinx’s grin widened as Dante’s hand tightened in her hair, her good eye half-lidded, teasing right back. “Mmm, careful, babe. You know I like it when you get bossy.”

Dante leaned in, lips brushing dangerously close to hers, his weight holding her down just enough to make her heart race. “Yeah?” 

His smirk was a whisper against her skin. “You sure you can handle that right now?”

She hooked her legs around his waist, sling and all, pulling him closer with a mischievous glint. “Guess we’ll never know unless you try, Sparda.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them sizzled, his breath hot, her pulse skipping. His fingers traced down her neck, across the bandage on her shoulder, lingering where her skin still bore the ache of burns. She winced ever so slightly, and Dante stilled.

The fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer. He pressed his forehead against hers, exhaling slowly. 

“…Babygirl, you can barely walk without limping. And you know how I get when things get… heated.” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Last thing I’m gonna do is break you more.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillow. “Ugh, you’re the worst tease. You start revving the engine and then slam the brakes? Rude.”

Dante chuckled, brushing his hand through her choppy hair again, softer this time, almost absentminded. “Yeah, well. Consider it motivation to get back on your feet faster.”

Her pout melted into a small smile as she nestled against him. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re responsible.”

He kissed the corner of her bandaged temple, murmuring low, “And you’re lucky I’m crazy about you. Otherwise, I’d have run from this mess a long time ago.”

Her good eye glimmered, teasing through the warmth. “Please. You’d miss me too much. Admit it.”

“Yeah,” Dante smirked, tucking her closer. “I would.”

DANTE:
Later that day, they found Ernest waiting at the edge of the pier.

Jinx walked with her hood pulled low, a fresh bandage peeking from beneath the fabric, her arm still strapped in a sling. A pistol rode snug against her hip, hidden in the folds of her jacket.

Beside her, Dante carried a weathered guitar case slung across his back, Force Edge tucked inside, Ebony and Ivory resting beneath his coat like silent companions.

“I’m glad you came, Anthony. Old pal,” Ernest greeted warmly, stepping toward them before glancing at Jinx. “And you too, Hazel. Come on, follow me.”

He turned and began to walk, his stride sure, as if expecting them to fall in line.

Jinx shot Dante a quick look. His eyes stayed locked on Ernest, unreadable, tension pulling at his jaw. Without saying a word, she reached out with her good hand and laced her fingers through his.

Dante didn’t look at her, but his grip tightened all the same.

They moved through the narrow streets, the evening air carrying the scent of salt and old stone. Dante’s eyes wandered over the buildings they passed, familiar outlines etched with years of distance.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m not Anthony.”

Ernest gave a quiet laugh, not mocking, but almost wistful. “I get it. You need to keep your name buried here. But you don’t have to worry, there aren’t many left who even remember what happened six years ago. To most folks, it’s a half-forgotten rumor.”

He glanced at Dante, his smile tinged with something sad. “Which leaves me the odd man out. The eccentric who won’t let go, still chasing the truth while everyone else shrugs it off. But I don’t care. Because I know what really happened. And I intend to prove it.”

Jinx finally broke the silence, her voice cutting through the steady rhythm of their footsteps. “Okay, okay, I gotta ask, what exactly did happen here?”

Ernest’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t slow his pace. His voice was steady, almost rehearsed. “Six years ago… when Anthony and I were fourteen, nearly fifteen, Morris Island burned.” 

He gestured faintly toward the skyline, where blackened husks of old buildings still stood among newer repairs. “A great fire. It swallowed the town whole. Most of the people died. The few who lived… well, some swore they were attacked before the fire by demons. A horde of them.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Demons? In a fishing town like this?”

He nodded gravely. “But no one believed them. Their words were dismissed as hysteria. And in the end, blame fell elsewhere.” 

His voice lowered, weighted with anger. “On Anthony. On his mother. Both of them were humiliated, shunned, treated as pariahs. Forced to leave with nothing.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Jinx slowed her steps, her good eye flicking to Dante. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked up, he just kept walking, his face unreadable. But she knew.

Because Dante had already told her about his real mother. About the fire that took her when he was only eight. About how he had no one to watch over him when he ended up in Zaun. How he’d survived alone between nine and thirteen, scraping by in the gutters until they crossed paths again.

Yet here Ernest was, talking about a different fire. A different mother. One Dante hadn’t breathed a word about.

Jinx’s stomach knotted, questions burning on her tongue. She squeezed his hand tighter, trying to catch his eye.

But Dante just kept walking.

Jinx opened her mouth, ready to press Dante, but shut it again when Ernest turned toward him with a smile.

“Our teacher,” Ernest said softly. “She’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Your teacher?” Jinx echoed, brow arched. She glanced at Dante, but he just kept walking, his expression locked down.

She huffed under her breath, shaking her head as she hurried to keep pace with the two of them.

The three of them stepped into the nursing home and followed Ernest down a quiet hall. He stopped at a door and opened it gently, revealing an old woman sitting upright on her bed, her hands folded in her lap.

“Miss Margaret,” Ernest said warmly, “I knew you’d be happy to see Anthony again.”

Her cloudy eyes lifted, and her lips curved faintly. 

“Anthony…” she whispered.

Dante sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Sorry to disappoint you, old lady, but this guy just won’t stop calling me that.”

Ernest chuckled softly at the remark. “Seems like Anthony doesn’t want anyone knowing who he really is.”

Margaret tilted her head, her voice delicate but steady. “Can you blame him? So, Anthony… how is your mother doing?”

Dante didn’t flinch. “She’s dead. Been dead a long time.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Oh. I’m… sorry to hear that. I always wished I could’ve eased her pain, back then. She carried so much sadness… so much despondence in her final days.”

Ernest stepped closer to the old woman’s side. “Miss Margaret, there’s someone else you should meet. Anthony’s… companion. Hazel.”

Jinx blinked, then lifted her good hand in a stiff little wave. “Uh… hey.”

Margaret’s gaze settled on her and widened at once. “Oh, my dear… what happened to you?”

Jinx shifted in place, tugging at her sling. “Ah, same story I told your buddy Ernest. Got in a bar fight and didn’t move out the way.”

Margaret’s brows rose, clearly surprised. The women of Morris Island were reserved, quiet, none carried themselves with the wild spark Jinx did. She studied her a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. “You’re… very different from the women I’ve known here. Bold. Sharp-tongued.”

Her eyes flicked back to Dante. “But perhaps that’s fitting. He was always violent, even at a young age. It makes sense you’d be drawn to one another.”

Jinx snorted, glancing at Dante with a grin. “Ha! See? Even granny here gets it. Makes perfect sense.” 

She leaned against him playfully. “Guess I really am your match, huh?”

Dante rolled his eyes but didn’t shake her off.

“Miss Margaret,” Ernest said gently, “you agree it’s time we tell Anthony, don’t you?”

The old woman gave a slow nod. “Yes. That’s why we’ve worked so hard all these years. To atone for our sins, for making your mother suffer as we did. We’ve carried that guilt too long.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, his tone flat and edged. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ernest turned to face him fully, his expression earnest, voice steady. “I told you before, didn’t I? I finally found the proof. The fire, the destruction of this town, it wasn’t the work of any person. It was all caused by a demon.”

The three of them stepped out of the nursing home, the evening air cooler now, carrying the faint tang of salt from the sea.

“Ruins?” Dante asked again, his tone edged.

“Yes,” Ernest replied simply.

Dante’s gaze flicked toward him. “You’re not planning on dragging that demon out of the ruins, are you?”

Ernest chuckled softly, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “You’re sharp as ever. See right through me. But don’t you understand? The important thing isn’t the risk, it’s clearing your name. Clearing your mother’s. That’s what matters.”

Dante said nothing. His silence was heavy, unreadable. Jinx glanced at him, but even she didn’t speak this time.

They reached Ernest’s home on the hillside just outside town, the whole port spread beneath them like a painting. Inside, the place smelled faintly of dust and old books, its walls lined with memories.

Jinx paused at a frame on the mantle. A photo of a much younger Dante, fourteen at most, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ernest and Miss Margaret. Her good eye lingered on it, tracing the boyish face she barely recognized.

Ernest entered the room with a tray, two glasses of red wine balanced carefully. He offered one to Jinx.

She raised her hand awkwardly. “Uh, sorry. Don’t drink. Even if I could, I probably shouldn’t…” 

She gestured at her bandages with a wry grin. 

Ernest nodded understandingly and turned to Dante, pressing the glass into his hand. “Then at least you. Brings back memories, doesn’t it? The toast may be six years late… but here’s to seeing you again, Anthony.”

Dante accepted it without a word. He lifted the glass, sipping slowly, though his eyes drifted back to Jinx, who was still staring at that frozen image of his past.

The front door creaked open, and a woman about their age stepped inside, halting when she spotted the strangers in her home.

“Oh! Ernest, you’re back already?”

“Welcome home,” Ernest said warmly, resting a hand on her back. He turned toward the pair in his living room. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Elise.”

Elise’s eyes widened as they fell on Dante. She lifted a hand to her mouth, almost in shock. “Oh my. He’s… a lot bigger than you made him sound in your stories.”

Jinx snorted, stifling a laugh behind her hand, her mind immediately running somewhere inappropriate.

Ernest chuckled, unbothered. “Well, of course. All my stories were about when we were boys. Time doesn’t stand still.”

“Oh…” Elise lowered her hand, though her gaze lingered curiously.

“And this,” Ernest added, “is his companion, Hazel.”

Jinx raised her good hand in a casual wave. “Hey.”

Elise’s eyes slid over her and lingered. Jinx’s hip windows left no doubt she wasn’t wearing underwear, and the if it wasn’t for the oversized hoodie that concealed the bandages wrapping her chest and exposed waist, then she’d be showing off. In a town where most women were modestly dressed, Jinx stood out like a flare in the night.

Jinx caught the look, smirk tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I know. Not exactly Morris Island chic, huh?”

Elise’s smile wavered, caught somewhere between courtesy and unease as her eyes trailed Jinx’s bare-hipped outfit and the rough edges that set her apart from every woman in town.

“It’s… very nice to meet you,” Elise said carefully, smoothing her skirt as if to remind herself of her own composure. “You have a… unique style.”

Jinx tilted her head, smirk tugging wider. “That’s one word for it.”

For a moment, Elise just studied her, something almost like curiosity flickering beneath the polite mask before she clasped her hands together. “Well, I should get started on dinner—”

Ernest gently touched her arm, shaking his head. “No, love. I’ll take care of it tonight. Why don’t you stay here and visit with Anthony and Hazel? I’m sure they’d like the company.”

Elise hesitated, casting another quick glance at Dante, then at Jinx, who was now sprawled comfortably in her chair, smirk never leaving her lips. Finally, Elise gave a small nod, seating herself across from them, still clearly intrigued despite her attempts to appear reserved.

Elise folded her hands neatly in her lap, stealing little glances at Jinx’s wild attire and the cocky ease she carried herself with. For a moment she looked ready to pull back into the safety of polite silence until Jinx leaned back, stretching her good arm across the chair with a grin that dared anyone to say something.

“You really don’t care what people think, do you?” Elise asked suddenly, her voice softer now, almost conspiratorial.

Jinx’s grin widened. “Nope. Waste of time, if you ask me. Why? You jealous?”

Elise let out a small laugh she clearly hadn’t meant to. 

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, glancing down at her prim dress. “Ernest’s told me so many stories about you, Anthony. About when you were boys. I always wondered if they were exaggerated, but… seeing you now, I’m starting to think maybe he undersold it.”

Dante raised a brow, half-smirk tugging at his mouth. “Figures he’d talk behind my back.”

Elise shook her head. “No, not like that. He said you were always getting into trouble, reckless, fearless. That half the adults in town didn’t know whether to scold you or admire you.” 

Her gaze softened, landing back on Dante, then sliding toward Jinx again. “And now I see… you keep company with someone just as bold.”

Jinx tapped the table with her good hand, smirking. “Guess trouble likes trouble.”

Later that night, the storm rolled in hard, rattling the shutters and washing the town in silver flashes of lightning. Jinx limped into the living room, tugging her hoodie tighter around herself as Dante set a pillow down on the couch for her.

“I can take care of it,” Jinx muttered, already trying to lower herself down.

“I know,” Dante replied, his tone easy, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he adjusted the pillow anyway.

She paused halfway into her seat, narrowing her good eye at him. She began giving him that look again, the one that was equal parts suspicion and something softer.

“What?” He asked, brow arched, feigning cluelessness but not quite pulling it off.
The thunder cracked again, rattling the glass panes. Jinx shifted on the couch, pulling her legs up under her, her sling awkwardly pressed against the pillow Dante had set for her. She kept her eye fixed on him as he leaned against the armrest.

“You really had a whole different life here, huh?” She said finally, voice low but edged. “Almost two years of… I don’t know. Normal? While I was stuck with Silco. While I had to turn crazy just to stay alive.”

Dante exhaled through his nose, watching the lightning flash through the curtains. “Normal never lasts, Jinx. You know that better than anyone.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t have it,” she shot back, her good hand tightening on the pillow. “You, or Anthony, Ernest, Miss Margaret. All these little memories I never even knew existed. And you just never told me.”

He stayed quiet. Too quiet. Jinx’s lips pressed thin, her voice dropping to a murmur. “How many more secrets are you keeping from me, Dante? Hm? Should I be bracing myself for another big reveal? Or is this the last one?”

Dante’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer right away. And then she smirked bitterly, tilting her head. “What’s next? You’ve got some super sexy ex tucked away in this town too?”

For the first time all night, Dante broke eye contact. He looked away, lips parting like he was about to say something, but didn’t.

Jinx blinked, her smirk faltering into wide-eyed shock. “… Wait. Wait. Are you serious?”

Jinx leaned forward, her good eye narrowing in suspicion. “Don’t tell me you actually—”

Dante cut her off with a sharp scoff, waving a hand. “Relax. I don’t have some super sexy ex hiding in the pantry waiting to jump out. You’ve got a hell of an imagination.”

Her stare didn’t soften. “Uh-huh. That sounded way too defensive.”

“Or maybe,” he said, leaning over to tuck the blanket across her lap, “you’re exhausted and picking fights because you hate resting.” 

His tone was casual, but his gaze was steady, almost daring her to keep pushing.

Jinx huffed through her nose, clearly irritated but already sagging into the couch. “…Fine. But you’re not off the hook, mister Anthony-or-whatever.”

“Didn’t think I was,” Dante said with a faint smirk, straightening. He dragged a chair over, the legs scraping softly against the floor, and sat down close enough that his shoulder brushed the couch. His arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes still flicking to her like a quiet guard dog.

Jinx shifted under the blanket, stealing one last side-eye at him before her voice dropped into a grumble. “…Better not be hiding anyone hotter than me.”

Dante chuckled low. “Impossible.”

The storm rattled on outside, but the silence between them settled warm, steady.

Jinx shifted restlessly, tugging the blanket up to her chin like she was trying to stay awake out of spite. Her good eye peeked at Dante, half-lidded but still sharp.

“Don’t even think I’m falling asleep yet,” she mumbled.

Dante leaned back in his chair, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure. You’re wide awake. Just… ignore the fact your eyelid’s already doing that twitchy thing it does right before you pass out.”

Her nose scrunched. “Liar.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re a menace even half-dead on your feet.”

“Mm. Better than being boring.” She yawned mid-sentence, then shot him a defiant glare like he wouldn’t dare point it out.

Dante let it slide, just watching her settle deeper into the couch. The firelight flickered against her bandages, her chest rising slow and uneven. She looked fragile in a way that never fit her, like seeing a blade dulled and cracked but still trying to cut.

And that was when it hit him again. That gnawing instinct he’d never been able to shake. He wasn’t just her partner, her lover. He was her wall, her shield, the one thing between her and a world that had already tried to burn her down too many times.

He sighed, running a hand over his face before lowering his voice, just enough that maybe she couldn’t hear it. “Yeah… I’ve got you, babygirl. Always.”

Her lips twitched faintly at the nickname, like she caught it even through the haze of sleep. 

“Better not… screw that up…” she murmured, voice slurring as her eye fluttered closed.

Dante smirked softly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

And yet, as the storm raged outside, he didn’t move from the chair, guarding her through the night.

Dante soared through the air, Ultimate Devil Form blazing with raw energy. The rift above the Hexgates roared wider, tearing between realms as the legion of demons pressed against its threshold, Nelo Angelo’s shadow looming large.

“Not this time…” Dante muttered under his breath, gripping Sparda tighter. Every shred of power, every fragment of the anomaly that he and Ekko had forged, burned inside his veins. It was tearing him apart, but he didn’t care.

He reached the heart of the rift. Time stuttered, reality shivered as both Hell and the mortal plane strained against his presence. Dante clenched his jaw and thrust Sparda into the rupture.

The sword howled, resonating with his blood. All at once, Dante unleashed the anomaly’s chaotic energy, burning it like fuel, forging it into a seal. The rift convulsed, shrieking as the legion was sucked back, their forms unraveling into nothing. Even Nelo Angelo’s yellow gaze disappeared into the collapsing dark.

The last thing Dante felt was the wind against his face as he shifted back to his human form, white hair whipping wildly, as light swallowed him whole.

The light consumed everything, sound, air, even the weight of his body. For a moment, Dante thought he’d actually done it, burned himself out for good. No coming back. No last jokes. Just silence.

Then came the impact.

Salt water filled his lungs as he gasped awake, coughing violently. He rolled onto his side, spitting out brine and sand, every muscle in his body screaming like he’d been torn apart and glued back together wrong.

The beach stretched out before him, endless gray waves under a sky just starting to bleed with dawn. His Ultimate Devil Form was gone, the anomaly’s energy stripped clean, leaving him battered and human once more. But he was alive. Somehow.

Dante dragged himself to his knees, Sparda still clutched in his hand. Its edge was dim now, as if the sword itself had spent its last reserves sealing the rift.

He stared at the weapon for a long moment before a dry laugh escaped his throat. “Guess we’re both too stubborn to quit, huh?”

He collapsed back onto the sand, hair plastered to his face, the roar of the surf filling his ears. Every nerve screamed, every scar burned, but a deeper ache throbbed in his chest. The world thought he was gone. She thought he was gone.

His lips tightened, eyes closing as the tide lapped at his boots. “Jinx…”

For the first time in years, Dante wasn’t sure if he had the strength to get up again. But he knew he’d have to.

Because if he didn’t, she’d never forgive him.

Dante’s eyes snapped open. For a heartbeat, he was still on that endless beach, waves dragging him under, Sparda heavy in his hand. Then the storm’s low rumble grounded him back in reality. The living room ceiling came into focus, shadows stretching from the fire in Ernest’s hearth.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Just a dream. A memory.

Across the room, Jinx was curled up on the couch, bandaged and stubborn even in sleep, the blanket half-kicked off her legs. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her lips parted in a faint murmur—like she was chasing her own ghosts behind her eyelid.

Dante sat forward in the chair he’d never left, elbows on his knees, letting the weight of the dream sit heavy for a moment. Both of them had “died” that night. Both swallowed by fire and chaos, remembered as ashes and wreckage. And yet, here they were, alive in a stranger’s home, hiding under fake names while the rest of the world mourned them.

He glanced at Jinx again, softer this time.

“…We cheated death, babygirl,” he murmured under his breath. “Don’t know how many more times we’ll get away with it.”

When morning hit, Ernest came into the living room and gasped seeing how early Dante got up, because to his knowledge, Dante or Anthony always woke up later. 

“Tony, you are are an early riser, aren’t you? I’ll put some coffee on.” He began to walk towards the kitchen. 

“Don’t do it.” Dante simple said. “Don’t try to summon that demon.”

Ernest looked at him. “What are you saying?”

“Tell me, what are you planning to do if you are actually able to summon the demon? If normal humans were capable of defeating them, that tragedy that happened six years ago never would have happened. Don’t play tougher than you are.”

Ernest went over to a wardrobe and pulled out a shotgun. “Don’t worry about it. I’m ready.”

Dante didn’t even look at the other two shotguns in the furniture. “That thing won’t even serve as a security blanket. Does Elise have any idea what you’re planning to do?”

“This has nothing to do with her.” Ernest said softly. “You have to understand, Tony. This problem concerns me as well.”

Dante stepped back into the nursing home, the faint smell of rain still clinging to his coat. Miss Margaret sat by the window, her thin hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the gray morning beyond.

“That’s Anthony, isn’t it?” She asked softly without turning.

Dante’s brow furrowed. “How do you know?”

She finally turned, her gaze cloudy but sharp. “You were just here yesterday. Only this time… you came alone.”

“Ernest’s at work. Hazel’s resting.” Dante kept his voice even.

“I see.” Her tone was gentle, almost relieved.

“Tell me where the ruins are,” Dante said flatly.

Her hands tightened slightly on her lap. “Pardon?”

“Ernest is planning to summon that demon.”

She lowered her gaze, guilt creasing her features. “He only wants to clear you and your mother of the accusations. To give peace to her memory.”

Dante’s eyes hardened. “No. That’s not what this is.”

“Anthony…”

“Margaret,” he cut in, his voice quiet but firm, “I’m not Anthony. When I was a kid, yeah, I used that name. But after the fire, after everything, I stopped being that boy. My name is Dante.” 

He paused, exhaling. “If it makes this town feel better, I’ll keep answering to Anthony while I’m here. But right now, I need to know where those ruins are.”

For a long moment, she studied him, searching for the boy she once knew, finding only the man he’d become. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders sinking.

“The ruins lie in the forest beyond town,” she whispered.

Dante inclined his head. “Thank you.”

He turned, walking out with quiet steps. At the door, he paused just long enough to shut it softly behind him, leaving Margaret staring at the window once more.

The dirt path crunched under their boots as the ruins loomed closer through the trees. Jinx adjusted her hoodie, her limp noticeable but her smirk unbothered.

“You really think Ernest playing demon hunter’s stupid?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Dante said without hesitation. “It’ll get him killed.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Funny. I took out two demons on my own, couple years back. Didn’t die.”

That made Dante glance at her. “…Two demons?”

She nodded proudly. “Yep. One was all gooey and stretchy, kept sprouting these sharp tentacles. Hit like a jackhammer, too, busted me in the jaw so hard I saw stars. Other one was this freaky plant snake lady, throwing thorns around like confetti. Real pain in the ass.”

Dante’s expression tightened. “…Go on.”

“So, gooey-boy stabs me in the shoulder, throws me through a wall, right? I’m bleeding everywhere, barely standing. Snake-lady’s about to carve me up. so I bluff.” Jinx grinned, tapping her temple. “Told ‘em I was Silco’s top gun. Said I could get ‘em shimmer if they kept me alive. And get this, goo-boy bought it. Retracted his blade, all serious.”

She snorted. “Then plant-bitch shows up, sees me standing there, and just bam! Shoots a dozen thorns right into goo-boy, ‘cause he was still wearing my face. I pop out from the shadows, Pow-Pow spinning, and shred the plant chick before she can blink. Whole damn floor looked like mulch. One clip, two demons. Easy.”

Dante stopped walking, staring at her. “…Plasma. And Echidna.”

Jinx blinked. “Huh?”

“That’s who you fought,” he said, voice low. “They ran with Rabbit’s crew, remember?”

He studied her, eyes narrowing. “…You actually killed Echidna?”

Jinx’s grin widened, smug. “Hell yeah I did. Sprayed her so full of lead she looked like a garden salad.”

Dante shook his head slowly, half impressed, half annoyed. “…You’re insane.”

“Insanely awesome,” Jinx corrected, bumping her shoulder into him. “Guess I don’t need babysitting after all. So yeah, plant-lady turned into salad, goo-boy almost shit himself, and I walked out still breathing. Not bad for one girl and a gun, huh?”

Dante’s jaw worked, silent a moment. Then he said, “Yeah. I remember. Because a few minutes later, Rudra showed up.”

Jinx blinked, her grin faltering. “…Oh.”

“Wind bastard nearly cut me in half,” Dante muttered, eyes narrowing as memory pulled him back. “I was already half-dead from going full Devil. You pulled the trigger on him, even if the bullet didn’t scratch him. Gave me just enough of an opening to finish him.”

Jinx frowned, shifting her weight. “…And that’s when I found out you weren’t exactly human anymore.”

“Mm.” Dante glanced at her sidelong. “And that you were about two seconds away from blowing my head off when you saw me like that.”

“Duh.” She poked his arm.

Dante huffed, shaking his head. “Point is, you weren’t supposed to survive that day. Not Rudra, not Plasma, not Echidna. Hell, not me either. And yet, somehow, here we are.”

Jinx’s smirk softened. “Yeah… guess we’re both too damn stubborn to stay dead.”

The ruins were alive with a sickly glow. Ernest knelt before the summoning circle, shotgun trembling in his grip as ancient runes lit beneath him. The hellgate pulsed like a beating heart, tearing the sky open with coils of shadow.

From the abyss stepped something massive. Thirty feet tall, wings stretched wide like tattered sails, its skin a deathly gray, its coat as black as coal. Its face was a twisted fusion of predator and nightmare, avian beak forged of jagged metal, crimson eyes burning like coals, ears flared like a bat’s, claws bone-white and long enough to shred stone.

Ernest tried to raise his shotgun. His arms wouldn’t obey. His whole body locked in place, pinned by some invisible weight. Maybe it was fear, sorcery, maybe both.

“D-Damn it… I can’t move,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

The demon’s shadow engulfed him as one massive hand rose, ready to crush him.

And then, Dante was there. A blur of white and steel, Force Edge catching the light as he shoved Ernest out of the way. The ground split where the claw slammed down, sending dirt and stone flying.

Ernest crashed hard to the earth, eyes wide. “Anthony…?”

But Dante didn’t answer. He was already airborne, sword flashing as he brought it down across the edge of the hellgate itself. Sparks and dark flame screamed from the impact.

The demon stepped fully into the mortal plane now, looming above. Its fist swung at Dante in a thunderous arc. Dante met it with his blade, the clash shaking the ruins.

Then, through the monster’s jagged beak, came a voice that was gravelly, distorted, like words grinding through rusted iron. “…Are you Dante?”

Dante blinked, straining against the weight of the blow. “What?”

The demon leaned closer, breath reeking of brimstone. “Are… you… Dante?”

Dante squinted. “Man, I can barely understand you. Sounds like you’re talking through a busted voice filter.”

The demon leaned down, its massive beak clicking as it rasped again, the words half-swallowed by the distortion of its voice.

“…Six years ago… fire… my doing… I sought you, Dante…”

Dante’s grip on Force Edge tightened, his jaw set. “What?”

The monster straightened, wings beating against the storm as its voice grated on like metal grinding stone. “The town… ash and screams… all for you. Blood of… Sparda.”

Dante’s eyes flickered red for a second, that truth cutting through him harder than the demon’s strikes.

From the ground, Ernest pushed himself halfway up, clutching his side. His face went pale as the guttural words sank in clearer to him than to Dante. 

“It… it says the fire was… for you. Dante… it says… you’re—” His head knocked back against the stones where Dante had shoved him, the impact too much. Ernest slumped, unconscious.

“Perfect,” Dante muttered under his breath.

That’s when Jinx stumbled into the ruins, hood down, pistol already drawn. She stopped dead at the sight of the beast towering over them. “Oh, fuck me sideways.”

The demon’s head snapped toward her, guttural voice grinding through another phrase. “More prey…”

“What the hell is it saying?” Jinx called, eye darting between Dante and the monster.

Dante blocked another swipe of its claw, boots skidding across the cracked earth. “Not a clue. I think it’s trying to confess or something.”

Jinx squinted, mocking the demon with a nasally croak. “Rrrghh… Daaanntee… rawr rawr rawr.”

Dante smirked, even as he strained against the demon’s weight. “Yeah, that’s about as clear as I get too.”

The demon reared back, its chest swelling with a molten glow. Dante’s instincts screamed a split-second before the beast vomited a torrent of fire across the ruins. He ducked low, Force Edge cleaving a line through the flames, but the heat still seared the air around him.

“Shit!” Jinx yelped, diving behind a toppled pillar, dragging Ernest’s limp arm with her. Her pistol barked out three sharp shots, pink flashes sparking against the demon’s gray hide. They didn’t do much, barely singed it but at least it turned its head her way.

“Yo, ugly!” Jinx yelled, waving with her good hand. “You sound like you swallowed a harmonica and a blender!”

The demon hissed, firelight spilling from the cracks in its beak. Its wing lashed down, shattering stone, the shockwave sending Jinx tumbling with Ernest clutched to her side. She winced, teeth clenched as her bad shoulder flared in agony.

Dante snarled, intercepting the next claw swipe with Force Edge, sparks exploding. 

“Jinx!” He barked.

“I’m fine!” She shot back, half-laughing through the pain. “Well, mostly fine! Okay, not fine! But still standing!” 

She propped herself against rubble and fired another round.

The demon’s chest began to glow again, heat flooding the ruins. Dante’s eyes narrowed, he knew what was coming.

“Enough!” He slammed his sword into the ground, pushing against the fiery wave to split it apart. Embers still showered past, licking at Jinx’s hood.

He whipped around, red eyes locking onto her. “Grab Ernest and run! This is gonna take me a minute.”

“Run? Excuse me?” Jinx snapped, firing another shot for spite.

“Unless you like being barbecued, yeah.” Dante’s voice was firm but not without a crooked grin. “Go. I’ll catch up after I teach this mumbling freak how to enunciate.”

The demon screeched, the ruins trembling under its massive steps as it bore down on Dante.

Jinx scowled, hating every word out of his mouth, but she slung Ernest’s arm over her shoulder anyway, dragging him toward the treeline. “You better not die again!”

The demon lunged, its massive hand slamming down with enough force to crater the stone. Dante slid sideways, sparks flying under his boots as he let the shockwave carry him into a tight spin. The Force Edge whistled through the air, carving a glowing scar across the demon’s wrist.

“Yeesh,” Dante quipped as blood like molten tar sprayed across the ruins, “ever heard of moisturizer? That dry skin’s a killer.”

The beast shrieked, flapping its wings to launch itself skyward before dive-bombing like a monstrous falcon. Dante just smirked. He drew Ebony and Ivory in a single smooth motion, spinning once before unloading a storm of gunfire into the demon’s face. The bullets sparked and rang against its metal-like beak.

The demon tried to roar, but the garbled, distorted voice came out as a glitching grind, half-snarled words wrapped in static.
“Daaa…n-teeeh… halfff-breeed… myyy… purrr-pohhhh—”

Dante tilted his head. “I’m sorry, what? You sound like a radio stuck between stations.”

It roared louder, the words almost, but not quite, it was still comprehensible. “Fiiiirrrre… waaas… miiiinnn… youuuuu…”

“Ohhh, that’s cute.” Dante holstered his guns, leapt into the air, and drove both boots into the demon’s chest mid-sentence, forcing it back toward the ruined gate. “Gonna need subtitles if you wanna monologue, pal.”

The beast swung wild in rage, claws cleaving pillars in half, stone raining down. Dante backflipped onto the collapsing rubble, sprinted across the falling stones like stepping-stairs, and then launched himself sky-high. His form blurred, devil power flaring, eyes burning crimson.

Force Edge shimmered with demonic energy as he grinned down at the beast. “Lesson one in speaking Dante: if I can’t understand you…” 

He dove. “…shut up and die.”

The blade pierced clean through the demon’s skull, light detonating outward. The beast convulsed, wings thrashing before its body imploded in a rush of ash and fire, the hellgate collapsing with it.

Dante landed smoothly in the dirt, brushing soot off his coat. “Minute’s up.”

Ernest stirred awake to the sharp smell of antiseptic. White ceiling, thin sheets, the steady tick of a clock, he was in a hospital bed. Blinking, he turned his head and saw Elise sitting close, her hand wrapped around his. Relief softened her face the moment his eyes opened.

“Where’s the demon?” He rasped, trying to push himself upright.

Elise gently pressed him back. “It’s alright now, Ernest. There are no demons.”

He shook his head, breath quickening. “No… no, I saw it. I know I did.” His hand fumbled at the blanket, as if searching for the shotgun that wasn’t there. “How did I end up here?”

“You collapsed at the ruins,” Elise said softly, her thumb brushing his knuckles. “Hazel and Anthony brought you back.”

Ernest froze, her words sinking in. “Anthony? No.” His voice hardened. “Dante. His name is Dante. Where is he, Elise? Tell me.”

Her expression faltered. “He just left.”

Ernest’s jaw clenched. He swung his legs over the side of the bed despite the IV tugging at his arm. Elise rose, startled, but he ignored her.

“Ernest, wait—”

He shoved himself to his feet, unsteady but driven, and staggered toward the door.

They were passing down the corridor when Ernest stumbled out and caught sight of them.

“Wait! You demon!” He barked.

Dante halted. Jinx glanced between him and Ernest. Dante didn’t turn; he only kept walking, deliberately slow.

Elise stepped forward, placing a hand on Ernest’s chest. “Ernest, stop. What’s going on?”

Ernest shoved her away with a trembling hand and pointed at Dante like the man held all the town’s grief in his palms. 

“You bastard!” He screamed. “If you hadn’t been here, none of the people in this town would have died. It’s all your fault. You murdered them. That demon burned the place down looking for you! You lied to me and to Margaret. I will never forgive you. Neither will those who died. Do you hear me? Don’t you ever come back here again, if you do, I’ll kill you!”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw with years of blame and fresh with the wound of the ruins. Dante kept walking, expression unreadable, as the corridor filled with the echo of Ernest’s fury.

Moonlight spilled across the quiet port, silver ripples dancing over the water. Jinx and Dante stepped onto a modest little boat, its wood worn but sturdy, with just enough space for a cramped living quarter below deck. For once, it didn’t look stolen.

Jinx dropped into one of the benches, a folded newspaper in her hand, eyes scanning the print in silence. Dante crouched near the ropes, untying the last knot that bound them to the pier. The soft creak of wood and splash of water filled the still night as their boat drifted free.

The boat rocked gently as Dante untied the last rope, the pier shrinking behind them. Jinx sat cross-legged in the small cabin doorway, newspaper spread wide across her lap.

The headline nearly covered the whole front page:

“The Hexgates War — Piltover Stands, but at a Cost”

Her eye darted down the columns. Noxian fleet pounding the coast. Piltover nearly burning, Zaun choking under smoke.

And then the part that made her pause, fingertips pressing hard against the paper as if she could blot the words out:

Two Zaunite figures gave their lives during The Hexgates War. The red-clad gunman. And the mad bomber turned unlikely defender.

Her throat bobbed. She gave a crooked little laugh, brittle at the edges. “Huh. Would ya look at that? We’re big damn heroes… and dead ones.”

Dante leaned on the railing, arms crossed, watching the moonlight break over the waves. “Guess it means we don’t have to send thank-you notes.”

Jinx shot him a look, the paper trembling in her hands. “They think we’re gone, Dante. Vi, Cait… Ekko, Zeri. All of ‘em.”

He tilted his head toward her, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. And that’s the point.”

Jinx folded the paper, hugging it against her chest as if it might slip away. She glanced at Dante, his profile framed by the silver light off the waves. His gaze hadn’t left Morrison Port, the lanterns along the dock already shrinking to specks.

“So…” she finally said, her voice quieter than usual. “How do you feel? Y’know… about what Ernest spat at you. Murderer, demon, all that crap.”

Dante didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, eyes still locked on the port, like he could stare through the distance and see Ernest still raging on the hospital steps. At last, he gave a humorless chuckle. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called a demon, and it won’t be the last. As for murderer… well. Can’t exactly argue the blood on my hands.”

Jinx tilted her head, studying him. “That sounded way less cocky than usual. Almost like you actually care.”

Dante smirked faintly, finally pulling his eyes off the receding lights. “I care enough to keep moving. That’s all that matters.”

Jinx watched him for a long beat, her fingers drumming against the folded paper. Dante could act all unshakable, all devil-may-care, but she knew that look in his eyes, the one where he let the weight creep in, even if only for a second.

She hopped down from where she sat, padding across the little deck. Without asking, she slid in beside him, resting her good hand against his arm.

“Hey,” she said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’ve always been there when I was falling apart. When the voices got too loud, when I thought the whole world wanted me gone… you didn’t let go.”

Dante glanced at her, the edges of his mouth twitching into something gentler.

“So now it’s my turn,” she added, giving his arm a squeeze. “If Ernest wants to spit blame, let him choke on it. We know the truth. You’ve saved more people than he’ll ever realize.”

For a moment, the only sound was the lapping of water against the boat. Dante exhaled, a slow release of something he didn’t admit he was holding.

“Guess I lucked out,” he muttered. “Got a maniac who refuses to let me brood in peace.”

“Damn right,” Jinx said, flashing him a crooked grin. “You’re stuck with me, big guy.”

They stayed quiet, only the waves slapping against the hull filling the silence. Jinx shifted, brushing her hair from her face before letting out a small sigh.

“Alright, broody, I’m heading to the bunks before I pass out on deck.” She gave him a wink with her good eye, playful even through the weariness. “Don’t take too long to join me.”

Dante’s gaze stayed locked on Morrison Port, unreadable. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jinx studied him for a second, lips pursed like she wanted to argue, but instead she just nodded and ducked below deck, leaving Dante alone with the moonlit sea.

Dante let out a long sigh and pushed himself up, ready to head below deck. But a ripple of energy crawled over his skin. His hand went to Ivory without hesitation, the gun snapping up as a figure shimmered into focus.

LeBlanc, in her truest, most favored guise.

“It’s been a while,” Dante muttered, eyeing her with a half-smirk. “Guess you finally retired the stripper look.”

Her expression didn’t flinch. “It’s been a while, spawn of Sparda.”

Dante cocked a brow. “Oh, so you knew? Funny, you never brought that up back when I was doing your dirty work in Noxus.”

“The Black Rose’s ties to your parents are… complicated,” she said smoothly, her gaze sliding toward Morris Port. “And now you return to your second home.”

Dante tightened his grip on Ivory. “Cut the nostalgia. What do you want?”

“I came only to apologize… and to show my gratitude,” LeBlanc said, her voice calm, deliberate.

Dante tilted his head. “About what, exactly?”

“The girl in Zaun. The young mage. Zeri, was it? I regret our attempt to take her from you. Had we known she was under your protection, we never would have interfered.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “And the gratitude part?”

“You saved Runeterra,” she replied simply. 

“Even if… not in the way we preferred. We had hoped you would rid us of Ambessa, rather than leaving that burden to the younger Medarda. Still…” her lips curved faintly, “…you ended the Herald of the Arcane, silenced his so-called Glorious Evolution, and denied Mordekaiser and his Dark Angel their conquest of the mortal realm. For that… even the Black Rose must give thanks.”

Dante let out a short laugh, spinning Ivory on his finger before holstering it. “So that’s it? A half-assed ‘sorry’ and a pat on the back? Didn’t know the Black Rose did thank-you cards.”

LeBlanc’s eyes narrowed, though her expression stayed unreadable. “Mock if you wish. Gratitude from us is rare.”

“Yeah, I’ll frame it. Real treasure.” Dante stepped closer, gaze sharp. “But let’s cut the crap, you don’t show up just to stroke my ego. What aren’t you saying?”

Her smile was faint, knowing. “You’re still searching for him, aren’t you? Your other half.”

Dante’s jaw tightened for a heartbeat, though his tone stayed dry. “News travels fast. Guess gossip’s another one of your magic tricks.”

“We won’t stand in your way,” she said smoothly. “Whatever paths you walk, the Black Rose has no intention of… interfering.”

“Right. And I’m supposed to trust that?” Dante muttered, eyes narrowing. “Lady, every time you open your mouth it feels like you’re hiding three other things. So here’s my advice, stay out of my way. If you don’t, your little apology tour ends with a bang.”

For a moment, the stormlight caught in LeBlanc’s eyes, reflecting something both amused and dangerous. But she said nothing more.

The night air clung heavy with salt as LeBlanc’s illusion held steady, her eyes sharp on Dante. Her hand rose, not touching, just gesturing faintly toward his cheek — where the faint outline of the Bilgewater sigil inked his skin like a brand.

“You’ll head there next,” she said softly, a razor’s edge beneath the silk. “Bilgewater. To the ones who chained you. The mark still suits you, you know. It tells the story better than any words.”

Dante’s grip on Ivory tightened. “Careful. You’re not the first to point that out. And the last one ain’t talkin’ anymore.”

LeBlanc’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Oh, I’m not mocking you, Dante. Quite the opposite. A slave who became a devil-slayer… it’s almost poetic. The chains forged you as much as your bloodline ever did.”

Dante tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If you came here just to play historian, you wasted your time.”

Her gaze shifted past him, as if she could see through the cabin walls, where Jinx slept below deck. “And then there’s her. Your volatile little spark. Does she know all of it? The blood, the brand, the things you did to survive? Or does she only see the smirk you wear to hide it?”

Dante’s smirk dropped into something harder, sharper. “Say one more word about her, and I’ll make sure you regret slithering out here.”

For a beat, neither blinked. Then LeBlanc’s form shimmered, the illusion beginning to unravel like smoke in the wind.

“You’ll go to Bilgewater,” her voice echoed faintly, almost like a prophecy. “And when you do, remember, you’re not the only one with chains.”

And then she was gone.

Dante stood alone on the deck, the moonlight catching the faint scar on his cheek. He exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Still talk too damn much.”

Dante finally lowered Ivory, holstering it with a grunt. The night was quiet again, only the soft slap of water against the boat’s hull. He dragged a hand down his face, forcing out a breath before heading inside.

The cabin smelled faintly of gunpowder and salt, somehow already theirs despite being borrowed. Jinx had tossed her hoodie aside, sitting cross-legged on the cot with her hood off, pale skin stark against the bandages wrapped around her chest. She twirled one of the straps between her fingers, smirking when she saw him.

“Don't look back
Don't regret
Time's falling out of these hands
I'll let you leave me”

“Don’t give me that look, tough guy. These are for style. I make ‘em work.”

Dante leaned against the doorframe, one brow arched. “Style, huh? Closest thing you’ll ever use as a bra, more like.”

Jinx stuck her tongue out, then patted the space beside her. “Come here, smartass. You look like you’ve been chewed up and spit out.”

With a quiet huff, Dante crossed the room and let himself sink down beside her. She tugged him down further, guiding his head to rest against her chest, right where the steady rhythm of her heartbeat thumped under the bandages.

“See? Functional and fashionable,” Jinx teased, threading her fingers through his white hair.

Dante closed his eyes, letting the edge in him soften as she hummed something low, tuneless but sweet, vibrations running through her chest into his cheek. For once, he didn’t bother with a comeback.

“Every precious time
Let it go
Somewhere away
You will learn, and you'll love, forgive the past and you can move on”

The storm outside, the marks of his past, the weight of LeBlanc’s words. All of it dulled as Jinx’s hum carried him into a rare kind of quiet.

Dante let himself sink into the quiet, cheek resting against her chest as her humming faded into soft breaths. Then Jinx shifted, her good hand brushing his hair back before slipping to the bandage over her left eye.

“Hey… wanna see something cool?” She whispered.

He lifted his head slightly, brows knitting. “Cool or reckless?”

“Both,” she said with a crooked grin. With a tug, she peeled the bandage away. Her eye blinked open slowly. Was it bloodshot, yes, but whole again, alive with its sharp blue gleam.

Dante stared, lips parting just a fraction.

“Tada,” Jinx sang quietly. “No more pirate cosplay. Just gotta deal with the bum arm now.” She tapped the sling with her fingers, then softened. “Guess having a little of your blood in me isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened.”

For a moment, Dante said nothing. He just searched her gaze, his usual smirk tempered into something rare, almost reverent. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t scare me like that again, babygirl.”

Jinx grinned wider, even as her cheeks warmed. “Not making any promises.”

Jinx traced lazy circles on his chest with her good hand, her newly healed eye gleaming mischievously.

“So…” she began, stretching the word out, “if your blood’s knitting me back together… does that mean I’m, like, half-demon now too?”

Dante raised a brow. “You’re not sprouting horns anytime soon, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Aw.” She pouted exaggeratedly, then her grin returned, wicked sharp. “Well… if it means I’ll heal faster, that also means we can get back to sexy time sooner.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re still broken in half and that’s where your brain goes? Why are you so damn horny all the time?”

“Why?” Jinx sat up a little, her smile softening but her voice earnest. “Because you’re my first everything, dummy. First kiss. First real partner. First person who didn’t run away when I showed ‘em all my crazy. You make me feel safe enough to want things I never thought I’d get. You’re the first one who made me want this, want you. That’s why I’m into it.”

For once, Dante didn’t have a snark ready. He just looked at her. really looked and the corner of his mouth lifted, slow and genuine.

“Damn, Bluebell,” he muttered, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “you know how to shut me up when you want to.”

Jinx tilted her head, watching him with that glimmer that always made his chest tighten. “So… once I’m all healed up… you won’t hold back, right?”

Dante smirked, though there was a weight behind it. “That’s the idea. You deserve better than half-measures.”

Her grin spread wide. “Even if you’re in demon mode? With all the scary glowing eyes, claws, and raw power?”

He chuckled low, leaning closer until his lips brushed her ear. “Especially then.”

“Every precious time
Let it go
Somewhere away
You will learn, and you'll love, forgive the past”

That made her shiver, her good hand curling into his shirt. But before she could tease him further, Dante slid his arms around her carefully, shifting her back down onto the bedding.

“Not yet, Bluebell,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over her, his tone softer now. “Your bones still need time. Rest first. Raise hell later.”

She sighed but melted into his touch, her grin lingering even as her eyes fluttered shut. “M’kay… just don’t forget that promise.”

“Not a chance,” Dante whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face before settling in beside her, keeping watch as she drifted off.

Dante leaned back against the small cabin wall, one arm draped protectively around her. Jinx’s breathing had already slowed, soft and steady, the rise and fall of her chest brushing against him with each breath.

He stared at her bandaged arm, the faint scar at her temple where her eye had healed, the way her body still trembled sometimes even in sleep. She’d nearly burned herself out to nothing. She should’ve been gone.

The thought twisted in his chest. He’d promised her he wouldn’t hold back once she was healed, but a darker whisper gnawed at him: what if she couldn’t survive the weight of his world? What if his blood, his demons, dragged her under instead of keeping her alive?

He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze upward, but his arm tightened around her anyway, like if he held on tight enough, he could defy fate itself.

“Go on,
You know Home is always inside your soul
Wherever you go
Whatever you see
I'll be the place
And I'll be your home”

Then, half-asleep, Jinx stirred. Her lips brushed his collarbone as she mumbled, words tumbling out with the softness of a dream. “No matter what… I’ll be your home.”

Dante froze, breath caught in his throat. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. He let out a quiet laugh, low and raw, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Guess I don’t get a choice then,” he whispered.

And in the silence of the storm-tossed sea, Dante finally let himself close his eyes, holding his home close.

Chapter Text

JINX:
The boat creaked gently, waves slapping against its hull as night stretched across the sea. Inside the cramped little cabin, Jinx sat cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with the last of her wrappings. With a sharp tug, she slipped her arm free of the sling and flexed her fingers experimentally. The bandages still hugged her arm tight, but the way her grin spread made it clear she was glad to finally ditch the thing.

“Finally. That sling was making me look frail. And that’s not exactly the vibe I’m going for.” She tossed the cloth aside, then leaned back against the wall, eyeing Dante. “You sure about this, Hellblood? Bilgewater’s not exactly on my bucket list.”

Dante leaned against the opposite wall, one knee bent, arms folded. The dim lantern light caught the faint shimmer of the tattoo etched into his cheek. The old sigil looked like nothing more than a jagged mark to anyone else, but Jinx’s stare lingered on it like it was a wound.

“That thing,” she muttered, pointing with her thumb. “Mercury ink. You told me once. Any normal guy would’ve been six feet under years ago. You’re only standing ‘cause you’re half-Sparda.”

Dante smirked, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah. Guess you could say it’s the best souvenir Bilgewater had to offer. Every time I look in the mirror, I get to remember I survived being their property.”

Jinx tilted her head. “So why go back? You already outlived ‘em, don’t you think that’s enough of a middle finger?”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s not about them. It’s about me. I need closure. Bilgewater’s where I stopped being a kid and learned how to pull a trigger. First place I set foot outside Piltover and Zaun. First place I realized the world was bigger, uglier, and meaner than I could’ve imagined.”

His gaze shifted out the small round window, where the black sea seemed endless. “But it’s also where I became a gunslinger worth a damn. Rebellion’s my blood, sure, but Ebony and Ivory? I wouldn’t be who I am without Bilgewater. Can’t keep running from that part of me.”

Jinx swung her legs off the bed, padding barefoot to stand in front of him. Her good eye locked on his, curious and unblinking.

“You going for closure,” she said, “or revenge?”

Dante gave her a crooked smile, though his eyes betrayed the weight behind it. “Guess I’ll find out when we get there.”

Jinx leaned her hip against the little desk bolted to the cabin wall, her fingers drumming absently against the wood. Her eye drifted down, not on Dante, not on the sea, but somewhere further back.

“You know…” she started, her voice softer than usual, “I always thought about Bilgewater. That night… when I painted the street red, when I accidentally killed Vander, Mylo, and Claggor… when Vi finally gave up on me, I could’ve run there. Could’ve just hopped a ship and been done with Zaun.”

Her lip curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. 

“Would’ve been wild, right? Me in Bilgewater, no Silco, no shimmer. Just another stray with bombs and bad ideas. But…” she shrugged, almost bitter, “Silco found me first. And you know the rest.”

Dante’s gaze lingered on her, the easy grin he usually carried fading. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t joke. Just watched her, because he knew when her voice slipped into that somber tone, the only thing that kept her from unraveling was saying it out loud.

Jinx, catching his stare, suddenly smirked again, like flipping a switch. She dug under the bedframe and pulled out Ebony and Ivory. Holding them up with exaggerated flourish, she tilted her head at him.

“Speaking of bad ideas… guess who made these beauties?” She cocked them in her hands like a show-off gunslinger. “That’s right, me. Built for you. And only you. So don’t you dare forget who your favorite gunsmith really is.”

Dante raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “I’d say they’re my favorite pair of twins… but I already know the comeback you’d make.”

Jinx chuckled, but as she went to spin Ivory in her left hand, her fingers jerked awkwardly. The gun slipped, clattering onto the desk. She hissed under her breath, grabbing her arm with a scowl.

“Damn it. Stupid broken arm.” She flexed her hand, the movement stiff, pained. “You know I’m mostly left-handed, right? Feels like I lost half my aim with this mess.”

For a moment, the smirk cracked, and the frustration bled through.

Dante stepped closer, picking up Ivory and pressing it gently back into her hand. His voice was low but firm. “Doesn’t matter. You built them. You’ll get back to pulling the trigger like nothing happened. Left-handed, right-handed, hell, upside down, you’re still you.”

Jinx huffed, biting down on a grin despite herself. “Yeah, yeah. You just like having me around ‘cause I make your toys and shoot prettier than you.”

“Prettier?” Dante smirked. “Maybe. Better? That’s still up for debate.”

Jinx let Ivory rest across her lap, her fingers tracing the barrel like it was a treasured trinket. She tilted her head at Dante, her grin edging into something softer, more dangerous.

“You know what I like most about this?” She asked, voice lilting. 

“Not just that I made them. Not just that you can’t pull off half your flashy moves without ‘em. It’s that every time you draw  every time you fire. you’re holding a piece of me. My work. My hands. My crazy little blueprints. No matter what happens in Bilgewater, or wherever else you go…” she leaned closer, whispering, “you’re mine. Got it, Hellblood?”

Dante smirked, but instead of firing back with some usual cocky quip, his eyes flicked down to Ebony in her hand. For once, he looked… thoughtful.

“You know,” he muttered, “you remind me of someone.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “Oh? This should be good. Who’s she, your super sexy ex you keep denying exists?”

Dante chuckled under his breath. “Not even close. Nell Goldstein.”

Jinx blinked. “…Who the hell is that?”

Dante leaned back against the cabin wall, crossing his arms. “Back when I started out, when I was fifteen years old, fresh off Morris Island, looking to scrape a living as a mercenary, Nell was… well, she wasn’t a fighter. She was a gunsmith. The best I’d ever met. Maybe the best there ever was.” 

He shrugged, like trying to downplay it.

“I was just some punk kid with a sword and a chip on my shoulder. She didn’t treat me like a soldier, or a customer. More like…” he hesitated, then admitted, “a son. Every gun I used before Ebony and Ivory, her handiwork. She looked out for me when nobody else would.”

Jinx twirled a strand of hair, squinting at him. “So… she was like your gun-mom?”

“Gun-mom.” Dante let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Guess you could say that.”

His smirk softened into something real. “You’d probably like her, actually. She didn’t take shit from anyone. Especially not me.”

Jinx smirked wide, leaning into him with a playful nudge. “So what you’re saying is… you’ve always had a thing for dangerous women who know their way around a gun.”

“Looks that way,” Dante said, lips twitching. “Difference is, she made the guns… you made these. And you’re right, when I draw them, I’m carrying you with me.”

Jinx pressed her cheek to his shoulder, smug satisfaction radiating off her. “Damn right. Don’t you forget it, Hellblood.”

Jinx’s lips curl up like teasing as always. “Alright, Hellblood, you don’t get to drop a whole gun-mom backstory and then clam up. What happened to her? Where’s she now?”

Dante tilted his head back against the wall, exhaling through his nose. “She has a shop in Bilgewater. Place’s called the .45 Caliber Art Warks.” 

His mouth twitched at the name, like it still sounded ridiculous even after all these years.

“.45 Caliber Art… Warks?” Jinx repeated, trying not to snort. “Sounds like a gun store run by a drunk parrot.”

“Yeah, well,” Dante said with a faint smirk, “don’t let the name fool you. Nell’s a legend. Probably the best gunsmith in Runeterra. Present company excluded.”

“Mmhm,” Jinx hummed, pretending to polish Ivory against her shirt. “Good save.”

“Thing is,” Dante went on, tone shifting more serious, “Bilgewater’s got its rules. Ugly, bloody place, but even the cutthroats know not to touch their gunsmiths. You mess with the people who make your weapons, you’re basically digging your own grave.”

He shrugged. “So, odds are, Nell’s safe. Probably yelling at some pirate for tracking mud into her shop while she hammers out cannons and rifles.”

Jinx tilted her head, lips quirking into something softer. “…You sound like you actually believe that.”

“I have to.” Dante glanced at Ebony and Ivory again. “World’s already taken enough from me. If Nell’s still breathing, it’s because she’s too damn stubborn to quit.”

Jinx nudged him with her elbow. “Stubborn gun-mom, stubborn blue-haired girlfriend. I’m seeing a pattern here, Hellblood.”

Dante let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, and I don’t regret a single one.”

Jinx flopped onto the narrow bed, the springs squeaking under her weight. She patted her thigh with her good hand, grinning. “C’mere. Story time.”

Dante blinked, caught off guard. “Story time?”

“Yeah. You know, like a kid’s bedtime tale, except instead of princesses and fairy godmothers, it’s about how my demon boyfriend ran off to pirate-land when he was fifteen.” She patted her lap again. “Pillow’s ready.”

He raised an eyebrow. “…You’ve never asked for this before.”

“Exactly. First time for everything.” Her grin widened, mischievous and daring. “C’mon, big guy, lay down before I drag that white mop of yours here myself.”

Dante sighed through his nose, muttering something about “pushy girlfriends,” but eased himself down, resting his head on her lap. The bed dipped under his weight, and for once, he felt a rare, awkward vulnerability settle in.

Jinx immediately started ruffling his hair with her fingers, deliberately rough at first. 

“Good boy,” she teased, petting him like a dog.

“…You’re enjoying this way too much,” Dante muttered, though he didn’t move.

“Damn right I am. Now… spill it. Fifteen-year-old Dante, new kid in Bilgewater. How’d you end up there? And none of that vague broody crap either. If we’re going back for closure, I want the full story.” Her tone softened just a touch as her fingers stilled in his hair. “What are we walking into?”

Dante stared up at the ceiling of the cramped cabin, jaw tightening as the past clawed its way back. 

“Bilgewater’s not the kind of place you walk into unprepared. It chews people up and spits out bones.” His voice dropped, low and dry. “And at fifteen, I was already half-dead. Made it a lot easier to survive there.”

Her hand resumed its slow, absent-minded petting, the playful smirk returning. “Mm. So what you’re saying is, you were Bilgewater’s stray mutt. Guess it makes sense why you’re letting me pet you now.”

“Keep it up, and I might bite,” Dante said, closing his eyes with a crooked grin.

Jinx chuckled, leaning down so her breath tickled his ear. “Promise?”

“You know I do.” He took a dee breath and closed his eyes. 

DANTE:
The memory opened in Dante’s mind like a curtain being pulled back. Bilgewater wasn’t even on his horizon then. All he knew was Morris Island in ashes, his foster mother’s eyes full of fear, and the weight of Rebellion stuffed into a guitar case nearly bigger than him.

Fifteen, alone, unwanted. He slipped onto a fishing boat under moonlight, the brine stinging his nose, every creak of the boards loud enough to wake the dead.

“Hold up.” Jinx’s voice broke through, tugging him out of the reel. “You mean to tell me that little you lugged that sword around in a case? Bet you looked like a shrimp trying to cosplay as a musician.”

Dante shot her a look from her lap. “First off, I made it work. Second, are you gonna let me tell the story, or narrate it for me?”

She smirked, twirling a strand of his white hair. “I like my version better.”

He groaned but sank back down. The memory resumed.

He’d barely made it three steps into the cargo hold before a deckhand caught him. Calloused fingers grabbed his collar, yanking him into the lamplight.

“Ohhh!” Jinx cut in again. “Did you stab him? Please tell me you stabbed him.”

“…No,” Dante sighed, glancing up at her. “Not everything ends in me stabbing people, y’know.”

She arched a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The flashback flickered back on. The sailor had stared him down, demanding to know what the hell a kid was doing on board. Dante, desperate, had fumbled in his pocket and offered up his only treasure: half a bag of stale jerky.

“Wait, wait.” Jinx leaned over, grinning. “You bribed your way onto a ship with beef snacks?!”

“…Yes.”

“That’s the lamest, most you thing ever.” She cackled, nearly knocking him off her lap.

“Can I please finish this memory?” Dante muttered, rubbing his temple.

“Fine, fine. Go on, Captain Jerky.”

The memory steadied again. The waves lapping, the cramped hold smelling of fish and salt. Weeks passed before the ship finally moored in Bilgewater, and when Dante stepped off those creaking planks, he was just a scrawny kid with a too-big sword and nothing but survival in his eyes.

“Holy shit…” Dante muttered as his boots hit the rickety planks of the bay. The smell of salt, smoke, and blood mixed in the air, gulls screaming overhead. A part of him, was fifteen, ragged, with only a blade hidden in a too-big case and he saw the chaos of Bilgewater as…

“This is amazing,” he breathed.

“Really?” Jinx’s voice cut in, snapping the memory like a thread. “That’s what you said? All dramatic entrance and you go with ‘amazing’?”

Dante cracked open one eye from her lap, giving her a lazy glare. “Hey. For a half-starved fifteen-year-old supe up kid with no clue what the hell he was walking into? Yeah, it was amazing.”

Jinx smirked, tapping his forehead with her finger. “You’re supposed to say something cooler, y’know. Like, ‘Welcome to hell’ or ‘Time to make Bilgewater bleed’ something with teeth.”

He shut his eye again with a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Mm. Sorry to disappoint, Bluebell. Not every moment needs teeth.”

Dante pushed open the tavern door, the stink of stale rum and gunpowder slapping him in the face. Before he could even take a step inside—

BANG!

A shot rang out. He flinched hard, throwing his hands up. “Whoa! No-no-no—!”

The bullet punched into his chest, dropping him flat on the floor, motionless.

The memory shattered with Jinx’s laughter ringing in his ears. She was doubled over, tears welling as she wiped her good eye. “OH BY JANNA! You’re telling me, you stroll into your first Bilgewater tavern and just eat lead? That’s your big badass debut?”

Dante cracked an eye open from her lap, unimpressed. “Glad my near-death trauma’s comedy hour for you.”

“Nah, nah, this is gold. You were building up this big juicy lore dump about your wild youth and then… BAM! Curtain call! Seems to me like you skipping a few beats here.”

He huffed, defensive. “Hey, you remember what you were like at fifteen?”

“I do, actually,” she said with a wicked grin.

“Well, in my defense…” Dante rubbed the back of his neck. “Everything kinda gets jumbled when your life’s a daily circus of demons, magic, monsters nonsense. Forgive me if I don’t keep track of every bullet wound.”

Dante’s eyes fluttered open, a groan slipping out before he let out a short laugh. “Oh, this whole ‘fast healing’ thing? Definitely gonna come in handy.”

He pushed himself off the tavern floor, a little shaky, and yanked Rebellion from the oversized guitar case. It looked clumsy for a beat,  but then, in one smooth swing, he lunged into the brawl. Chairs splintered, bottles shattered, and somehow he ended up with two flintlock pistols. His fingers blurred on the triggers, firing faster than the ancient things were ever meant to shoot.

“Ah, fast fingers~,” Jinx purred in her best sultry tone, instantly snapping the memory apart.

Dante groaned, tilting his head to glare up at her from her lap. “You just couldn’t help yourself to make it dirty, could you?”

“Not my fault it’s true.” She smirked, her fingers absentmindedly combing through his white hair. “So, was that the first time you realized you had the whole regeneration trick? ‘Cause when we met, you played your super strength off like it was just all in the wrist.”

He gave a half-smile. “Eh. When I was five, I already had enough strength to push furniture around. Me and Vergil used to beat the hell out of each other in the backyard till we were a bloody mess.”

“Jeez,” Jinx muttered, blinking. “And here I thought my pillow fights with Vi were bad. How the hell did your mom put up with the two of you?”

Dante’s eyes softened for just a second. “Honestly? No idea.”

The memory kept rolling. Things such as fists, blades, and bottles flying until the flint pistols finally cracked in his hands, the metal splintering from the sheer strain of his shots. Dante had stood there, chest still bleeding but already closing up, staring at the broken weapons like he’d done something wrong.

Back in the present, Jinx snorted. “So that’s when the whole ‘I break guns’ curse started, huh?”

“Yep,” Dante said, his tone flat but amused as he stretched his arms behind his head. “Five long years of always having to buy a new pair. Over and over.”

“Until I made our babies.” Jinx leaned down close to him, her grin sharp, her eyes gleaming with pride. “Ebony and Ivory.”

Dante smirked, looking right back at her. “Yeah. And for once, they’re not the ones falling apart.”

“So… how’d you met this Nell Goldstein, hm?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Okay, so…”

Dante let the memory spool forward. He was fifteen again, two broken pistols clutched in his hands, clothes torn and blood soaking through every seam. The bell over the door of the shop jingled faintly as he stepped inside, the smell of gun oil and black powder wrapping around him like smoke.

Behind the counter, Nell Goldstein looked up from polishing a rifle. Her eyes scanned him top to bottom. She looked at the bleeding kid, oversized guitar case on his back, weapons in pieces.

“You planning to die in my shop, or are you gonna say something first?” She asked, voice dry as desert sand.

Dante had shuffled forward, setting the broken pistols on the counter. 

“Think you can fix ‘em?” His voice cracked halfway through, more nerves than pain.

Nell raised a brow. “Depends. You got money?”

He dug into his pocket, pulling out a few bent coins and a crumpled bill. Barely enough to buy a loaf of bread, let alone a craftsman’s work. He pushed it across the counter with a sheepish grin. “This all I got.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him. Then Nell sighed, pushed the coins back toward him, and muttered, “Kid, you’re a goddamn mess.”

Back in the present, Dante chuckled softly at the memory.

Nell didn’t touch the coins. She just gave Dante another long look, taking in the bandages that weren’t there, the wounds he wasn’t treating, the defiance in his too-young eyes.

“You’re either the dumbest runaway in Bilgewater,” she muttered, “or you’re gonna live long enough to make trouble.”

Dante shrugged, forcing a grin even though he could barely stand. “Can’t it be both?”

That earned him the faintest smirk. She slid the broken pistols off the counter. “Fine. I’ll fix ‘em. But you owe me, kid. Big time.”

Dante blinked. “Like… how big?”

“‘Don’t ask questions you can’t afford the answer to ‘big’.”

The memory faded, and Dante’s eyes flicked open in the boat cabin.

Jinx was already grinning. “So lemme get this straight, you were broke, bleeding all over the floor, and still trying to look cool in front of some lady gunsmith? Baby Dante must’ve been pathetic.”

Dante groaned, tipping his head back against her lap. “I wasn’t pathetic. Just… broke. There’s a difference.”

“You’re still broke.”

“Not my fault,” he shot back, a finger raised, “that I’m always the one paying out of pocket for damage after our little adventures.”

Jinx snorted, smacking his shoulder lightly. “That is your fault, you reckless jackass.”

Dante arched a brow, smirking. “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from you.”

Her mouth opened, then shut again. “…okay, yeah, maybe hypocrite. But still!”

Jinx leaned down over him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Sooo… how much did you actually owe this Nell lady? Couple coins? A new boat? Your soul?”

Dante let out a low chuckle. “Let’s just say I didn’t exactly walk out of there debt-free. She put me to work. Free labor. Fixing scraps, hauling crates, cleaning the shop. Basically, I was her apprentice until I could get my money up.”

Jinx burst out laughing, her voice ringing against the cabin walls. “You? Shop boy Dante? That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

He smirked, tilting his head toward her. “Laugh it up. She was cranky as hell half the time too. Hardass. But… she taught me a lot.”

Jinx poked him in the forehead. “So that’s where you got your own crankiness from, huh? Nell rubbed off on ya?”

Dante raised a brow. “Cranky? I’m charming.”

“Mm-hm,” Jinx teased, ruffling his hair. “Charming in a grumpy-old-dog kinda way.”

Dante rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “Guess it’s a family trait now, huh?”

Dante’s voice eased back into the now, low and thoughtful as Jinx’s fingers threaded lazily through his hair. “That was the first step. The one that set everything else in motion. Bobby’s Cellar was where I met Enzo, only broker willing to give a punk kid with no coin and a death wish any jobs.”

Jinx’s brows arched. “Wait,nEnzo? How the hell did he go from Bilgewater all the way to Zaun?”

Dante gave a faint huff that was almost a laugh. “He’s Enzo. Running away’s the only thing he’s ever been good at. Every time he burns a bridge, he just skips to the next port and sets up shop again.”

Jinx snorted. “Guess that tracks. Still wild he stuck his neck out for you against the Rabbit, though. Doesn’t sound like the ‘run-away guy’ you’re painting.”

Dante’s gaze softened, some distant weight flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah… but that’s Enzo too. He’ll run from anything, except when he knows he couldn’t. That night, he couldn’t.”

Jinx tilted her head, fingers still combing through his hair. “So, besides the whole ‘don’t mess with a gunsmith’ thing… are there, like, sacred pirate rules in Bilgewater? Or is it just ‘stab whoever looks at you funny’?”

Dante smirked faintly. “Nah, it’s chaos but not pure chaos. There are rules. Old ones everyone kinda knows, even if no one admits it. Like…”

He ticked them off lazily on his fingers. “One: never kill in a gunsmith’s shop. Even the dumbest thug knows you need someone to keep your weapons loaded and working. You break that, you won’t live to reload.
Two: debts are sacred. Doesn’t matter if you owe coin, blood, or a favor,’if you run out on it, Bilgewater itself’ll swallow you whole. Every tavern, every back alley, everyone’ll turn on you.
Three: never steal another captain’s cut unless you’re ready to take their ship too. No half-measures. If you want their gold, you better want their crew, their enemies, and their noose.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “And four… always respect the dead. Bilgewater doesn’t forgive graves being disturbed. Too many spirits still linger, too many sea-witches ready to collect.”

Jinx let out a low whistle. “Huh. Sounds like some messed-up pirate code. Kinda classy, in a cutthroat way.”

“It’s the only thing that keeps the city from tearing itself apart in one night,” Dante said. “Not that it doesn’t come close.”

Dante shifted a little, letting his head sink deeper into Jinx’s lap, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. 

“We should rest,” he murmured, voice low, almost a rumble. “By morning… we’ll be in Bilgewater.”

Jinx flopped back onto the bed, one arm behind her head, but she didn’t let him move. “Fine. But you’re staying right there,” she said, keeping his head on her thighs like a pillow.

Dante smirked, eyes half-lidded. “Wouldn’t dream of moving.” 

He pressed a slow kiss against her thigh, then towards the hip window on her pants, the barest brush of warmth against her skin before he closed his eyes again.

Jinx’s grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, but she kept quiet, just humming under her breath while running her fingers through his hair, letting him drift. It was strange, peaceful in a way she wasn’t used to. Usually, her head was noise, her heart beating like a drum she couldn’t turn off. But now? Now it was quiet.

Her eyes lingered on his face, slack with rest, no smirk, no sharp edge, just… comfortable. The most comfortable she’d ever seen him. She felt a warmth coil in her chest, a feeling that wasn’t sharp or loud but steady. Almost scary in its stillness.

“…I think I like this,” she whispered to herself, though she knew he couldn’t hear her. And for once, that was fine.

She let her hand settle on his shoulder, closing her own eyes at last, letting the hum of the boat and the steady rhythm of his breathing lull her into the same rare calm.

Morning broke with a thin band of gold stretching across the horizon. Dante was already on his feet, steady hands guiding the wheel as he nudged the boat toward a narrow inlet hidden between jagged cliffs. The salty air was heavier here, the cries of gulls sharper, and the smell of Bilgewater already creeping in.

The city loomed in the distance. With a sprawl of docks, crooked houses, and ships piled on top of each other like a beast that had grown too big for its own skin. But Dante kept the boat angled away from the main ports, eyes narrowing at the sight.

“Better keep this quiet,” he muttered to himself. “Last thing I need is a warm welcome from Fortune.”

Behind him, there was a thump, then arms suddenly wrapped around his middle.

“Gah—!” Dante stiffened before glancing back, already expecting the grin.

Jinx clung to his back like a kid catching her first ride, chin pressed against his shoulder.

“Morning, captain~.” Her voice was both excited and shaky, betraying the nervous buzz under her smile.

“You’re way too chipper for somebody sneaking into pirate city,” Dante said, though a smirk tugged at his lips.

“I mean, c’mon!” Jinx bounced slightly on her toes, her good arm tightening around him. “It’s Bilgewater! Whole new place, new smells, new people who’ll probably try to kill us. I’m thrilled.”

But he didn’t miss the way her leg jiggled, or how her good eye darted toward the looming sprawl in the distance, just a touch uneasy.

Dante glanced over his shoulder at her bouncing grip. “So which is it? Thrilled, or terrified?”

Jinx’s grin faltered into a twitchy smirk. “…Both.”

“Figures.” Dante eased the boat into the inlet, his voice dry but reassuring. “Relax, I know these waters better than most rats who crawl ‘em. Bilgewater’s got veins and backdoors same as Zaun. But the only difference is, instead of an undercity, it’s a whole damn port city cranked to a hundred. Salt instead of shimmer. Blades instead of fists.”

Jinx tilted her head, her messy bangs brushing his cheek. “So, like Zaun, but everyone’s louder, smellier, and armed to the teeth?”

“Pretty much.” Dante smirked. “You’ll fit right in.”

That earned him a short laugh, some of the nervous twitch in her shoulders easing as she tightened her hold around him for just a moment longer, grounding herself in his calm.

The boat scraped against the worn planks of a hidden dock, its ropes creaking as Dante secured it. Jinx hopped onto the pier with a bounce, her good arm swinging as her mismatched eyes scanned the skyline of Bilgewater—the crooked rooftops, hanging lanterns, and endless sails crowding the harbor.

“So,” she said, tilting her head at him, “what’s first? Nell’s workshop? One of your old hideouts? Or do we just go cause trouble?”

Dante tugged the guitar case that held the Force Edge over his shoulder. “Only real hideout I ever had was Nell’s place. And… I’m not sure I should go there.”

“Why not?” Jinx asked, narrowing her good eye.

He gave a low sigh, gaze wandering the streets. “Trouble has a way of finding me no matter where I go. Last thing I want is to drag it to her doorstep.”

Jinx smirked. “So when you left… things got ugly between you two?”

Dante shook his head. “No. Nell’s solid. Always was. But… my time in Bilgewater didn’t end quiet. Ended battle after battle. Even one of ‘em might’ve even shifted the whole damn city.”

That got her attention. She leaned in, eyes wide. “Wait, wait. Might’ve changed the city? What battle? What happened?”

He smirked, brushing past her with a lazy shrug. “That’s a story for another time.”

“Ugh.” Jinx groaned, throwing her hands up. “You’re the worst lore-dumper ever.”

Dante only smirked, leading the way into the city’s veins. And Jinx walked alongside him, her eyes darting from the bustling markets to the crooked taverns and the sails blotting out chunks of the sky. Voices rose from every corner. There were sailors shouting deals, merchants haggling, pirates laughing too loud with too much drink already in them.

“Huh…” she muttered, tilting her head. “Y’know, this feels a little like Zaun. All loud, crowded, shady corners everywhere. Except…”

Her gaze caught on a line of well-fed dockhands carrying crates. “…people here don’t look half as desperate. No shacks made of scrap. No kids chewing rocks ‘cause it’s all they got. Guess folks here aren’t starving.”

Dante nodded, his pace steady. “Bilgewater’s ugly, yeah, but it runs on trade. Coin flows in and out like the tides. You can scrape by here, even if you’ve got nothing but guts and grit.”

Jinx folded her arms. “So basically, Zaun with fewer people coughing themselves to death in the gutters.”

“Pretty much.” Dante smirked faintly. “Here, the ocean keeps you alive. In Zaun… it’s the chemicals trying to kill you every day.”

She snorted, kicking a loose pebble down the street. “Yeah, no wonder you stuck around here so long.”

The closer they got to the heart of Bilgewater, the more the air thickened with fish oil, salt, and rum. Dante’s sharp ears picked up the whispers first, low chuckles, a whistle, boots scuffing behind them in a rhythm too deliberate to be random.

One thug’s eyes lingered on the mercury-ink sigil inked into Dante’s cheek. Another’s gaze drifted lower, catching the faint gleam of Jinx’s pistol tucked beneath her jacket. Both exchanged a grin like they’d just smelled blood in the water.

Dante didn’t even bother looking back. He could feel the weight of their stares, the way sharks circle a boat. Instead, he slowed just enough to lean toward Jinx. “We got coin on us?”

“Some,” Jinx said, bouncing on her heels like she was already itching for a fight.

“Good.” Dante smirked, brushing past the smell of old rum leaking out from the swinging doors of a tavern. “Let’s eat first. Im starving.”

Without another word, he pushed inside a tavern. The thugs outside exchanged glances, then slinked after, shadowing them through the door.

The tavern was loud in that Bilgewater way that had dockhands shouting over dice, tankards crashing together, the air thick with rum, sweat, and fish grease. Dante and Jinx had found a spot in the corner, a plate of fried eel between them and a jug of ale on the table.

Dante ate with a calm rhythm, savoring each bite like it was the first proper meal in days. Jinx, by contrast, was restless, one leg bouncing under the table as her sharp eyes darted around the room, taking in the tattooed sailors, the brine-stained pirates, the half-pickled locals.

That was when the dockside thugs shuffled in. Six of them, their boots still wet, their voices too low to be harmless. They didn’t bother hiding the way they looked at Dante, the ink on his cheek was enough to stir old rumors and when their gazes shifted to the pistol holstered under Jinx’s jacket, their smirks grew hungry.

Dante noticed. He didn’t even stop chewing.

“Ignore ‘em,” he muttered through a mouthful of eel. “They’ll either get bored or get stupid.”

Jinx tilted her head, grin growing. “I like stupid.”

Minutes stretched. The thugs got bolder, circling closer until they boxed Dante and Jinx in. One finally stepped forward, reeking of cheap rum and salt. His scarred lip curled as his eyes roamed Jinx from head to toe.

“Well, well… what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place like this?” he drawled, leaning close. “How ‘bout you ditch this dumbass here and come sit with real men?”

Dante kept eating. Didn’t even glance up.

Jinx’s grin sharpened, but before she could snap back, the thug reached out and brushed his fingers along her shoulder.

That was the mistake.

Jinx’s eyes lit up pink like powder catching flame. In a blink, her good hand had her pistol out and cocked, the muzzle pressed under the thug’s chin.

“Touch me again,” she purred, voice dripping with mock-sweetness, “and I’ll paint the ceiling with your brains.”

The tavern went silent. Dice stopped rolling. Tankards froze mid-swing.

Dante finally sighed, setting down his fork. “Knew it was only a matter of time…”

He shoved a boot under the table and kicked. The heavy oak slab shot forward like a battering ram, slamming into three of the thugs and toppling them onto their backs in a spray of food and ale.

Chaos erupted instantly.

Knives flashed, bottles shattered, fists flew. Dante stood smoothly, chair skidding back as he cracked one thug across the jaw with the butt of the Force Edge, then pivoted to kick another square in the ribs. He fought with lazy precision, like he was more annoyed than threatened.

Jinx, meanwhile, was laughing. Every shot she fired rang through the tavern, each one perfectly placed, not to kill, but to maim, to send a thug sprawling with a smoking hole in his hand or shoulder. Between bursts of fire, she darted down to snatch coin purses off the groaning bodies.

One thug swung a broken bottle at Dante’s head. He ducked, sighed again, and slammed the thug’s face straight into the bar counter, leaving him out cold.

When the chaos settled, the tavern was wrecked. The tables were overturned, the floor littered with unconscious bodies. Jinx crouched over one thug, rifling through his coat until she found a pouch heavy with gold. She whistled, tossing it up once before pocketing it. 

“See? Dinner and drinks are on them,” Jinx chirped.

Dante brushed a fleck of eel off his coat and went back to his plate, spearing the last bite. 

“You know,” he muttered, chewing, “there was a world where we could’ve just finished eating in peace.”

“Boring world,” Jinx sang, stuffing another coin purse into her jacket.

The tavern was still groaning in the aftermath when Dante and Jinx stepped out into the salt-heavy night air. Behind them, the door sagged half-broken on its hinges, laughter and curses echoing faintly from inside.

Jinx tossed a gold coin in the air and caught it, swinging her legs with a skip as she walked beside Dante. “That was fun. Dinner and pocket change. Honestly, you should take me out more often.”

Dante rubbed the back of his neck, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re a menace. That wasn’t dinner. That was daylight robbery with extra steps.”

“Correction.” She held up the heavy pouch she’d snatched. “That was profitable daylight robbery with extra steps.” 

She bumped her shoulder against his arm. “Besides, you don’t look too mad about it.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the wharf where the moon silvered the water. “Mad? Nah. Just tired of always leaving broken furniture behind me.”

“Mm. Sounds like someone I know,” Jinx teased, and when he gave her a look, she stuck out her tongue.

They walked in silence for a stretch, only the crunch of boots against the damp wood filling the quiet. Finally, Jinx glanced up at him, expression shifting from mischief to something softer. “So… about this Nell woman.”

Dante arched a brow. “What about her?”

“You said she was like… what? A mother figure?” Jinx kicked a loose pebble, sending it clattering into the water. “From the way you talked about her, sounds like she’s the only decent adult you had after everything. If she’s still here, I kinda wanna meet her.”

Dante slowed, his steps growing heavier. His cheek itched where the Bilgewater tattoo rested, a mark he couldn’t scrape away no matter how much he’d tried years ago. “It’s… complicated. I left with saying goodbye on a letter. Trouble was already on my heels. I figured walking out was the only way to keep her safe.”

Jinx snorted. “You always think leaving people keeps ‘em safe. Spoiler: it doesn’t.” 

She tugged at his arm with her good hand, pulling him just enough to meet her gaze. “If she really was like a mom to you, don’t you think she deserves to see you’re alive? Besides…” 

A grin crept back onto her face. “I wanna meet the cranky old gunsmith who had to put up with baby Dante bleeding all over her shop.”

He tried to frown, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the smallest twitch upward. “You don’t let up, do you?”

“Never,” she said proudly. “Now c’mon. You gonna keep dragging me through your tragic backstory without giving me the best part? Meeting the woman who patched you up, gave you guns, and probably yelled at you more than I do?”

Dante looked out across the crooked skyline of Bilgewater, its lanterns glowing like a nest of fireflies, and exhaled slowly. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Nell doesn’t suffer fools.”

“Lucky for me,” Jinx winked, “I’m irresistible.”

He shook his head, chuckling low. “Sure. Let’s go see Nell.”

The walk to Nell’s shop wound through crooked alleys and docks half-rotted with salt, every lantern casting long shadows that seemed a little too familiar. Dante’s boots hit the wood with steady rhythm, but his eyes kept straying to corners, the old places he used to fight, places he used to bleed. He could almost smell the smoke of gunpowder from fifteen years ago, still hanging in the air.

Jinx noticed. She always noticed. “You’re twitchier than me, and that’s saying something.”

“Old ghosts,” Dante muttered, scanning the street as though the past might step right out of it. “Bilgewater doesn’t change. Just keeps the scars under fresh paint.”

“Mm.” Jinx twirled a coin between her fingers. “Good thing you like scars.”

He gave her a sideways look. She just smirked, and he let it go.

Soon, the crooked sign came into view: .45 Caliber Art Warks. The bold lettering was half-faded, the paint peeling, but the weight of memory hit Dante like a punch to the gut.

Jinx tilted her head, squinting. “Wait. ‘Warks?’ Was that supposed to say ‘Works?’”

Dante’s jaw tightened, a groan almost escaping him. “Don’t. Ask. I asked once. Never again.”

That earned her a grin that made her look far too proud. “Oh, I definitely gotta ask now.”

He ignored her, stepping up to the door. His hand hovered over the iron knob, but his grip faltered. It wasn’t demons or slavers that rattled him… it was the thought of seeing her. The one person in Bilgewater who’d treated him like more than a weapon.

He exhaled slowly, trying to bury the nerves. But just as his hand closed over the knob, he felt it so small, warm, and steady, her hand slip into his free one. Jinx’s eyes were softer than he’d seen all night. 

“You got this,” she said simply. No manic grin. No teasing. Just her.

For the first time since they hit the port, Dante’s chest unclenched. He gave her hand the faintest squeeze back, then drew in a long breath and pushed the door open.

The bell above the door gave a sharp little chime as Dante stepped inside, Jinx close behind.

“We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to...
I go back to us”

The smell hit him first. The oil, powder, scorched metal. It hadn’t changed a bit. Every wall was still lined with racks of guns in varying states of disassembly, gears and half-finished barrels spread across benches like some mechanical battlefield.

From behind one of those cluttered worktables came Nell’s voice was gruff, clipped, and irritated. “I said, I’ll tell you when I’m done, Sar—”

She turned mid-sentence, a rag in her hand, spectacles perched low on her nose. The dual pistols gleamed under the lamplight beside her were moderate, golden, unmistakably from a certain Miss.

But her words froze in her throat the instant her eyes locked onto Dante. 

Time seemed to stall. Her face, hardened by years and soot, drained of its usual irritation, jaw slackening just a fraction. In her hands, the rag trembled.

“…Dante?” Nell breathed.

Five years might as well have been yesterday in that single, stunned syllable.

Dante didn’t move, didn’t smirk or offer some glib remark like he usually would. He just stood there in the doorway, one hand still entwined with Jinx’s, his red coat heavy with salt air, and let her see him.

“Hey, Nell,” he said finally, voice low, careful. “Long time.”

“We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to black”

SARAH:
The tavern was still a mess when Miss Fortune walked in. The place was filled with broken chairs, splintered tables, bodies groaning on the floor where the fight had spilled across every corner. Her heels clicked against the planks as the chatter died almost instantly.

“Looks like someone had themselves a welcome party,” she said coolly, green eyes sweeping the wreckage. Everyone in the room knew better than to mistake that for carelessness.

A couple of thugs scrambled to their feet, hats in their hands, stammering over one another to explain.

“W-we didn’t start it, Captain!” One insisted, blood still leaking from his nose. “It was this—this white-haired bastard. Came in with some blue-haired chick. We tried to. y’know. handle things, but they—”

“They made fools of you,” Sarah cut him off, one brow arched.

The thug swallowed. “Yeah… white-haired guy. Tall. Red coat. Carried himself like… like he weren’t scared of nothin’.”

That made her still. For the briefest moment, the sharp edge of her expression softened. White hair. Red coat. A ghost she hadn’t thought she’d see again at least, not here.

“…And the girl?” She asked, voice cool, measured.

“Blue hair. Wild look in her eye. She—she cleaned out Ol’ Gregor’s purse while he was bleedin’ on the floor,” another thug muttered, glaring at the memory.

Miss Fortune tapped a finger against her chin, thoughtful. White hair made sense. Dante was impossible to mistake, even by rumor. But the girl? Blue hair didn’t ring any bells, not in her city.

Her lips pressed into a line. “Interesting.”

The thugs shifted uneasily as Sarah turned toward the door, her coat swaying behind her. For just a moment, her gaze lingered on the mess of splinters and spilled ale, as though reading the imprint of an old, familiar storm.

White hair… you’re back in Bilgewater. But who’s the little blue shadow at your side?

With that, she stepped out into the night, the tide crashing in the distance, already considering her next move.

DANTE:
Nell stormed forward, grease-stained apron swaying. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been? Basically been five years, Dante. Five years with not so much as a word. You vanish, and now you waltz back in here like I’m just supposed to—”

Her words broke, breath hitching as her eyes scanned him. He was alive. He was standing in front of her. She swallowed hard, her voice cracking against her better judgment. “…You stupid boy.”

Dante’s shoulders dropped. For all the battles, scars, and storms, that tone cut him deeper than any blade. “Yeah. I know. I should’ve come sooner.”

Nell crossed her arms, trying to mask the sting of relief with gruffness. “Then why are you here now?”

He exhaled slowly, hand brushing against the scarlet mark carved into his cheek. “Closure. For this.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Dante said, voice steady. “The one who gave it to me… he’s still out there, I know it. Used to serve under Gangplank. When Gangplank fell, he slipped away. I can’t move forward until I settle that score.”

Nell’s mouth tightened, but she nodded. “Makes sense. You’re not the only one hunting him. The Miss been after him for years, nearly five years, and still can’t pin the bastard down.”

Behind Dante, Jinx had barely moved past the threshold. Her wide blue eyes darted across the walls, every inch covered in racks of gleaming rifles, pistols, and experimental pieces in progress. Her jaw dropped as she stepped deeper, fingers itching toward the closest display.

“Ohhh… shiny…” she whispered, almost reverently.

That finally pulled Nell’s gaze toward the girl. Her brow furrowed. “And who’s this one? You bringin’ me strays now?”

Dante glanced back, a faint smile tugging at his lips at Jinx’s awe. “This is Jinx.”

Jinx spun on her heel, hands flaring like she’d just been caught stealing cookies. “Uh—hi! Big fan of your… uh… everything!” 

She grinned wide, eyes sparkling as she pointed to a monstrous triple-barreled revolver half-assembled on the bench. “That thing screams boom! You’re like—like Zaun’s dream grandma but with more gunpowder!”

Nell blinked, deadpan. Then she cut her gaze back to Dante. “…You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Dante said with a helpless shrug.

But the corners of Nell’s mouth twitched, almost against her will, as she gave Jinx a second look. The workshop hadn’t felt this alive in years.

Jinx was already halfway across the room before Dante could stop her, fingers hovering over the gleaming racks of custom ironwork. Her grin stretched ear to ear as she leaned dangerously close to a long-barreled rifle with a delicate etching of sirens carved into its stock.

“Ohhh, look at this baby…” Jinx cooed, reaching out a finger. “Bet she sings like a cannon—”

“Don’t you touch that!” Nell barked, crossing the floor so fast Jinx nearly tripped backward. “That rifle’s got a trigger so sensitive you’d set it off by sneezing!”

Jinx just giggled, utterly unfazed. “Relax, I don’t sneeze without a bang anyway.”

“Jinx.” Dante’s voice carried the tired warning of someone who’d had to say her name like that too many times. He caught her wrist gently, pulling her back before she could start juggling grenades off the shelf. “Hands off. These aren’t toys.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx huffed, sticking her tongue out at him before whispering under her breath, “Killjoy…”

Nell pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, “What in all the seas have you dragged in here, Dante?”

“She’s not as bad as she looks,” Dante said, trying for patience. “Jinx is… different. The best gunsmith in Zaun, actually.”

Nell raised a brow so sharp it could cut steel. “Zaun’s got a gunsmith now?”

“The only gunsmith,” Dante admitted. “But still the best. She built these.”

He reached beneath his coat, pulling Ebony and Ivory free with a little flourish, holding them out with the kind of pride only Dante could manage. “Her work. Custom, balanced, and tough enough to keep up with me.”

Nell didn’t even hesitate, her hands shot out like a hawk snatching prey, and she ripped the pistols from his grip. “Give me those.”

“Hey—” Dante started, but the look Nell gave him was pure motherly authority. The same look that had once silenced him as a cocky fifteen-year-old. He sighed. “…Fine.”

Nell turned the pistols over, her thumb brushing across the finish, her eyes narrowing as she studied the weight and craftsmanship. She muttered to herself, almost forgetting they were watching. “…Good balance… clean lines… tolerances tighter than a miser’s purse.”

Jinx leaned on Dante’s shoulder, smug grin plastered across her face. “Told ya. Told ya. I’m the best.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Nell snapped, though her tone was softer than before. She looked at Dante, then Jinx, then back at the pistols. “…Still. These are fine work. Almost too fine for the likes of you.”

Dante threw up his hands. “Why is it every time I show someone my guns, they tell me I don’t deserve them?”

“Because you don’t,” Nell and Jinx said in unison, before blinking at each other.

Then Jinx cackled, delighted. “Ha! I like her already.”

Nell set Ebony and Ivory on the counter with deliberate care, then turned her eyes on Jinx. They were sharp, weighing, the same look she used to measure the worth of any client who walked into her shop.

“So,” Nell said slowly, folding her arms. “You’re the one who decided to put weapons in this fool’s hands?”

“Uh-huh!” Jinx chirped, leaning her hip against the counter like she owned the place. “Not just weapons. The weapons. Nothing like ‘em anywhere else in Runeterra.”

“That what you call it?” Nell’s brow lifted. “Because from where I’m standing, that sounds like enabling. And trust me, I’ve seen enough dead-eyed mercs come through here to know enabling when I see it.”

Dante groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Nell…”

But Jinx just grinned wider, unfazed. “Lady, do you know how many hours I spent making sure he wouldn’t break these? You got no idea.” 

She tapped the pistols affectionately. “Every part of them was designed with him in mind. Reinforced slide, custom recoil dampeners, compensating barrels. If he breaks these? It’ll be because he was trying to eat ‘em.”

Nell blinked at her, momentarily thrown. Then she looked at Dante. “…She knows about your little habit?”

“Oh, she knows,” Dante muttered, exasperated.

“Better than anyone,” Jinx said proudly. “And these? They’re built to last.”

Something softened in Nell’s face, though she tried to hide it. She gave a little grunt, like she didn’t want to admit she was impressed. But before the air could settle, Dante sighed and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Look, Nell… there’s something I never really told you back then. Why I could walk in here bleeding out, take a bullet to the chest, and stand up like it was nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I always figured there was more to it.”

“I’m half demon,” Dante said plainly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “Son of Sparda. Guess that explains a lot, huh?”

Nell stared at him for a long beat, searching his face. Then she exhaled through her nose, shaking her head with a humorless little laugh.

“Explains why you were such a damned headache as a kid,” she muttered. “You always healed too fast, hit too hard, bounced back when any other boy your age would’ve been in the grave.”

Jinx tilted her head at Nell. “You don’t seem too surprised.”

“Child, when you’ve been in Bilgewater as long as I have, you stop being surprised at what walks through your door. Half-demon, sea witch, Void-touched freak, it’s all business.” She looked back at Dante, her eyes softening for just a moment. “Still doesn’t mean I didn’t worry.”

Jinx glanced between them, then crossed her arms, smug but also oddly touched. “Guess I’m not the only one who does, huh?”

Dante let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great. Now you two are gonna gang up on me.”

Nell and Jinx shared a look, then smirked at the exact same time.

“Oh, definitely,” Nell said.

“No doubt,” Jinx chimed in.

For the first time in years, Dante actually felt like he was back in that old shop again, not just with his guns, but with people who made him feel like he belonged.

Nell finally slid Ebony and Ivory back across the counter, the weight of her gaze softening as she looked at Dante picking them up and holstering them. 

“You’re not just here to stir up world ending ghosts, are you?” She asked, though she already seemed to know the answer.

Dante scratched the back of his neck. “…Depends on how you define ‘stir.’”

Nell gave him a long-suffering look, then sighed. “Figures. Well, you’ll need somewhere to lay low, and knowing you, you’ve already gone and picked a fight your first day back.”

Jinx perked up instantly. “You’re offering us a hideout?”

“Not just a hideout,” Nell corrected, lifting a finger. “The same room this idiot used when he was fifteen. Still got it upstairs. Kept it just the way it was, though I did clear out the bloodstains.”

Dante blinked, caught off guard. “Wait. You mean you… still have that?”

“Of course I do.” Nell leaned against the counter with a faint smile. “You were one of my best customers, even if it was only because you went through guns like other boys go through underwear. Every other week you’d come limping in with another busted pistol, looking like the sea itself had chewed you up. That room was the only thing that kept you on your feet.”

Jinx leaned closer to Dante, whispering just loud enough for Nell to hear. “So basically you were her favorite customer and her most expensive one.”

“Sounds about right,” Dante muttered, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Nell motioned toward the stairs at the back of the shop. “It’s still yours if you want it. Both of you. Don’t even dare to argue. Bilgewater will chew you up if you don’t have a safe place to crawl back to.”

Dante exhaled, the weight of old memories pressing on him. But when he glanced at Jinx, with her eyes wide, clearly itching to see this “secret old room” of his, and he couldn’t help but nod.

“…Alright. Guess it’d be rude to say no.”

“Good boy,” Nell said, already turning back to her workbench. “Now go on upstairs before I change my mind.”

Jinx lingered at the bottom of the stairs as Dante started up, her eyes wandering back to the big painted sign over the workshop’s counter.

“.45 Caliber Art… Warks,” she read aloud, dragging out the last word. “Hey. Was that supposed to say Works? Or is ‘Warks’ some Bilgewater slang? Or did someone just—”

Nell froze mid-solder, slowly lifting her gaze to fix Jinx with the kind of look that could curdle milk. A silent, heavy glare that carried decades of no-nonsense gunsmith energy.

Jinx blinked, then grinned nervously. “…Oh. One of those things. Got it.”

Before Nell could so much as open her mouth, Dante was back at her side, grabbing her by the wrist. “Nope. Uh-uh. Don’t. Don’t do it.”

“What? I was just asking—”

“I literally told you to never ask about that.” He was already half-dragging her toward the stairs, muttering under his breath. “Learned that the hard way at fifteen. Nearly lost my head for it.”

Jinx let herself be pulled along, still smirking but glancing back at Nell’s sharp, unwavering stare. “Okay, okay! Geez. Protective much over a typo.”

“It’s not a typo,” Dante muttered darkly, ushering her up the stairs before Nell could throw something at them.

When they reached upstairs Dante guided her to his old room, the door creaked open on a room that smelled faintly of gun oil and dust, the air stale but familiar. It wasn’t much. There was just a cot against the wall, a small trunk at the foot of it, and a scarred desk littered with old metal shavings and scraps of parchment notes.

“Holy…” Jinx darted past him before he could say anything, already prying the trunk open. “Oh, this is perfect! Baby Dante’s treasure chest!”

“Jinx…” Dante started, but she was already elbow-deep, holding up an old cracked flask with a dramatic gasp.

“You lived here? This is where little merc boy Dante slept, bled, and probably cried himself to sleep?” She teased, eyes sparkling with a mixture of awe and mischief. 

He gave her a flat look, but she was already bouncing on the cot, testing the springs. “Yup. Definitely better than Zaun. You know, back home you never really had a place. You worked with Benzo, but… never slept near the shop.”

Dante leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her poke around. “Yeah. Funny thing, huh?” 

His tone softened. “I was good at hiding the nightmares. The trauma. Behind a smile, behind jokes. That’s why I didn’t crash anywhere near Benzo’s. Didn’t want anyone to see me falling apart.”

Jinx paused mid-bounce, blinking at him.

“That’s why I rarely hung out with you, Ekko, and Vi back then,” Dante went on, his voice steady but heavy. “Even if you were the only ones I could stand being around. But even then, I felt like… like a curse, just waiting to burn everything down.”

Jinx stopped teasing altogether, her hand resting on the bandages of her arm as her expression shifted. It was a mixture between somber and she was quiet. For once she didn’t jump in with a quip.

After a moment, Jinx tilted her head at him, lips curling in that crooked grin of hers. “A curse, huh? Please. If you’re a curse, then I’m the damn apocalypse. We kinda match, don’t we?”

Her words were half a joke, half a claim. Twisted, yes, but affectionate in the way only she could be. It pulled Dante’s chest a little tighter, grounding him back from the edge. He knew she wasn’t wrong either. She carried the same weight, the same feeling of being poison to everything around her. And yet, here they were.

He broke eye contact, kneeling by the old trunk and rummaging through it until his hand brushed a roll of bandages. They’re were dry and yellowed with age, but still usable. He glanced back at her. 

“Time to change those,” he said, nodding to her arm.

Jinx made a face but started peeling off her top layers anyway, letting the loose jacket slide down her shoulder. 

“You just like undressing me, don’t ya?” She teased, wiggling her brows.

Dante smirked faintly. “Yeah, real romantic. Rotting bandages and all.”

Just as he reached for her arm, a sharp knock rattled the door.

“You two,” Nell’s voice cut through, firm and no-nonsense. “You smell horrible. Like something crawled out the harbor, rolled in gunpowder, and died. Showers are down the hall. For the love of sanity, use them.”

Jinx blinked, then sniffed her own arm. Her eyes went wide. “Okay. Ew. She’s right. How the hell did we last this long without noticing?”

Dante shrugged, deadpan. “Guess we got used to the scent of misery.”

“Try feral corpse,” Jinx shot back, hopping off the cot. “C’mon, let’s de-funk before we suffocate each other. I can’t seduce you if you’re gagging every time I lean in.”

Dante leaned back against the wall as Jinx tugged her shirt back on.

“You first,” he said, nodding toward the hall. “I’ll start unpacking what little we dragged in.”

Jinx squinted at him like she suspected a trick, then smirked. “Fine. Don’t get too sentimental digging through your old stuff without me.” 

She grabbed her things and skipped out, humming some offbeat tune as the door shut behind her.

For the first time in days, silence filled the room. Dante set the Force Edge gently against the corner and dropped their bag on the cot. There wasn’t much inside. Just some rations, ammo, a battered spare shirt, and a few odds and ends Jinx insisted on carrying. But even the small act of spreading them out tugged memories loose.

He let out a low breath and glanced around the room again. Same cracked floorboards, same stubborn window latch, even the faint scorch mark on the wall from a “test shot” that wasn’t supposed to ricochet. The air smelled of old oil and steel, just as it had when he was fifteen.

It wasn’t much, but it had been the closest thing he had to a home once. And now, somehow, he was back. Just older, carrying heavier scars, and with Jinx in tow.

The door creaked open, and Dante glanced up, half-expecting Jinx to come barreling back in. Instead, Nell stood there, arms loaded with folded clothes. A plain shirt, trousers, even a couple of things she must’ve thought might fit Jinx.

“Figured you two could use these,” Nell said flatly. “Both of you are frayed, paint-stained, and both smell like you rolled through a dock drain. What in the abyss happened to you two?”

Dante scratched the back of his neck. “Long story short? War in Piltover. Noxus decided to flex its muscle. And, uh…” 

He gestured vaguely with his hand. “World nearly ended about three weeks ago. Some machine ‘herald’ wanted to turn everyone into walking scrap metal.”

Nell narrowed her eyes, scanning him like she was trying to peel back layers of truth. “That’s a tall tale, boy.”

“Yeah,” Dante admitted, his voice low, serious now. “But I don’t do tall tales. Not unless I’m grinning ear to ear.”

That gave her pause. She studied him for another beat, then exhaled sharply and set the clothes on the bed. “Hells, you always did have a way of dropping madness on my doorstep like it was casual gossip.”

Nell leaned against the wall, wiping her hands on an old rag she hand on her belt. “Bilgewater ain’t the same city you left behind, boy. Streets are quieter. Less chaos, more eyes watching from the shadows.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “Quieter? In this town that usually means the sharks are hungrier.”

She smirked. “Not wrong. But this time it’s different. Since Gangplank went under, you know who has been cleaning house. One by one, the old captains that swore to him got called to the table. She tried talking sense into ’em first, can you believe it? Talking. But the ones who laughed or spat in her face? They didn’t live to make the same mistake twice.”

Dante tilted his head, arms folded. “So, talk or die.”

“Talk or die,” Nell echoed, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “And every ship she broke got folded into her fleet. Every name she crossed off just tightened her grip. Now she’s the youngest empress Bilgewater’s ever seen. A bloody crown and all.”

Dante let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think this city would ever bend to her. At least not in a long time.”

“She made ’em bend,” Nell said flatly. Then her gaze softened, almost playful, though it had an edge. “Course, I reckon you’re not too surprised. You knew her better than most, didn’t ya?”

Dante shot her a look, half a glare, half a smirk. “…Walls weren’t that thick, huh?”

Nell chuckled, shaking her head. “Boy, you forget who built this place. I hear everything that rattles through these boards. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Dante exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was a long time ago.”

“Mmhm,” Nell hummed, not pressing but not letting him off the hook either. “Still. Funny how the city’s crown ended up sittin’ on her head, isn’t it?”

Dante’s voice grew quieter as he leaned back in the chair, his eyes dimming like he was watching ghosts crawl out of the walls. “You remember Enzo, right?”

Nell snorted softly. “Course I do. That rat couldn’t keep his mouth shut if you paid him in gold bricks. But for all his blabberin’, he knew the city’s veins better than anyone. Only broker fool enough to give a half-pint like you work.”

Dante gave a half-smile, then it slipped. “…He was more than that, Nell. He was there,
when it almost ended for me.”

Nell’s hands froze over her work. “What d’you mean?”

Dante’s jaw clenched as the memory unspooled. He told her about the fight with the White Rabbit who turned into a Shimmer monstrosity, its veins glowing like cracked glass. He described how close he was to finishing it, only to be hurled across the battlefield. How the monster charged and then how Enzo appeared, screaming defiance, about to fire a minigun far too big for him.

Nell didn’t interrupt, though her knuckles went white around the rag in her hand.

“And then he… he took the blade. Right through him.” Dante’s voice broke just slightly before hardening again. “Dragged up in the air like a damn trophy and then tossed at my feet.”

The shop was quiet except for the hum of tools cooling on the bench.

Dante swallowed. “…His last words to me weren’t a joke. He told me he’d take a blade for me.” 

His eyes were glassy, but he kept them fixed on the floor. “And then… he was gone.”

Nell finally sat down across from him, her weathered face softening in a way Dante hadn’t seen in years. “…Enzo. That damn fool.” 

She let out a long breath, shaking her head. “Loud, greedy, slippery as an eel but when it counted, he showed his teeth.”

“Yeah.” Dante muttered, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “And I couldn’t even save him.”

Nell studied him for a long moment before replying. “Don’t carry all that weight alone, boy. Enzo made his choice. You know as well as I do, if there’s one thing that bastard hated, it was running from a fight. He’d rather go out with a bang than a whisper.”

Dante gave a dry laugh, but it was hollow. “…Sounds like him.”

Nell leaned back, looking at him with a mix of pride and sadness. “You two were a helluva pair. The loudmouth and the stubborn brat. Ain’t surprised you carved your way through Bilgewater back then.”

She pushed herself up straight, her joints cracking faintly as she stood. She gave Dante one last long look, the kind only someone who’d watched him grow from a bleeding stray into a scarred man could give.

“You should get some sleep, boy. You’ll need it.” Her voice carried no room for argument, just that quiet, steady command. She didn’t wait for Dante to answer, just patted his shoulder as she passed and disappeared into her own room, the floorboards creaking under her weight.

The room went still. Dante stayed seated for a moment, staring at the faint glow of the forge cooling in the corner, the smell of oil and gunpowder sharp in the air. He exhaled, heavy, dragging a hand down his face.

The door creaked.

“Pff. No way.” Jinx padded in, her bare feet leaving little damp prints on the wooden floor. Her hair stuck to her shoulders in wet clumps, a towel wrapped messily around her. She glanced around like she was stepping into some forbidden place.

Her nose scrunched. “Running water that doesn’t reek like salt? What the hell, Bilgewater? Zaun’s got pipes cleaner than yours. And that’s saying something.”

She paused, blinking at the neatly folded stack on the dresser. Pants, shirts, even boots. 

“Ohhh, clothes.” She grinned. “Guess Mama Nell decided we stink too bad for her precious workshop, huh?”

Her eyes flicked over to Dante, still slouched in the cot, exhaustion carved into his face. 

“Wait, what’d I miss?” She asked, tilting her head. “You look like you just wrestled a ghost.”

JINX:
Dante rubbed the back of his neck as he finally pushed himself up from the cot. 

“Nothin’ major. Just me and Nell catching up. Old stories, old ghosts.” His voice was low, a touch distant, but steady. He glanced at Jinx standing there in nothing but a towel, dripping on the floorboards, her grin sharp as ever.He exhaled through his nose, half-amused. 

“You gonna put those on,” he gestured at the folded clothes, “or stay wrapped up like a half-busted present?”

Jinx plopped down on the cot, towel still clinging dangerously low. She kicked her legs, chin tilting defiantly. “Mm… dunno. Might keep the suspense going.”

Dante shook his head with a faint smirk, already turning toward the door. “Do whatever. I’m hitting the shower before Nell barges back in here with a bucket.”

He tugged the door to close it behind him, leaving her in the quiet room.

Jinx sprawled back against the cot, still wrapped in the towel. She traced the rim of the bandages on her arm with her good hand, eyes drifting toward the clothes Nell had left. She could’ve gotten dressed. Could’ve unpacked. But instead she leaned back, smirking faintly to herself.

“Nah,” she muttered, settling in with her legs crossed, “think I’ll wait for him.”

Her fingers drummed against her knee, the faint creak of the floorboards outside carrying the sound of Dante’s footsteps as he moved toward the washroom.

Jinx leaned back against the cot, towel clutched just enough to keep her modesty intact. Well, not like she cared much about modesty. The room smelled like old wood, oil, and the faint metallic tang of gunpowder from Nell’s workshop below. A smell she should’ve been twitchy around, but instead… it felt almost homey. She tapped her fingers against her bare knee, restless. Always restless.

What am I doing? Sitting here like some lovesick puppy waiting for him to come back dripping wet?

The thought made her snort. But then her smirk faltered. The longer she stayed, the more she realized how much of Dante’s world she was being pulled into. Not just demons and blood and the sharp edge of his fights… but the people, the ghosts, the roots he had here. Bilgewater wasn’t her mess. She could’ve kept her distance, let him deal with all this pirate stuff alone. But she hadn’t.

She thought about Zaun. Vander’s eyes, Vi’s punches that always stung more in the heart than the jaw. Every time her demons bubbled up, her panic, her noise, her destruction. It was Dante who had been there, silently stepping into the chaos like it was nothing new. He carried her storms without flinching.

Now here she was, towel wrapped, sitting in his old room. Waiting. Letting him drag her storms into his waters.

Her fingers trailed up her bandaged arm. She should’ve felt cornered, caged, overwhelmed. That was usually her cue to blow something up.

Instead… she felt safe. Too safe.

“Ugh,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and flopping sideways on the cot. “This is so gross. He’s turning me into some kind of… of…” 

Her voice trailed off. She didn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t. Her grin tugged back to life, crooked and sharp. “Eh. Screw it. If he’s stuck with my demons, guess I can put up with his.”

She pulled the towel tighter around herself, kicking her legs playfully like she wasn’t waiting for him, even though she absolutely was. Jinx stretched out on the cot, staring at the low ceiling beams. Her mind, traitor that it was, wandered right back to Nell.

The old bat reminded her of Vander. Not in looks, but Nell does have sharper edges, like every word was loaded into a chamber before it left her mouth but it had weight. Vander had that heavy, grounded thing going on. Nell had it too, only with more crankiness, less patience. A different kind of anchor, maybe.

Weirdly… Jinx didn’t hate it.

Zaun never had anyone like Nell. Nobody who smelled like gunpowder and oiled steel, nobody who could look at a weapon like it was more than a tool. She looked at it like it was art. That was Jinx’s territory. Her little kingdom. Yet here was this cranky Bilgewater woman, her hands blackened with grease, her eyes sharp enough to cut. Another woman who worked on guns, who cared about them, who could understand.

It should’ve made her jealous. It didn’t. Not exactly.

Instead it stirred something else. It was a twitchy curiosity, a little flicker of respect. Nell wasn’t like Silco, who bent her into something broken and called it family. She wasn’t like Vander, who kept trying to shield her from the flames until she finally burned him too. Nell wasn’t coddling. She wasn’t scheming. She just… was. Straightforward. Cranky. Cool.

Maybe too cool.

Jinx frowned, tugging the towel tighter. Part of her didn’t like “sharing” Dante’s past with anyone. She wanted to believe all his pieces belonged to her now, that she’d dragged him out of Piltover and Zaun and into her. But Nell had pieces too. Big ones. Maybe even more than Vander ever had for her and Vi.

That thought should’ve made her spit fire. Instead, it made her smirk.

“Guess you’re not so bad, granny gunsmith,” she muttered, tapping her bandaged arm. 

The door creaked, steam rolling in first before Dante himself appeared. His white  hair was damp, a towel slung low on his hips, and of course water still dripping down his chest. Jinx sat up, her grin slow and wolfish, still sprawled in her own towel.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, twirling a strand of wet blue hair around her finger. “Look at us. A matching set.”

Dante shot her a look as he sat beside her on the cot, deliberately ignoring the way her eyes lingered on him. He reached for the roll of bandages.

“Funny,” he muttered, tugging gently at her arm so she’d hold it steady. “Out of all the times you’ve tried to blow me up, this is the one where I’ve got to patch you back together.”

She tilted her head, watching his hands work. Like always with her, they were careful, steady, and precise. “Mmm. Guess I don’t mind you tying me up if it’s like this.”

Dante paused, half a smirk tugging at his mouth. “That so?”

Her grin widened, eyes glinting. “Won’t be long ‘til I’m back to a hundred percent, huh? Then you’ll really have your hands full.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, though his fingers didn’t falter on the bandage. “Should’ve known you’d find a way to turn this into something dirty.”

“Should’ve known you’d still be pretending you don’t like it,” she shot back, leaning closer so her shoulder brushed his.

Dante finished the last wrap and tied it off, his expression softening despite himself. “You’ll be back to full strength soon, Powder. Then the world better watch out.”

Jinx smirked and tapped his chest with her free hand. “Forget the world. You better watch out.”

Jinx’s smirk sharpened as Dante tied off the last strip of bandage. Instead of pulling her arm away, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him closer, eyes glimmering like mischief incarnate.

“You know…” she whispered, lips brushing his ear, “…this cot are sturdier than they look.”

Dante arched a brow, smirk curling slow and dangerous. “That right?”

Before he could pull back, Jinx hooked her good arm around his neck and tugged him down with her. The towel nearly slipped, her laughter stifled in his chest as they landed in a tangle.

“Careful,” Dante murmured, one hand braced against the cot, the other steadying her shoulder. His grin deepened as an idea crossed his face. “But… I might have something better in mind.”

Jinx cocked her head, hair spilling wild over the pillow, her grin wide enough to split her face. “Better than me?”

“Not better,” Dante corrected, lowering his voice until it was a rough rumble only she could hear, “just… louder.”

She blinked, then snorted, trying to laugh but biting her lip instead. “You’re kidding. You wanna—”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, eyes glittering with amusement. “Walls are thin, Powder. If you can’t keep quiet, Nell’s gonna kill us both.”

Jinx’s cheeks warmed, though her grin never faltered. “Guess you’ll just have to test me, won’t you?”

Dante leaned down, his forehead brushing hers, smirk locked in place. “That’s the idea.”

Despite herself, her hands rose to his sides, fingers digging into the towel at his waist.

“Then quit talking and prove it,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his smirk with her own.

Dante’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning cocky. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He leaned down and began to kiss her on the lips. It was slow and gentle at first. His hand reaching over to grab the knot that kept the towel from falling off her naked body.

She melted into the kiss, one hand moving to tangle in his hair while the other remained on his towel. 

“Mmm..." Her breath hitched as he started untying the knot slowly.

“Dante..." She whispered against his lips. “If Nell walks in—"

Before she could finish her thought, Dante’s hand was on her jaw, shutting her up.

“Let me worry about Nell, yeah?” His thumb traced her skin, his cocky smirk sharpening. “You focus on staying quiet.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I’ll try my best. But no promises.” 

She arched her back slightly as he pulled the towel away from her body, letting it fall to the cot beneath them. Jinx moaned under her breath as Dante’s free hand trailed down her body. It was over her collar, between her breasts, and then down her stomach. The other hand gripped at his hair, nails digging into his scalp. 

“You’re being way too gentle,” she murmured, arching her back with a shiver as his fingers drifted lower and lower.

His fingers paused, and for a second she thought he was going to be smug, that cocky grin pulling at his mouth again. But then he was pressing his mouth against hers, and when his fingers continued to move down, they were a little faster, a little rougher.*

“Mm. That so?” He murmured against her mouth.

Jinx moaned again, her leg shifting to hook over his hip as his fingers found her core, pressing up through her wetness.

“Uh huh,” she murmured, breath hitching as he sunk two fingers inside her. “Oh, wow...”

She arched against him, mouth falling open to press to her neck. “By Janna, that feels good.”

He brushed his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Does it?” 

His fingers were moving a little faster now, each pump making her gasp again. He curled his fingers, grazing that spot inside her that made her whole body shudder. His thumb slid up to find her clit, rubbing against it gently, slowly. “Does that feel good too?”

Her hands tightened in his hair, back arching off the cot.

"Fuck yes," she whispered desperately. "Right there, Dante. Don't stop." 

She clenched around his fingers, getting closer and closer. She moaned again, louder, fingernails scraping against his scalp. “Oh, oh... oh gods, Dante. I’m... oh...”

His fingers hit that spot again, sending a shiver through her that made her back arch. She rocked her hips against his hand, whimpering with every curl of his fingers, her hands clenching in the blanket beside his head. Dante added a third finger, pressing even deeper, the sounds it drew from her enough to make his own breath hitch.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, babygirl. All this just for me?” He murmured against her neck, his thumb finding her clit again, sliding against it rougher than before. She moaned, her toes curling and her were legs trembling.

“I’m here. Always.” He murmured.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned.

"All for you, Dante," she murmured back, words breaking up with helpless gasps.*“Always, always." 

Her hips rocked helplessly against his hand as his fingers moved. He curved them again, stroking her clit and sending sparks through her entire body. She writhed and moaned, clenching around his fingers, desperately chasing release. “Fuck, Dante, please—" 

Her hips bucked as he found that spot again, pressure building fast in her core. Her legs tensed, trying to close around his hand, but stopped by his body. She moaned louder than she meant to, muffling the sound against his chest. “Please, don’t stop, oh, I’m—“

Dante curled his fingers one more time, his thumb pressing down rough and firm against her clit, and then she was unraveling around him.

"Oh, oh yes, Dante, fuuuck—" She shuddered as orgasm hit her hard, biting down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. He kept moving inside her, fingers spreading her open for him while her walls clenched around him helplessly, her hands trembling against his back and nails digging into the muscled flesh. The overwhelming pleasure made her forget everything.

Jinx was trembling and writhing against him, gasping for breath as orgasm hit again, and again, and again. Her body felt like a livewire, nerves sparking with pleasure as she rode it out. It was only when she slumped against him, boneless and panting, that he finally pulled his fingers away, wiping them on the towel beneath them.

"Fuck. You’re so cute when I’m fingering you." His voice was thick and rough against the column of her neck.

She laughed softly, body twitching as he removed his fingers. She was so sensitive that even the towel beneath her hips made her shiver. 

“You’re an idiot,” she murmured back, nuzzling his neck. Her legs parted slightly, inner thighs sticky with her release. “Fuck, you ruined the towel.”

Dante let his free hand dip down between her legs, grazing over her clit with his fingers. She sucked in a breath that turned into a gasp. She was so sensitive, still quivering with the aftershocks. His fingers slipped down to her entrance without thinking, still soaked. “Mm. Think I might’ve ruined you, too."

Jinx bit her lip, hands clutching at his back. His finger pressed against her, circling her clit again. She whined softly, back arching as he touched her again. She was so oversensitive that his gentle circles against her clit had her whimpering, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“D-Dante…” She gasped out, voice shaking. “I’m too sensitive… ah!

Her legs spread wider as his hand moved lower, still soaked from her release. She clenched her thighs around his hand, trying to keep him in place, trying to get more.

Dante chuckled, low and smug as he felt her clench down around his finger. His thumb brushed lazily over her clit, not pressing, just teasing. Slowly. Too slowly.

"Sensitive, eh?" He murmured, pressing his mouth to the side of her neck. “You look like like you’re handling it just fine.”

He pushed his finger deeper, just a little, and she moaned, hips bucking up against his hand. Dante hummed against her neck. “‘Sides, you are the girl who made herself a vibrating prosthetic middle finger a little bit over a month ago.”

Her fingernails dug into his back again as he slid his finger deeper. Her legs shifted, spreading wider. She tried to protest at his words but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a moan.

"That’s—that’s different —" She groaned as he added a second finger. “I still don’t have that damn thing, don’t blame meeeee…” 

Her argument went out the window as his thumb brushed against her clit again. Jinx was just moaning helplessly, her hips rocking against his hand, trying to get more. His fingers sank deeper into her, reaching that spot and sending a shiver through her entire body. “Oh, oh... right there. Right there, Dante, ah—"

His fingers curled inside her, pressing against that spot and rubbing rough and hard. Her back arched, her body desperately chasing that feeling.

“Do you just want me to keep fingering you?” He asked while leaning down and kissing her neck softly.

Her hands reached down to grab his wrist, holding him where he was. And then she shook her head, even as she moaned again. “No, no, no, I want — I need—” 

Her hips rocked against his fingers, trying to get more, her voice getting impatient. “That dick of yours in me.”

The crudeness of her words hit his ears like a punch to the gut. His fingers paused inside her for a moment. Then a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

"You want it bad, huh?" He murmured, voice low and rough.

She just nodded as he pulled away his fingers from her and he reached for the knot of the towel around his waist.

“You sure? You’re still recovering…” he murmured softly.

"I'm not broken, Dante," she snapped impatiently, lifting her hips off the towel. Her core was still throbbing, still desperate for him. “I’ve been recovering for days. I’ll be fine.”

He chuckled under his breath, but said nothing as he untied the knot. She felt her heart speed up as the towel around his waist was untied and let fall to the cot.

"Then… let us enjoy it." He murmured before shifting down and hooking her legs over his shoulders.

Jinx bit her lip at the sight of his hard cock, and the feeling of her legs being lifted over his shoulders. He settled between her thighs, his hard length pressing against her wet entrance. She shivered, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

“I know we’d agree you wouldn’t hold back…” she said with a small smirk “Including you using your powers.”

He grinned down at her, shifting his hips to press the tip of his cock against her. She moaned softly, nails scratching his nape.

“We agreed when you were FULLY recovered. That arm of just isn’t fully recovered yet.” He murmured, and then his grip around her legs tightened, and he pushed forward.

She moaned, breath hitching as she stretched around him, tight and swollen. He was big, filling her up enough that it almost hurt. His fingers dug into her thighs as he slid all the way inside. Her head fell back against the cot, mouth falling open.

She gasped as he bottomed out inside her, his hips pressing flush against hers. Her arms tightened around his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he stayed buried deep.

“Fuck... Dante..." She whispered his name like a prayer. “I hate when we agree on something…”

He laughed breathlessly, hands shifting on her thighs. He started to move, sliding out before pushing back in. Slowly at first, still careful, still mindful of her arm.

“Well we do agree on a lot.” He murmured back, his hands squeezing her thighs. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

She moaned as he thrust into her, fingernails digging into his neck. She clenched around him helplessly, legs spreading wider, still over his shoulders.

“You’re... such a... flatterer…” she groaned between gasps. His body pinned her to the cot, the fabric pressed between them. “Always…”

Dante kept moving, his thrusts getting a little faster, a little deeper, every time he bottomed out.

“Is it really praising if it’s just the truth?” He murmured, mouth pressed near her ear. He then began to nip her ear. “I love you, babygirl.”

Jinx’s heart skipped a beat at his words, at the way he loved her. It was always so raw, so real with him. She came undone at the combination of his words and thrusts.

“Dante..." She cried out, coming hard around him. “I love you too..." 

Her hips rose to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

His hands grabbed her hips, keeping her in place as he pounded into her, rough and raw.

“Get on your side.” He murmured softly. She did so, shifting to her side as he did the same.

Dante’s back hit the wooden wall as his cock was between her thighs, he began to rub his length between her inner thighs. “Fuck… Bluebell…”

Jinx moaned helplessly, her hands clenching in the blanket of the cot. With every thrust her clit rubbed against Dante’s cock, leaving her more sensitive than ever. She was helpless against his overwhelming sensations, legs trembling.

“Oh Janna, I can’t… I can’t… “ Her words were unintelligible. Her fingers gripped his arms, nails biting into his skin.

“Dante…” she moaned, voice cracking. “Please… be in me. Again.”

She moaned into the pillow, turning her head to watch him over her shoulder. His hips moved behind her, his thick length sliding through her wet folds.

He lined up with her entrance and pushed inside roughly, making her cry out into the pillow. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise as he started thrusting into her from behind.

“Shh... quiet babygirl." He whispered harshly. “I’m gonna make you cum again..."

She bit the pillow to stop her cries as he pounded into her, one arm thrown above her head. His deep thrusts hit that spot inside her, making her inner muscles flutter around him. He was ungodly big, spreading her wide. She could only moan and push back against him.

“You know how to treat me right, don’t you, daddy?” She said, her voice low and submissive.

He leaned down, wrapping an arm around her waist, pressing one hand flat against her stomach as he drove his hips against her. “Only for you.”

His mouth was hot against the side of her neck, his hips slamming against her again and again. Her legs trembled, legs spreading even wider. The hand on her stomach pressed her against him, his mouth brushing her ear again.

“You feel so good around me.” He murmured huskily.

She whimpered, back arching as she felt him hitting that spot deep inside her. His hand on her stomach kept her pinned perfectly against him, allowing his deep thrusts to reach their maximum depth. 

“Dante... ah! Right there... right fucking there...” she gasped.

He groaned against her neck at her words, his pace quickening and getting deeper. “You’re doing so good… taking me so well…” 

His hand slid up her stomach to grab one of her small breasts, squeezing just the right side of rough.

“I’m gonna cum soon.” He murmured.

His grip on her breast made her groan, her fingers clenching around the blanket. She felt that familiar building pressure deep inside her, threatening to crash over her at any moment and she was still sensitive from her previous orgasm, his words and actions pushing her over the edge again. “Cum inside me... Please. Dante... Fill me up...”

He let out a loud groan, her words setting a fire through his core. “Gonna fill you up… so well…”

His hand drifted to her clit, his fingers finding it by feel alone. He stroked her clit as he pounded into her, his own orgasm coiling at the base of his spine. She tightened around him, her pussy clenching down on his cock.

“Hold my hand, babygirl.” He murmured softly and kissed her cheek. 

She moaned helplessly, hips rocking desperately against his hand. His name fell from her lips, over and over like a prayer. “Oh Dante, Dante, Dante.”

She immediately entwined their fingers, moaning loudly as he continued to snap his hips against her. His thickness rubbed her inner walls perfectly, the hand between her thighs working her clit skillfully. He was hitting all her favorite spots, making her lose her mind. She was mindless with pleasure.

Her entire body shook violently as she came hard around him, inner muscles convulsing and milking his length intensely. Dante groaned deeply, her orgasm triggering his own release. He buried himself balls deep inside her with a harsh grunt, pumping her full of his hot cum.

“Take it all, babygirl.” He kissed her neck.

Jinx whined softly as he filled her up, her pussy clenching around him involuntarily to keep all his cum inside. Her body was overly sensitive now, her legs shaking as she tried to catch her breath. She felt completely boneless and utterly owned by him.

“Mmm... Dante...” She whimpered softly, still holding his hand tightly.

His arms wrapped around her waist, his chest still heaving against her back, skin slick with sweat. His forehead rested against the top of her head, his free hand smoothing over her hip.

"You okay, Bluebell?" He murmured, his thumb rubbing soft circles on her skin.

She nodded weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “Mhm... I'm okay..." 

Her fingers tightened around his hand slightly as she pressed back against him instinctively seeking comfort after such intense pleasure. His cum was leaking out slowly around his still semi-hard cock inside her sensitive pussy. "...Love you..."

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck. He stayed there for a few more moments, savoring the closeness. Then he gently eased himself out of her, making her whimper softly.

“I love you too, Bluebell.” He murmured, shifting so they could lie on their sides once more. He pulled her close again, tucking her head under his chin. “You did so good.”

She melted against him immediately, her small body molding perfectly to his. She let out a content sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she listened to his heartbeat. His praise made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, like the best kind of drug.

"Mmm... I did alright, huh?" She murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his chest as she curled up against him. “You were pretty great yourself, you know."

He chuckled softly, his arms tightening around her possessively. His fingers played with her hair absently as he held her close. He could feel his release slowly leaking out of her, mixing with her own arousal.

“Shut up and sleep, Bluebell." He murmured gruffly.

She giggled softly, her eyes already heavy with sleep. She snuggled closer to him, her body still tingling from the intense orgasm he had given her. She felt utterly content and satisfied, her heart full of love for him.

Chapter Text

JINX:
Morning light spilled faintly through the grimy window of Nell’s spare room that belonged to Dante once, now it belonged to both Dante and Jinx, the dust turned into a lazy shimmer. Jinx blinked awake, her cheek pressed against Dante’s bare chest, her good arm draped across his stomach like he was her anchor. He was still out cold from last night’s orgasm, his breathing was slow and even, that little crease of exhaustion finally smoothed from his face.

For once, she didn’t want to wake him.

Carefully, she wriggled free, smirking when he gave the faintest grumble but didn’t stir. Her arm was still bandaged up, but the ache had dulled into something manageable now. It was more healed than broken. She stretched quietly before spotting the folded stack of clothes Nell had left on the chair.

“Guess the old crank does know my size,” Jinx whispered to herself as she picked them up.

The outfit wasn’t her usual chaotic mash of belts and leather. Instead, it was practical. Bilgewater practical to be exact. A cropped dark teal vest with brass buttons that cut off just above her ribs, leaving her stomach bare but still covered enough to pass for “respectable.” Over it, a faded leather jacket, sleeves rolled to the elbow, smelling faintly of gunpowder and sea salt. The pants were snug black trousers tucked into weather-worn boots with steel caps at the toes. The boots definitely meant for climbing rigging or kicking teeth in.

And then… underwear.

Jinx actually paused holding up the plain, cotton underthings, wrinkling her nose. “Really? Really? The first time in my whole damn life I’m putting these on, and it’s because Nell decided I ‘smelled like trouble?’”

She huffed as she tugged them on anyway. “Ugh. Feels… weird. Like I’m betraying myself. Guess I’ll live. Good thing bras don’t exist in Bilgewater as well.”

She added the holster belt across her hips, sliding her pistol into its place. It hung heavy and right, grounding her in a way the underwear definitely didn’t.

Glancing back at Dante, she smirked again. He was sprawled across the cot, white hair all tangled, one arm dangling over the side like a lazy dog. Even asleep, he looked like he owned every room he walked, or collapsed into it. Maybe a bit of both.

“Still out, huh?” Jinx whispered, running a hand through her hair as she eyed him. “Good. Don’t think you could handle seeing me looking this… normal. With panties on for the first time. Well, there was that time I dressed up as the dealer in that Pilite boat casino.”

She gave a low laugh to herself, tugging the jacket tighter. And headed out the room quietly. The stairs creaked under Jinx’s boots as she slipped down. The moment she stepped into the workshop, her jaw dropped once again. 

Bilgewater wasn’t like the undercity that Jinx spent nineteen years of her life at all. No clutter of scrap heaps, no smell of rusted piping or burning shimmer. Everything here was organized. There were racks lined up with gleaming barrels, crates stacked neat with polished brass casings, blueprints pinned straight on the walls instead of crumpled into balls. Even the worktable, scarred and blackened from use, had tools set in rows instead of spilling everywhere.

Jinx whistled low, eyes wide as she ran her fingers along the stock of a heavy repeating rifle. The wood was smooth, polished. “Huh. So this is what guns look like when they’re made from… y’know. Real stuff.”

She crouched near another bench where Nell had been working. Dual pistols mid-assembly. The barrels were engraved with curling lines, subtle flourishes that caught the morning light. “Ooooh.”

Jinx grinned, reaching like a kid in a candy store. “You even make ‘em pretty.”

Her fingers twitched toward the half-finished firing mechanism, desperate to poke inside and see how it ticked. She barely stopped herself, gnawing at her own lip. “No… not touchy. Don’t wanna get murdered first thing in the morning.”

Still, she wandered on, peeking into crates, opening drawers, practically buzzing with curiosity. It was like walking through some kind of holy place for her. All these guns weren’t cobbled-together lifelines, but as craft.

That’s when Nell’s voice cut in from behind, dry as powder. “Touch anything that’s glowing, rattling, or humming and I’ll know. And you’ll be wearing that towel again.”

Jinx yelped, spinning around, caught red-handed like a kid sneaking in sweets. She was still halfway between one of the worktables and a crate of gun oil, when Nell’s voice cut through the room. But instead of the scolding she expected, Nell leaned against the doorway with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You look like a kid in a candy shop. Relax, I’m not gonna bite.” She tilted her head toward the stairs. “Come on. Coffee’s on.”

Jinx blinked, then pointed at herself. “Wait—you mean me? Coffee? Uh… I don’t…”

Nell was already walking away, not waiting for an answer. “First time for everything, bluebird.”

Jinx’s breath hitched slightly at the nickname due to the fact it was close to Dante’s nickname that he gave to her. And the curiosity outweighed hesitation, and Jinx followed the older woman back upstairs, the kitchen was modest. With a rickety table, two mugs already set out, steam curling from their rims. Jinx sat awkwardly, eyeing the black liquid like it might bite her instead.

“Don’t smell too bad,” she muttered, lifting the mug and taking a sip. The taste hit her like a brick. Well, more like a bullet train. It’s bitter, burnt, strong enough to strip paint. She made a face, coughing once before forcing it down. “Okay… yep. Tastes like swamp water that got set on fire. Nice.”

Nell chuckled, sipping hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll get used to it. Everyone does.”

For a moment, silence settled. Then Nell tipped her mug toward the ceiling. “Still sleeping. Figures. That boy could nap through a cannon barrage if he wanted to. Some things don’t change.”

Jinx smirked, leaning on the table. “Yeah, sounds about right. He’s always the last one up. Drives me nuts sometimes.”

Nell nodded, her eyes half-lidded over her mug. Then, with the kind of casual timing that hit like a bomb, she added. “And the two of you were loud enough last night. I'm surprised he’s still asleep at all.”

The sip Jinx was about to take froze halfway. She choked on air instead, nearly dropping the mug. “W–what?!”

Nell just raised a brow, entirely unbothered. “Walls aren’t that thick. Don’t look so rattled. You’re both adults now. Can do whatever you want.” 

She blew across her coffee before drinking again, like she hadn’t just dropped a thunderbolt across the table.

Jinx sat there, face redder than her eyes had ever been, sputtering into her cup. “…Oh by Janna.”

Nell’s smirk deepened, but she let the silence speak for her.

Jinx sat there, cheeks still flushed, trying to sip her coffee like nothing had just happened. She drummed her fingers on the table, then smirked as if she’d finally found her footing. “Well, guess we should’ve just invited you to watch, huh? Maybe take notes? Betcha never seen moves like—”

Nell didn’t even blink. She sipped her coffee, utterly unfazed.

“Cute,” she said flatly. “But you sound like a dock rat trying too hard to prove she’s tough. I’ve been living in Bilgewater my whole damn life, sweetheart. I’ve heard jokes twice as dirty from kids half your age who were cutting purses on the piers before their teeth came in.”

Jinx froze, mid-gesture. “…You’re telling me kids in Bilgewater are dirtier than me?”

Nell gave her a look over the rim of her mug. One that was part amusement, part warning. “You’re not even in the top ten.”

That hit Jinx like a slap. She sputtered, then leaned back with a scowl. “Pfft, yeah right. I’m Jinx! Zaun’s finest chaos machine, gunsmith queen of crazy. You’re telling me some snot-nosed brat out there’s got a better mouth than me?”

“Better mouth, worse aim,” Nell answered dryly. “Difference is, you’ve got the talent to back up the noise. Don’t waste it pretending to be scary. You already are, in your own way.”

For a moment, Jinx just blinked at her. Then, despite herself, a grin tugged at her lips. “…Heh. Okay, that’s kinda badass.”

Nell just shrugged and drained her mug. “Told you. First time for everything.”

The sound of heavy boots creaked down the steps before either of them noticed. Jinx was in mid-retort, leaning across the table at Nell, when Dante’s shadow cut across the kitchen light.

“…The hell am I lookin’ at?” His voice was still rough with sleep. “You two aren’t tryin’ to kill each other?”

Jinx whipped her head around, caught like a kid sneaking sweets. “We’re just, uh, bonding. Girl talk. Totally normal girl talk.”

Nell smirked into her cup, not bothering to explain.

Dante stepped in, hair still messy from last night, dressed in the clothes Nell had left out. His new outfit was a mix of practical and unmistakably him. He had coal-black trousers tucked into worn leather boots reinforced with steel plates, a deep burgundy shirt open at the collar, and still kept his crimson Noxian coat, didn’t mind at the fact it was frayed and still stained with worn paint from The Hexgates War. A heavy belt sat low on his hips, holsters already strapped into place, with Ebony and Ivory, and of course, The Force Edge slung on the ring on his coat.

Jinx blinked, nearly choking on her coffee. “Whoa. Since when did you look like some pirate king’s bastard son?”

Dante just arched a brow at her, strolling past casually, and without hesitation, grabbed Jinx’s mug right out of her hands. She yelped, “Hey!” 

But Dante downed the black sludge in one long gulp, like it was water. Slamming the mug back down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tastes the same. Guess you still haven't figured out how not to burn coffee.” 

Nell rolled her eyes. “Drink it or don’t. You still used to come here every morning and steal my cup before heading out, so don’t act surprised.”

Jinx gawked at him. “You actually drink this crap? I thought it was, like, a hazing ritual or something!”

Dante just smirked, leaning back against the counter. “Nah. Builds character. You’ll thank her later.”

Jinx squinted at him, suspicious. “Or it kills taste buds.”

“Same thing,” Dante shot back.

Jinx leaned back in her chair, arms crossing under her chest, narrowing her eyes at Dante. “So, pirate king’s bastard son, what’s today’s big plan? We’re finally gonna start blowing things up, or are we still in the ‘eat bad food and drink worse coffee’ stage of your grand tour?”

Dante’s smirk thinned into something more serious. He drummed his fingers against the mug, his voice low but steady. “I’m heading to Bobby’s Cellar.”

Jinx perked up immediately. “Sweet, I’ll—”

“No.” Dante cut her off, sharp enough to freeze her mid-motion. “I’m going alone.”

The words dropped heavy between them. Jinx blinked, disbelief flashing across her face before indignation took over. “The hell you mean alone? You drag me halfway across the ocean, dangle all this juicy history in front of me, then just ditch me, the hell am I? A cheap hooker?”

“You still need rest, Bluebell.” Dante’s voice was firm, the kind he rarely used on her. “Your arm’s healing, but you’re not at a hundred percent yet. And Bilgewater… isn’t like Zaun. People here don’t care how crazy you look, or how big your guns are. They’re meaner, and more reckless. You step wrong, they’ll gut you in the street for fun.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened, her leg bouncing under the table like a live wire about to snap. “So what, I’m supposed to sit here and play house with your cranky gunsmith mom while you go off having all the fun?”

Nell finally set her cup down with a sharp clink, cutting into the tension. “He’s right, girl. Bilgewater’s not a playground. You’ll learn that fast enough if you stick around. For now, you’d do well to listen to him.”

Jinx shot Nell a glare, but the older woman didn’t even blink. If anything, she smirked like she’d just won another round without even trying.

Dante pushed off the counter, grabbing a knife under it that he had hidden for special occasions during his time in this city. “You can learn a lot from Nell while I’m gone. Trust me, she knows more about weapons than most people will ever know.”

Jinx groaned, throwing her hands up. “Great. Homework. My favorite.”

But Dante leaned down just enough to brush his fingers across her shoulder, grounding her storm before it broke loose. “Rest. Learn. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Without waiting for another word, Dante walked downstairs and towards the workshop’s door, exiting the place. 

Nell finally pushed herself from the seat, tugging on a worn leather apron that had seen decades of soot and gun oil. 

“Come on then, Powder,” she said suddenly.

Jinx blinked. “…You did not just call me that.”

“Didn’t say it was your name,” Nell replied evenly, heading down the creaking steps into the workshop proper. “But I’ve seen a lot of kids pick up a tool before they knew what to call themselves. You’ve got that same spark. So, you’re coming with me.”

Curiosity overrode her usual need to bark back. Jinx hopped off the chair, and went after Nell.

“Hands off unless I say,” Nell warned without turning, moving to a locked chest at the back. She pulled out a long case, carefully unlatching it before setting it on the bench.

Inside lay a weapon unlike anything Jinx had ever built from Zaunite scraps. It was bulky, unfinished, its frame a marriage of Bilgewater iron and delicate engraving that hinted at artistry beyond brute function. A pistol, but heavy enough to feel like a cannon in the right hands.

“This,” Nell said, running a finger along the barrel, “was my husband’s first prototype. Roy never finished it. Too ambitious at the time. Too heavy, too complicated. But he swore one day it would’ve been the gun that put Bilgewater steel on the map.”

She turned to Jinx, eyes narrowing like she was measuring her soul. “You want to hold it?”

Jinx froze for a heartbeat, then nodded so fast her braids whipped. “Do I—YES. Absolutely yes.”

Nell lifted the gun with both hands and passed it over. Jinx took it carefully, cradling it like it was alive. The weight shocked her. Her wrists strained, but she adjusted quickly, setting her stance the way she always did with Fishbones or Pow-Pow.

Her eyes lit up like stars. “Oh… oh, she’s beautiful.”

“She’s incomplete,” Nell corrected. “Which means she can teach you more than a finished piece ever will. Every flaw, every gap in the design is a lesson. That’s the difference between a tinkerer and a smith, you don’t just make things explode, you learn why they don’t yet.”

Jinx was quiet for once, just staring down the sight, fingers twitching over the unpolished trigger. She almost looked reverent.

“…You know,” she finally said, voice softer, “if I had this back in Zaun, Vi would’ve never won a pillow fight against me.”

Nell barked a short laugh despite herself. “Kid, if you fired that thing in a pillow fight, there wouldn’t be a house left standing.”

Jinx smirked crookedly, lowering the gun. “Guess that means I would’ve won then.”

Nell shook her head, but there was approval in her eyes now. “Yeah. You’ve got the same madness Roy loved in a fight. Just… don’t let it eat you whole.”

Jinx bit her lip, still staring at the weapon before handing it back with surprising care. “Thanks. For letting me touch a piece of him. Guess I can see why Dante thought the world of you.”

For a fleeting moment, Nell’s weathered expression softened fully. “…And I can see why he’s still alive. You’ve got his back, don’t you?”

“Always.” Jinx’s grin was sharp, but her voice was dead serious.

Nell put Roy’s prototype back in its case, sliding the lock shut, when she noticed Jinx still fidgeting with her hands, like her fingers itched for more.

“…You want to show me somethin’, don’t you?” Nell asked, crossing her arms.

Jinx grinned, wide and toothy. “What gave it away? The twitchy fingers or the crazy eyes?”

“Both.”

Jinx shrugged and reached for the pistol Nell had set aside earlier, a simple but balanced make. She spun it around her finger before snapping it into her palm, raising it with only one hand. “So, see, this is my style. I always shoot one-handed.” 

She tilted her wrist, striking a dramatic pose. “Looks cooler. Feels cooler. And on the other hand? Free for grenades, bombs, or flipping off whoever’s dumb enough to get close.”

Nell arched her brow. “One-handed means less control, less stability. You’re tellin’ me you gave up dueling for that?”

“I didn’t give it up. I evolved it.” Jinx smirked. “I used to go full two-pistol mode. Like pow, pow, pow! If I was in some wild shootout in Zaun’s underbelly. But now? I only pull the pistol when I know I’ve got the fight under control. Real clean. Real precise.”

“And when it’s not under control?” Nell asked, genuinely curious now.

Jinx’s grin spread wider. “That’s when Pow-Pow comes out.”

Nell raised an eyebrow. “…Pow-Pow?”

“Yeah!” Jinx beamed, like she’d just been waiting for someone to ask. “My baby. Big ol’ minigun. Built her myself out of scraps, gears, and a whole lotta Boom.” 

She mimed cranking a barrel with her free hand, her eyes lighting up. “She spins, she spits lead faster than anyone can blink, and she’s loud. Perfect for when everything’s on fire and the world’s ending around me. Which, y’know, happens more often than you’d think.”

Nell stared for a long moment, then let out a low whistle. “…A damn minigun. At your age?”

Jinx puffed up proudly. “Yep.”

“Then let me guess.” Nell narrowed her eyes, studying the girl with a gunsmith’s precision. “You can’t be older than twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two if I’m pushin’ it.”

Jinx’s smirk flickered into something more mischievous. “Try nineteen.”

That earned a pause. Nell blinked, then muttered, “…Saints above.” 

She shook her head and gave a dry laugh. “And here you are, talkin’ about building miniguns like it’s makin’ dollhouses.”

“Hey!” Jinx pouted dramatically. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Pow-Pow’s saved my ass more times than I can count.” 

She spun the pistol in her hand again, cocky as ever. “Besides, nineteen’s plenty old enough to raise hell.”

Nell smirked faintly, though her eyes lingered on the girl a little longer this time. Not with doubt, but with a strange, grudging respect. “…You remind me of me. Just a lot louder.”

Jinx cackled. “Best compliment I’ve gotten all week.”

Nell leaned her hip against the workbench, arms crossed, watching Jinx spin the pistol like it was a toy. Her sharp eyes didn’t miss the natural ease in her grip, the kind you didn’t fake.

“…So tell me somethin’, girl.” Nell’s tone softened, losing that usual crank. “Why guns? Why’re you into smithin’ and shootin’ the way you are?”

Jinx froze mid-spin. “…Uh. Why?”

Nell gave her a small shrug. “Everyone’s got a reason. Me? It was Roy. Man lived, breathed, and bled iron and powder. Couldn’t read a book to save his life, but put a busted barrel or a warped trigger in his hands and he’d sing to it ‘til it was whole again. He dragged me into it. Taught me every gear, every weld, every damn thing I know. Roy was my reason. My motivation.”

Jinx blinked, her smirk faltering for once. She stared at the pistol in her hand like it had just grown heavier.

“I used to build bombs when I was a kid. Never worked, not once. Called one Whisker.” Jinx chuckled dryly, staring down at the weapon. “Cute little thing, face painted on it and everything. I knew it was junk. I knew it wasn’t gonna blow, but I built it anyway. Made me feel… useful. Like if I couldn’t throw a punch like Vi, at least I could make something that mattered. For her. For all of ‘em.”

Her shoulders tightened, and she set the gun down before she snapped something delicate on it.

“One time, Vi caught me curled up with one of those stupid bombs after a bad day. I told her I ruined everything. She just said—” Jinx smirked faintly, mimicking her sister’s stance, fists up, voice deeper, “—‘I’ve got these, and you got those.’” 

She wiggled her fingers like it was a joke, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She actually believed I’d make something work one day. Even when I didn’t.”

Jinx’s gaze drifted upward, remembering rooftops under Zaun’s polluted night sky. “We even went and sat on a ledge together, lookin’ out at Piltover. She’d point at all the places we messed up. My brothers… Claggor stuck in a gutter. Mylo dumping paint on his own ass. Dumb stories, stupid laughs. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said I was stronger than I thought. Told me one day the city would respect us. Like she… like she really believed it.”

For a moment, her voice cracked, the edges of Powder showing through. She pushed it back down with a sharp little laugh, pulling a strand of blue hair from her shaved sides behind her ear. 

“Why do I make guns, bombs, all of it? ‘Cause if I build it, it means I exist. It means I can matter. And maybe Vi was right. Maybe one day the city does respect me. Or maybe it just blows up in my face. Either way, bang, fireworks.” She mimed an explosion with her hands, grinning wide again, though her eyes lingered on Nell like she was testing how much of herself she’d just given away.

Nell leaned back against the worktable, arms crossed, her weathered eyes never leaving Jinx. She let the silence stretch, long enough that Jinx started to fidget, picking at the bandage on her arm.

“You know,” Nell finally said, her voice rough but steady, “you sound just like Roy.”

Jinx blinked. “…Huh?”

“Man couldn’t swing a sword to save his life,” Nell went on, shaking her head with a small laugh. “The first time he tried to make a pistol, the damn barrel exploded in his hand. He nearly lost two fingers. But he kept at it. Built ugly little lumps of iron that no sane soul would fire twice. Thought he was useless. A fool chasing smoke.”

Her gaze softened, the steel in her tone easing. “But every mistake taught him somethin’. Every failure built the man he became. By the time he was your age, he wasn’t just making weapons, he was making pieces of himself. Same way you are.”

Jinx tilted her head, unsure if she should be insulted or proud. “So you’re saying I’m like your clumsy, fingerless husband?”

Nell snorted. “I’m saying you’ve got the same fire. The need to prove yourself. To matter. That kind of drive can eat you alive if you let it. Or it can shape you into something people can’t ignore.”

She leaned closer, her voice lowering with surprising weight. “This Vi was right. You are stronger than you think. And one day, it won’t just be Piltover or Zaun that respects you. Bilgewater might, too.”

Jinx looked down at the gun in her lap again, chewing her lip, not quite sure how to respond. So she defaulted to a smirk. “Guess that means I gotta avoid blowing my fingers off, huh?”

Nell chuckled, reaching over to ruffle one of Jinx’s braids like she was a kid. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Jinx had the old prototype gun in her lap, absently spinning it in her palm when the question slipped out. “So… you got anyone else? Y’know, besides Dante crashing your workshop all the time.”

Nell raised an eyebrow. “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Jinx shrugged with her usual grin. “Call it professional curiosity. You feel like a cranky mom, so… I gotta ask if you’ve got other little brats running around.”

That earned her a huff, but Nell answered anyway. “I’ve got a son. Rock Goldstein. A few years older than Dante, older than you too.”

Jinx perked up, leaning forward. “Rock? Like, Rock Rock? That’s his name?”

“Don’t start.” Nell’s warning tone was sharp, but her lips twitched as if she’d heard that reaction a hundred times. “He wasn’t much for Bilgewater. Hated the smell, hated the ‘politics’. So he left. Works for a company called Uroboros now.”

“Uroboros…?” Jinx repeated, tilting her head. “Sounds shady. Like, culty-shady.”

Nell ignored the jab, continuing, “But, apples don't fall far from the tree. He’s a weaponsmith too. Send letters every so often.”

Jinx’s curiosity burned hotter. “Letters? What does he even write about?”

Nell’s voice softened, just slightly. “Last one said his brother-in-law had a baby girl. Nico. My granddaughter. Barely two months old.” 

She reached over to the corner shelf, pulling a small, weather-worn picture tucked into a frame.

Jinx nearly fell out of her chair. “Wait, wait, you’re telling me you’re a grandma?!”

Nell gave her a flat look that could’ve cut glass. “Say it louder, why don’t you? The whole damn harbor probably didn’t hear you.”

But Jinx was already looking down the picture, peering down at the tiny face. Nico, wrapped in a blanket, blinking up at the world. Her grin softened despite herself. “…Okay, yeah. She is an angel. Kinda got your eyes, too.”

Nell’s chest warmed, though she didn’t show it. Instead, she muttered, “Her father’s a wuss. Agnus. My son’s brother-in-law. But the girl, she’ll definitely be trouble when she’s older, I can already tell.”

Jinx chuckled, holding the photo like it was stolen treasure. “Guess it runs in the family, huh?”

Nell let that hang in the air, her sharp eyes flicking toward Jinx with an unspoken weight, like maybe she wasn’t just talking about Nico.

Jinx had been staring at the photograph of Nico so long the edges of it were starting to curl between her fingers. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to. “…I wonder how my sister’s doin’.”

Nell glanced up from polishing a stripped-down rifle. “The Vi girl you told me about?”

Jinx nodded slowly. “Yeah. Vi.”

She hesitated before adding, “She’s married now. To Piltover’s sheriff,  their big commander of the Enforcers.” 

She said “Enforcers” like a curse. “Figures, right? My sister… married to the people that used to raid our homes, bust our heads open.”

Nell’s brow arched but she didn’t say anything, so Jinx kept going. “Enforcers did a lotta bad things to Zaunites. To kids like us. We were just tryin’ to survive.” 

She let out a breath through her teeth. “Now she’s one of them. Or married to one, anyway.”

For a second, her eyes unfocused. They were not here, but somewhere deep, cold, and full of sparklers. She could still hear Vi’s voice calling from the dark: “Powder?” She could still taste the guilt when she’d told Vi: “Silco didn’t make Jinx. You did.” She could still see the cupcake glowing red, Caitlyn tied up in that wheelchair, Vi’s eyes flicking between her and the gun, Dante chained up at the side of the table. That moment had burned itself into her like a scar.

She blinked and forced herself back into the workshop. “…We used to dream about getting out. Me and her. About making Piltover respect us. And now look at her. Married to it.”

Nell leaned her elbows on the table, her voice gruff but not unkind. “Girl, that’s what people do. Some marry steel, some marry power. Doesn't always mean they forget where they came from.”

Jinx’s mouth twisted. “Feels like she forgot me by now.”

“Or maybe she figured you could walk your own path.” Nell’s tone stayed Bilgewater blunt, but there was warmth under it. “Happens to a lotta families. Hell, Roy screwed up plenty when he started smithin’. Like I said, he blew his own thumb near clean off one time. Didn’t stop him from teachin’ me later.”

That made Jinx glance over, the corner of her mouth tugging despite herself. Nell just shrugged. “We all got ghosts. Some of ‘em we build with our own hands. Some we bury. Doesn’t mean we can’t still reach ‘em.”

Jinx dropped the photo on the table and leaned back, her blue eyes somewhere between Powder and Jinx. “…Maybe. Just feels like too much blood under the bridge, y’know?”

Jinx let out a long, shaky laugh and twirled the pistol in her fingers without really looking at it. “Y’know… it’s honestly kinda nice. Talking to someone else about all this crap.” 

She gestured vaguely at her temple. “Usually it just stays up here, rattling around like a bad grenade.”

Nell’s mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Mm. Ain’t gonna lie, sweetheart. Sounds like you could use a therapist.”

Jinx snorted, a sharp little bark of a laugh. “Pfft. I need a lot of things to fix what’s goin’ on in my head. Pretty sure therapy’s just one box on a whole checklist.”

Nell leaned an elbow on the workbench, her voice still that same dry, unflinching Bilgewater drawl. “Maybe so. But even a rusty gun can be cleaned. Ain’t hopeless, even if it feels that way.”

Jinx blinked at her, startled by the blunt kindness behind the words. She looked down at the revolver again, her fingers stilling. “…You really think so?”

Nell shrugged one shoulder. “I've seen worse cases. And some of ‘em even learned to shoot straight.”

That earned a real, if crooked, smile from Jinx. “Guess that’s somethin’ to aim for.”

VIOLET:

The docking platform thrummed with the weight of the incoming airship, the whole structure humming like a plucked string. Piltover’s banners hung overhead, half-patched from the recent war, smoke-stained from Ambessa’s flagships’ artillery. Enforcers stood in formation, rifles polished, armor freshly buffed, but the fatigue in their eyes betrayed them.

Vi leaned against the railing, her new gauntlets at her side, watching the sleek airship descend in slow, controlled grace. 

“So this is our big savior?” She muttered, unimpressed. “Some rich suit from gods-know-where, swooping in to tell us how to fix our city.”

Caitlyn, standing straight with her officer’s coat catching the breeze, didn’t turn her head. “Vi... With Jayce gone and Hextech all but shattered, Piltover is crippled. We weren’t ready for Ambessa’s fleet, or for Viktor’s… whatever he called it. ‘Glorious evolution.’”

Vi’s jaw tightened at the memory. The war has been over less than a month and it already had people scrambling to fill the gaps. “Yeah, well, excuse me if I don’t jump at the idea of another outsider promising the moon in under a month since the world nearly ended.”

Caitlyn glanced at her partner, her expression even but edged with quiet exhaustion. “If we don’t take his help, there may not be a Piltover left to argue over. The new council knows it. And so do we.”

The airship’s hull finally connected with the platform in a hiss of steam and a heavy clang. The enforcers straightened in unison.

The ramp dropped.

A figure emerged. He was tall, pale, unmistakably commanding. 

Arius. 

His suit was a pristine white, trimmed with ruffles shaped like tiny skulls, offset by a dark-blue cravat. Draped across his shoulders was a burgundy, fur-trimmed coat, worn like a cape. His hair was slicked back from a widow’s peak, his beard framing a smile that was too polished to feel sincere.

At his side descended his secretary: draped in plum leather, her gloves and high-heeled boots gleaming under the sun. A feathered mask concealed her face, its eyes painted wide and sharp, giving her the look of a predator bird. She stood just behind him, silent but watchful.

Vi muttered under her breath, arms crossed. “Great. He even dresses like a villain.”

Caitlyn’s voice was low, almost resigned. “Careful. He’s the kind of man who’ll hear that even if you whisper it.”

As Arius strode forward, his presence radiated more theater than diplomacy, every step deliberate. He spread his arms as though greeting an old friend.

“Piltover,” he announced, his voice smooth and resonant, “I have come to help you rise. From ruin, into strength. From fracture, into order. Uroboros will give you what your city needs most. A rebirth.”

The words echoed across the platform like a sermon. And that made Vi scowled. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, “I’ve never heard that one before.”

JINX:

“Bet Vi’s living the most boring life right now. Sitting all proper with her wife. Tea parties, paperwork, maybe polishing that shiny badge of hers. Yaaawn.”

Nell cocked a brow at her, lips pressed into a thin line. “That's the sheriff girl you mentioned?”

“Commander,” Jinx corrected, mockingly drawing out the word with a roll of her eyes. “Big fancy title. Caitlyn Kiramman, queen of the uptight snobs.”

DANTE:

Dante’s boots crunched against the damp cobblestones, the stench of Bilgewater’s docks rolling off the tide. Ahead, Bobby’s Cellar squatted in its usual corner like a scarred old beast that refused to die, its lanterns glowing warm against the night. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, that easy swagger hiding the fact his mind was elsewhere.

As he neared the cellar door, the smell of cheap rum and pipe smoke triggered something deeper, an old memory he hadn’t dredged up in years.

—

Fifteen. Too thin, too sharp around the edges, still carrying the weight of a boy who’d grown up too fast. He pushed through the same doors back then, cocky as hell, with the Rebellion on his back, two basic pistols, and nothing in his pockets.

Inside, laughter and jeers roared louder than the storm outside. Sailors, smugglers, washed-up hunters, all turning their heads when the kid strolled in like he owned the place.

That’s when Enzo spotted him. Wide in the middle, cigar already half chewed through his teeth. He’d been holding court at a corner table, boasting about his latest deal, when Dante dropped into the empty seat across from him.

“You’re on my chair, kid,” Enzo grunted.

“Guess I’m borrowing it,” Dante fired back without missing a beat. His voice didn’t crack, didn’t falter. That alone earned a couple chuckles from the crowd.

Nobody took him seriously. Not the brawlers, not the drunks, not even Enzo. Until Dante leaned in and tossed a crumpled bounty flyer across the table. One of the nastiest marks plastered on every wall in Bilgewater at the time.

“Give me a shot,” Dante said. No hesitation. “I’ll bring you this bastard’s head.”

Enzo snorted smoke out of his nose. “You? You’re barely outta diapers.”

But Dante’s eyes were cold, stubborn, and they already had a devil behind them which never wavered. And something in that look, maybe sheer madness, maybe conviction, made Enzo laugh harder than he had in months.

“Alright, kid. Go on then. Prove me wrong.”

The cellar roared with more laughter, but Dante only smirked as he left, boots too big for him, sword rattling at his back. He remembered the night air biting against his face, the unshakable certainty in his chest: he was gonna do it.

—

Back in the present, Dante pushed open the cellar door again, older now, heavier in the shoulders, carrying scars instead of doubts. The same smoke, the same laughter hit him, but this time no one laughed when he walked in. They all knew his name.

Dante shouldered his way through Bobby’s Cellar, ignoring the card games, the dice clattering, the bottles clinking. His boots carried him straight to the bounty board nailed up along the far wall. Layers of parchment flapped in the lantern draft, faces of killers, smugglers, deserters. All with prices stamped beneath them.

His eyes scanned, half out of habit until they locked on a face that froze him where he stood.

Thick jaw, sun-leathered skin, dead-eyed sneer carved permanent. The Bilgewater region sigil tattoo sprawled across his cheek, matching the one Dante felt every time he looked in the mirror.

The bastard who “branded” him.

For years, he’d only known him as “the Snake,” one of Gangplank’s top men, a monster with a hot iron and a laugh like rusted chains. But here, for the first time, the bounty board gave him something else. A name.

“Garrick Slade.”

The letters burned into Dante’s mind as his jaw tightened. Underneath the picture, the ink spelled it all out:

“Wanted for Slavery, Smuggling, Rape, & Role as Gangplank’s First Mate.

Alive: 20,000 krakens. Dead: 10,000.”

His hand twitched towards the Force Edge on his back.

“Garrick Slade…” he muttered, tasting the name like venom.

For the first time in years, the faceless nightmare from his youth wasn’t just a memory… It was a man he could hunt.

Dante ripped the bounty poster clean off the board, crumpling the parchment in his fist. A broker at the nearby table, a ratty man with gold teeth, cocked his head.

“Interested in the bounty, stranger?”

Dante didn’t even look at him, just shoved the poster into his coat. 

“It ain’t about the money. That mark on his cheek…” he jabbed at his own tattooed face, “…is all the reason I need.”

The broker gave a knowing grin, leaning back in his chair. “Careful. You’re not the only one after him. Miss Fortune’s already set her sights on him and his lot.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Lot?”

“Aye,” the man nodded. “That crew calls themselves the Drowned Knaves. Ghosts, really. What’s left of Gangplank’s boys that wouldn’t kneel to Fortune after she took his crown. They don’t fly colors, they don’t stick to one port. When they show up, it’s blood and ash, then they vanish again.”

“Where?” Dante’s voice was sharp.

The broker shrugged. “Best places to catch their scent are the graveyard shoals, Dead Man’s Crest, or the old powder docks. But finding ‘em?” 

He clicked his tongue. “Like chasing smoke. They’ll find you before you find them.”

Dante smirked darkly, hand brushing Ivory’s grip. “Good. Saves me the trouble.”

Dante held the bounty poster tight with the other, his voice a low growl. “If I’m going hunting, I need more than names. Tell me about the crew. Who’s still left?”

The broker licked his lips, weighing how much information to sell. Then the gold-toothed grin came back. “You’re serious then. Alright. The Drowned Knaves ain’t just cutthroats. They’ve each carved themselves a place.” 

He leaned closer, lowering his voice:

• Karn “Ironjaw” Veyle – the brute, Gangplank’s old enforcer. Lost half his face to a powder blast, wears a steel jaw bolted into his skull. Breaks bones for fun.
• Marra “Red Tide” Korrin – their navigator. Knows every reef and current around the Serpent Isles. They say she once led a ship blind through a hurricane by “listening to the waves.”
• Tallow and Pike – twins. Hitmen, knife-throwers, executioners. Don’t speak much, but folks swear they finish each other’s sentences… when they do speak.
• Brask the Cinder – ship’s gunner. Burned to hell during Gangplank’s fall, now half his body’s leathered scar tissue. Smells like smoke everywhere he goes.
• And their captain… Garrick Slade. The one on your poster. Gangplank’s hound. He was there when they branded you, wasn’t he?

The broker shrugged. “They’ve got no home but the sea. Hit-and-run, strike at supply lines, vanish into the shoals. You’ll need more than luck to catch ‘em.”

Dante turned, shoving the poster into his coat. “I don’t need luck. Just a trail.” 

He left without another word, boots heavy on the wood as the cellar door shut behind him.

At a far table, half-shrouded in the pipe smoke and dim lamplight, a man set down his tankard. His eyes followed Dante until the door closed. Scar across his brow, jaw set hard, he knew that white hair, that posture. He was one of Miss Fortune’s men, pushed back from the table.

“She’s gonna want to know about this…” he muttered, slipping out into the night to report.

SARAH:

The man pushed through the door to Miss Fortune’s office, the faint reek of powder and salt still clinging to his coat. Fortune sat behind her desk, cleaning one of her glass with a cloth that shimmered faintly with the light from the oil lamps that threw fire into her red hair.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

The man swallowed. “I’ve news. Big news.”

That finally made her glance at him. Her green eyes sharpened like a blade’s edge. “Well, out with it.”

He shifted uncomfortably before blurting, “It’s him. Dante. Saw him in Bobby’s. Tore down Slade’s bounty with his own hand. Said it wasn’t about the coin. He’s coming for revenge.”

For a heartbeat, the room went still. Miss Fortune’s hands stilled on a bottle of liquor. Slowly, a smile crept across her lips. It was thin, dangerous, and laced with something more.

“Five years,” she breathed, leaning back in her chair. 

“Five years gone, and he comes crawling out of the grave like a ghost. My first mistake.” She let the word linger bitterly, tasting the weight of it.

The man cleared his throat. “Didn’t see him with anyone. Just him. That blue haired girl you heard about last night wasn’t with him.”

The smile vanished. Fortune’s jaw tightened, her fingers curling around the pistol grip. “So. He’s running solo again.” 

She stood up, sipping some of the liquor. “Seems Dante’s forgotten the last time we crossed paths. Or maybe he thinks the years made me softer. He’s wrong.”

Fortune smirked. “Speaking of… it’s about time I paid Nell a visit. My guns may be sharp, but I want them sharper. If Dante’s back in my waters, then it’s time I remind him what happened on our last night together.”

Her boots clicked against the wooden floor as she walked past, her coat flaring with the movement. “You should go back to your kids, Grue. They always need a father. Trust me.”

———

The workshop smelled of oil, powder, and steel. Nell Goldstein wiped her hands on a rag, her weathered face betraying nothing as the bell above the door chimed.

Miss Fortune stepped in like she owned the place. Red hair blazing in the lamplight and eyes sharper than any blade. And Nell knew this visit was personal.

“Afternoon, Nell,” Fortune said smoothly. “It’s been a long while.”

Nell gave her a curt nod. “You came for your guns.”

Fortune smiled, a smile as dangerous as it was charming. “You always did know me too well.”

Without a word, Nell turned, pulled open a drawer, and set the polished pistols on the counter. The steel gleamed, the balance was perfect. Fortune picked one up, spinning it with a familiar flourish before aiming it at the ceiling and twirling it back into its holster.

“Still the best,” she murmured, genuine gratitude threading her voice. “Bilgewater would eat itself alive without your craft, Nell.”

“Bilgewater eats itself just fine,” Nell said dryly, leaning back on the counter. “My work just makes sure some live long enough to see it.”

Fortune chuckled, then her eyes flicked past Nell, landing on a blue haired girl crouched by a workbench, tinkering with something small and mechanical. Blue hair spilled down her face with a purple streak across and a subtle trace of red on the thick hair bang that covered her right side of the face. 

The air shifted. Fortune tilted her head, curiosity and something sharper dancing in her eyes. “Well now… don’t believe we’ve met. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Jinx froze, her wide eyes flashing up from blue to demonic pink in less than a second. For a heartbeat, she looked ready to crack one of her usual wild jokes. But before she could speak, Nell cut in.

“This is Juniper,” Nell said firmly, voice steady as an anchor. “My niece. Visiting from out of town. Handy with tools, but green as spring grass.”

Fortune’s gaze lingered on Jinx. A little too long, too knowing. But she didn’t press. Instead, she smirked and looked back at Nell. “Juniper, is it? Cute. Reminds me of a girl I used to know.”

Nell crossed her arms, her eyes like flint. “Reminds me of someone too. Someone who came into my shop once, bleeding and broken. Someone I patched up and sent back into the fight when the world thought she was finished.”

That stopped Fortune cold. The smile faltered for half a second. Then she inclined her head. “Fair enough. I don’t forget debts, Nell. You saved me once. I won’t raise steel under your roof. Never will.”

She holstered both pistols, her tone softening, though her eyes never lost their edge. “Keep her close, Nell. Bilgewater’s waters aren’t kind to… girls. We both found out that in the hard way.”

With that, she turned on her heel, coat swishing behind her, and left. The bell chimed again as the door closed. Only then did Jinx exhale, her hand twitching toward the half-built bomb on the bench.

“Juniper?” She hissed. “That’s the best you could do?”

Nell shot her a look sharp enough to cut. “Better than you blurting out Jinx, girl. Fortune’s not stupid. She smells blood in the water. Best pray she doesn’t smell yours.”

“Fortune?” Jinx blinked. “That’s her name? Who the hell is she?”

Nell turned back to her tools, voice flat but edged. “Best if Dante’s the one to tell you.”

“What? Wait… he’s been gone for hours!” Jinx started walking towards the door, but Nell didn’t even look up.

“He’s fine,” she said simply, striking the hammer once against metal. “Trust me. He’ll be back.”

DANTE:

The dockside stank of brine and blood. Dante leaned against a rotted piling, eyes narrowed. The tide rolled in sluggish and thick, carrying whispers of old battles and older grudges. And there they were. A cluster of them, Drowned Knaves, slipping out from a busted tavern door. Four, maybe five. Not the full pack, but enough to get the blood moving. One of them was easily  recognizable to Dante. Which made him tighten his jaw.

“Iron Jaw…” Dante muttered under his breath. The name alone tasted bitter. The familiar warmth stirred in his veins, demonic power begging to be let loose, to end this in a flash of red and ruin. His grip flexed on the Force Edge’s hilt, but he stopped.

“Nah. Too easy.” A crooked grin slid across his face. “This one’s personal. I’ll keep the tricks in the box.”

The Knaves hadn’t spotted him yet, busy laughing and jostling, their voices hoarse with rum. Dante pushed off the piling, slow, deliberate, like a predator stepping into the open. His boots thudded against the dock planks, drawing their eyes one by one.

“Evenin’, boys,” he drawled, voice low and edged with mockery. “Don’t suppose one of you can point me to your captain. Got some… unfinished business with him.”

They froze, then one of them, a wiry thug with a broken nose sneered at Dante. “Who the hell’re you?”

Dante’s smirk widened. His hand dropped lazily to his back, brushing the Force Edge’s pommel, but he didn’t draw yet. “Just a ghost lookin’ to settle his tab.”

The Knaves laughed at first, thinking Dante was some drunk stumbling into the wrong crowd. That laughter died quickly.

The first swung a rust-pitted cutlass. Dante slipped under it, shoulder-checked the man so hard he cracked through a crate, then snapped the cutlass clean out of his hands. Another came at him with a belaying pin. Dante caught the swing with his forearm, grimaced at the sting, then drove his fist into the thug’s gut hard enough to make him vomit on the planks. They swarmed, snarling, cursing. But Dante was a blur of raw, practiced violence. No flashy tricks, no red glow of demonic rage. It was just fists, boots, elbows, and the kind of precision you only get from brawling your way through half the world. A knee shattered one’s jaw. Another caught Force Edge’s pommel between the eyes and went down twitching.

When the dust cleared, one was left.

Karn “Ironjaw” Veyle. Was definitely bigger than the others, teeth glinting with gold caps, the infamous brand of Bilgewater burned into his cheek like Dante’s own. He spat blood and squared his shoulders.

“You…” Karn’s voice was thick, guttural. “Didn’t think you’d crawl outta the pits we put you in. Thought you died when Gangplank fell.”

Dante’s smirk vanished. He stepped forward, and the smile was replaced with something darker. He let Ironjaw throw the first punch. It was a wide, clumsy haymaker that Dante caught mid-swing. With a grunt, he twisted Karn’s arm, slammed him into a piling, then buried his fist into the man’s ribs again and again until the wood cracked behind him.

Ironjaw tried to bite, his teeth flashing toward Dante’s hand, but Dante drove his skull into the dock with a brutal headbutt. Karn reeled, half-conscious, coughing blood.

Dante crouched, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him with frightening ease. His voice was low, flat, and dangerous. “You remember me, don’t you? Kid with the collar. The one you thought you broke.”

Karn spat red in his face. “Shoulda… stay… down there.”

Dante slammed him again, hard enough the boards groaned. “Yeah, but you didn’t. Which means now you get to do me a favor.” 

He leaned close, voice sharp as a blade. “Where’s Slade?”

Karn coughed, tried to keep his bravado, but Dante pressed harder, knuckles grinding into his bruised ribs until his resolve cracked.

“Slade’s… west. Shadow Isles,” Karn wheezed. “Don’t stick in one port long. Too many eyes. Got his crew with him. Marra Red Tide… navigator. Can find you in any storm. Twins. Tallow and Pike. Don’t blink around ‘em, they’ll put steel in your throat before you finish breathin’, they’re somewhere in the city getting supplies. Brask the Cinder, runs the guns… bastard’s more fire than man these days.”

“And Slade himself?” Dante asked, his tone more growl than words.

Karn’s eyes flickered. “He was Gangplank’s dog. We all were. But he was the cruelest. He won’t stop ‘til he burns Bilgewater down and builds it back in the old man’s name.”

“Yeah, I know all that. Well except…” Dante circled him like a tide tightening. “You said the twins are somewhere in the city. Where exactly?”

Karn spat, venomous and stubborn. “I’m fucking dead already. What do you care if I tell you?”

Dante crouched down once more, the flat of Force Edge pressed against Karn’s jaw as if it were a question. 

“Because I can make it quick.” His voice was soft, but something under it hummed in a low current that prickled the air.

“Or you can make it worse. What the hell are you…?” Karn rasped, fear finally breaking through bravado.

Dante’s eyes flared crimson. For a moment the docklight caught him wrong and he looked less like a man and more like something coiled and ready. 

“This is your last chance,” he said coldly. 

Karn shook his head. “I’m not giving up my people.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. He thought of the mercury ink making first contact into his bruised skin under Gangplank’s flagship, the branding that had once marked him. Memory and muscle moved together. With a sneer, he swung the blunt side of Force Edge into Karn’s skull. The first blow landed with a sick, hollow thud. Karn slumped, defiant breath coming ragged and shallow. Dante didn’t want to kill him… not yet. But he hit again, harder, each strike a punctuation of intent rather than mercy. The wooden planks drank the sound.

VIOLET:

The polished street that led to the Council Building still smelled faintly of smoke. The ghost of Ambessa’s siege lingering in the marble and stone. Vi’s boots thudded against the floor beside Caitlyn’s quieter steps as they escorted Arius and his masked assistant down the street. The man didn’t so much walk as glide, each motion deliberate, his white suit untouched by the city’s war-torn grime.

“So,” Vi began, breaking the silence, “you’re the big shot who says he can fix what’s left of Piltover, huh?”

Arius didn’t look at her. His gaze drifted instead along the hall’s architecture, the cracked walls, the patched banners. 

“Fix is a humble word,” he said smoothly, voice rich with old-world charm. “I prefer to think of it as… restoring beauty to something that’s forgotten how to be proud.”

Caitlyn, ever the diplomat, stepped in before Vi’s frown deepened. “We appreciate your company’s willingness to help, Mister Arius. With Jayce gone and the Hextech network in shambles, the Council is… receptive to external aid.”

Arius smiled faintly, eyes finally cutting toward her. “Ah, Commander Kiramman. Always the voice of reason amid the rubble.” 

His gaze slid to Vi, tone shifting with surgical precision. “And the muscle that keeps that reason alive. A charming balance. Piltover’s finest from what I heard.”

Vi snorted. “Cute. Are you always this smooth, or just when you’re trying to sell something?”

His smirk didn’t falter. “I don’t sell, my dear. I invest. And I only invest in things that endure. Piltover, for all its scars, still endures. That makes it valuable.”

The masked assistant, who was silent till now, leaned slightly toward Arius, murmuring something too low to catch. Arius nodded once, then glanced back at Vi. “Tell me, Enforcer, what do you think the city needs most? Stronger walls? Better weapons?”

“Less people like you,” Vi said flatly.

Caitlyn shot her a quick look, her tone measured but tight. “What my partner means is that Piltover’s had its share of… opportunists lately. A Noxian general came here out of pity to take down one of Zaun's heroes. She allied herself with a man who wanted to permanently change everyone, using the once gracious Hexgates that are currently offline.” 

Arius chuckled softly. “And yet, opportunity is what built this city, wasn’t it?” 

He paused at the Council Chamber building, letting his gloved hand rest lightly against the handle. “Progress is never gentle, Commander. It always costs someone their comfort.”

He turned slightly toward them, eyes sharp behind his calm. “The question is… are you willing to pay that cost again?”

Before Vi could answer, the doors opened, and the assistant led Arius into the building. Caitlyn’s hand brushed Vi’s arm, a silent reminder to hold her temper as Arius strode forward,  already looking like he owned the room.

DANTE:

Tallow stirred awake to the taste of iron and dust, a low groan slipping from his throat. His head throbbed, blood dripping down into one eye. The room around him was dim and smelled like rust, salt, and sweat. Chains rattled when he tried to move. That’s when he heard it. That wet, ugly sound, followed by a muffled cry. Pike’s cry to be specific.

His twin was slumped in a chair across the room, face swollen and slick with blood. Dante stood over him, knuckles red, breathing heavy but calm. He’d been at this a while. The floor beneath them was painted with streaks of crimson.

“Leave him alone,” Tallow croaked, his voice cracking.

Dante didn’t even look at him. “You’re next.”

He reached down, pulled a knife from his belt, and twirled it once in his hand before setting his eyes back on Pike.

“Please,” Pike wheezed. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dante’s expression didn’t change. He drove the knife straight into Pike’s knee.

“FUCK!” Pike screamed, the echo bouncing off the steel walls.

Tallow jerked against his restraints. “BY THE GODS!”

Dante didn’t stop. He grabbed Pike by the hair and yanked his head up until their eyes met. Pike was shaking, blood pooling beneath the chair.

“He can’t help you,” Dante said low, steady. “You focus right here, on me… or I’ll do the same thing I did to Gangplank before the old bastard learned to scream in silence. Understand?”

Pike’s eyes widened. He nodded frantically.

“Good.” Dante’s tone softened, but the calm was worse than anger. “Now, let’s talk business. I know you two have been loading up supplies for something big. Heard Brask’s name. Heard he’s got the ‘good stuff.’” 

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a growl. “What is it and where?”

Pike hesitated, teeth chattering. That was a mistake. Dante twisted the knife. Slowly. Blood bubbled out through the torn fabric of Pike’s pants. His scream filled the room again, raw and broken.

“Start talking,” Dante said, eyes glowing faintly red now, the demon in him scratching at the surface, but he kept it chained. “Or the next one goes through the other leg.”

“Brask is getting weapons!” Pike blurted out between gasps, his voice ragged and wet with pain. “To take down ships, buildings, and everything! We’re gonna take Bilgewater back in our captain’s name… from that whore, Fortune!”

Dante’s expression darkened instantly. His hand moved before his mind did. The knife plunged into Pike’s other leg with a wet crunch. Pike’s scream rattled the walls.

“Watch your mouth,” Dante growled, his tone razor-cold. “You don’t talk about her like that.”

Sure, he and Sarah had burned every bridge between them, but respect still smoldered in the ashes.

“WHERE!” He barked, voice echoing through the cramped space.

“I—I—” Pike stammered, trembling.

Dante didn’t wait. He cracked him across the face with a vicious punch, knocking a tooth loose. Then he reached into his coat, pulling out a worn, folded map of Bilgewater, the entire isle, from the mainland docks to the fogged reefs. He ripped the knife free from Pike’s knee, flipping it backward and shoving the bloodied hilt into the man’s mouth. The blade’s tip gleamed red in the low light.

“You’re gonna point,” Dante said flatly. “Show me where we are… and where your little stockpile’s hiding. And it better be the same spot your brother picks.”

Pike’s chest heaved, eyes wide and glistening. He hesitated, then finally tilted the knife, the tip scratching over the parchment before tapping a small inlet on the southern edge of the island. His blood smeared the coastline.

“That’s it,” Pike panted, spitting the knife out as it clattered to the floor. “That’s where Brask is getting the weapons. I swear to the gods… go ask him yourself, he’ll—he’ll tell you—”

He didn’t finish. Dante caught the knife, flipped it once in his hand, and drove it into Pike’s gut. The air left him in a gurgle.

Tallow screamed. “No! NO! You bastard! He told you! He told you what you wanted!”

Dante didn’t respond. He withdrew the knife, wiping it on Pike’s shirt, then turned toward Tallow. His steps were slow, deliberate. The steel of the Force Edge slid free from its sheath with a whispering hum.

“Why?” Tallow snarled through tears. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

Dante looked him dead in the eye. His expression was unreadable. “Because,” he said quietly, raising the blade, “I believe him.”

The sword came down in a clean, brutal arc. Tallow’s body slumped forward, head rolling against the stone floor. Dante stood there for a moment, breathing steady but heavy. He looked at the two corpses, the map smeared with blood between them, and muttered under his breath.

“Three down.”

SARAH:

The night air in Bilgewater was heavy with salt and blood. The kind of scent that clung to your lungs, that no perfume or prayer could ever wash away.

Sarah Fortune walked through the alleyway in silence, her boots clicking over wet cobblestone, her crimson coat catching the flicker of the torchlight. The enforcers she brought with her earlier were long gone. She’d sent them away the moment she saw the first corpse. Karn “Ironjaw” Veyle, or what was left of him anyway, sat slumped against the wall of a gutted fishhouse. His jaw, the one that gave him his name was shattered, split down the middle like a cracked anchor. Was this a clean kill? No. This was personal.

Miss Fortune crouched, her gloved hand brushing his shoulder. The blood was dried. Dante had been here hours ago. She didn’t need anyone to tell her. She knew the rhythm of his violence, the way his trail read like a love letter written in rage.

“…You always did like to leave a message, didn’t you, little stray?” She muttered under her breath. 

She followed the path farther inland. It was an hour-long walk until she reached the alleys, down to an old warehouse by the docks. Two more bodies there. The twins. What was left of them. Pike stuck in a chair and his body was broken from mutual torture. His blood painted the floorboards in black streaks, thick and clotted. His brother’s head sat a few feet away, eyes still wide open.

She stepped carefully through the room, her eyes scanning the scene, the faintest trace of sadness brushing her face.

“Three generals gone…” she whispered. “And all of them were Gangplank’s bastards back in the day.”

The corners of her lips curled into something between a smirk and a sigh. “Guess you’re cleaning house, huh, Dante?”

She reached down, picking up the blood-stained knife Dante had left behind. Familiar. The same make she’d seen him carry when he first came to Bilgewater, back when he was still young, hungry, reckless, way before he became something worse.

Her reflection shimmered on the blade.

“You always had a flair for overkill,” she murmured, voice soft and edged. “But this… this feels different.”

She slid the knife into her coat pocket, standing up straight.

“Three down,” she counted quietly, pacing toward the open window that looked out toward the sea. “That leaves Brask, Marra… and Slade.”

Her gaze sharpened at the last name. From the rat who’d escaped her purge, who’d stolen half her ships when she’d taken Gangplank’s throne. Now Dante was hunting him too.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “So that’s what you’re up to, little stray. You’re coming after the ghosts I never finished.”

She turned to leave, pausing once more to glance back at the blood-soaked room. The light from the docks shimmered across the water, painting her face in gold and crimson.

“You’re either saving my city,” she said softly, “or burning it for me.”

With that, Miss Fortune holstered the pistol she had on her hand and stepped out into the night, alone, the door closing behind her with a whisper that sounded almost like a sigh.

DANTE:

Dante walked along the narrow cliffs overlooking the docks, the salty air biting against his face. The old map crinkled in his hand, stained and worn, three names already crossed out in dark, dried blood. 

‘Oh, Father, tell me

Do we get what we deserve?

Oh, we get what we deserve”

Karn Veyle 

Tallow & Pike 

He’d been on the hunt for nearly a full day now. No sleep. No food. Just the rhythmic pulse of revenge pushing him forward. His boots scraped against the wet stone as he paused near the edge, gazing down at the rows of ships rocking in the water below. Somewhere out there, Brask the Cinder was hiding. The bastard was the next name on his list. He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Hell of a vacation, huh?” He muttered to himself.

But his thoughts kept drifting. Not to the fight ahead, but to Jinx.

She was probably still holed up in Nell’s workshop, talking a mile a minute while tinkering with something dangerous and half-finished. Maybe Nell was humoring her, pretending not to be amused by her chaos.

“Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark

Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall

And they will run you down, down to your core

Yeah, so you can't crawl no more”

He hated leaving her there. Hated it more than the smell of the docks or the blood on his hands. But he couldn’t let her see this side of him, the violent human one. The one that got messy, ugly, personal. Killing demons? That was easy. They were monsters. But this… hunting men, breaking them down piece by piece, there was nothing righteous about it. And yeah, sure, he’d killed humans before. Noxians. Enforcers. But they wore masks, uniforms, and had actual ideologies. It was easier that way, easier to pretend they weren’t just men.

“Way down we go, go, go, go, go

Oh, way down we go

Say way down we go, ooh

Way down we go”

He looked down at the map again, tracing the next mark with his thumb. Brask’s hideout wasn’t far now. The air already smelled faintly of smoke.

“Guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way,” Dante muttered, folding the map and tucking it into his coat.

The sea wind ruffled his white hair as he adjusted the Force Edge across his back, the weapon’s weight familiar and grounding. He took one last glance toward the horizon, towards the direction that Nell’s workshop was located and he hoped Jinx still was. But Dante pressed forward, stepping into the dark streets ahead.

“She doesn’t need to see this part,” he said under his breath. “Nobody does.”

Dante moved like a shadow cutting through fog. Every step was deliberate, his boots sinking silently into damp planks slick with sea mist. His crimson coat, usually a flag for trouble, now drawn close and muted in the dim light. Above him, the sound of rain began to patter, it was soft at first, then steady. It drowned out the small noises he made as he climbed up the rope-lashed scaffolding, where the first lookout stood.

The man leaned lazily on a spear gun, yawning into the dark. He didn’t even see Dante until the half-devil was behind him, one arm snapping around his neck, the other pressing the barrel of the man’s own pistol against his ribs.

Click.

“Nighty-night, asshole.” Dante whispered. A quick twist with pure silence, and nothing short but efficient. The body slumped forward, caught by Dante before it hit the deck. He lowered it gently, then melted back into the storm.

He scaled up to the next level, muscles moving in rhythm with the creak of the ropes. The second lookout was a wiry woman with a long musket and she was scanning the docks below, muttering to herself. Dante crouched behind a stack of cannonballs, drew Ivory, and waited for thunder.

When the next flash of lightning hit, his pistol fired. One clean shot, right through her scope, right through her eye. The thunder swallowed the gunshot.

“Two down,” he murmured, holstering the gun.

From here he could see the third. The main watch, standing atop a half-rotted mast. The man’s lantern swung back and forth, casting a beam over the planks where Brask barked orders below. Dante waited for the rotation, then sprinted up the mast like a streak of crimson.

The lookout barely had time to gasp before Dante’s foot smashed into his chest. The body tumbled soundlessly into the sea below, vanishing beneath the waves. Lightning flashed again  and Dante was already gone, slipping between the rigging.

“Three down, two to go.” Dante whispered to himself.

The next two guards were together, chatting under a tarp beside a powder crate. Dante dropped from the ropes, landing in a crouch behind them. They turned at the thud, but all they saw was a blur with a flash of steel, a grunt, and then nothing.

When Dante stepped out from under the tarp, both men lay silent, blood mixing with rainwater running off the deck. He exhaled, straightening. The storm around him was building, wind tugging at his coat. The scent of salt and gunpowder thick in the air.

“Could’ve gone loud,” he muttered, glancing at the ship’s hold. “But cutting off the head’s faster.”

He withdrew the Force Edge, the blade humming faintly with restrained power. Its reflection caught the lightning, glowing for a heartbeat before vanishing again. Brask was down below, still shouting orders and completely unaware that every lookout he trusted was now dead. Dante started walking toward him, boots echoing on the wet planks. Each step was deliberate. Calm. Controlled.

“Good thing I’m fast,” he muttered under his breath as the rain poured harder. “Otherwise this would take all night.”

Brask’s fingers paused over the ledger, the glow of a lantern throwing his scarred face into hard relief. He didn’t look up until the boots stopped in the threshold in a slow, steady way, like rain. When he did, the single good eye widened.

“You—” he rasped. Recognition hit like an old wound. “You’re that runt—”

Dante didn’t bother with greetings. He stepped into the puddled lamplight, the rain spitting at his coat. “Karn, Tallow, Pike. Three down tonight.” 

His voice was flat. “Are you happy that your buddies are in hell?”

Brask’s laugh was a dry rasp. “You lie about that and I’ll—”

“It’s true.” Dante moved closer, the muzzle of Ivory catching the light as he slicked it free. “Now tell me about the two left. Where do Marra and Slade sleep? Where’s the stash? Make it clean and fast for both of us.”

Brask’s jaw worked. He spat black phlegm and gave a bitter shrug. “You want names, you want maps… you want ghosts. Marra ‘Red Tide’ she and Slade, they—” 

He hesitated, then spat, “They are always sleeping together nowadays. Close as shadows. If you want one, you’ll find the other.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Where exactly? Shadow Isle? Tell me where in the Shadow Isle they hole up.”

Brask’s face tightened. He shook his head. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit. Slade doesn’t keep the same harbor twice. You think I’d print a map for you?”

Without a word, the pirate pulled a hidden knife, lunging with the last scrap of bravado he had. It was a desperate, ugly move. Dante didn’t need to step aside, he didn’t bother. Ivory barked once, the report cracking the night like a whip. Brask staggered, the knife clattering from his hand. He went down before he hit the timbers, a sudden slump and a quiet that felt too loud.

The gunshot echoed across the hold and out into the rain. It carried enough sharpness to make the nearest loaders freeze, to make the lanterns sway. Dante stood over him for a second, breathing even. 

“Fucking idiot…” Dante whispered to himself. 

Footsteps thudded against the planks. Too many to count and too close. Dante’s jaw tightened. He didn’t wait to see who was coming. With a motion so quick it blurred, he swept the room. With the speed of sound, the crates spilled powder, his hands worked like a surgeon’s, rifling pockets, flipping manifest pages, sliding open a locked tin. A slip of folded parchment stuck under Brask’s boot caught his eye; he plucked it free before the newcomer reached the threshold.

Under the lamplight, the map spread out: Dark ink, crude hand-drawn coastlines, and red crosses marking moorings and hidden inlets. Two spots had been circled again and again, a patch of small harbors on Shadow Isle where a longship’s silhouette had been sketched in the margin. Beside each sketch, a scrawled name: Marra “Red Tide” Korrin and Garrick Slade. A crude arrow pointed from the lampworks south to the Shadow Isle.

Dante folded the map, tucking it into the pocket over his heart. He could feel the tremor in the docks, the way men close their mouths a little tighter when predators prowl. With now four of Slade’s captains already carved into the tide, fear would spread like oil. It wouldn’t be long before the crew fractured, cowardice outpacing loyalty.

He straightened as the boots reached the hold’s entrance. Rain beaded on his coat. The hunter in him tasted the edge of advantage. The map fit warm against his ribs; the hunt had a name and two places. Now it was only a matter of going and taking them.

Ivory was steady in Dante’s hand as he slipped through the shadows, boots silent on wet planks. The smell of gunpowder and salt hung heavy in the air. He was almost clear… until that voice cut through the night.

“You can stop right there, little stray.” That voice. Smooth. Seductive. Sharp enough to draw blood with a whisper.

Dante immediately froze. But he didn’t need to turn to know who it was. He could hear her smile in every word.

“Wouldn’t make me use this, would you?” Sarah Fortune’s boots clicked closer, slow and deliberate, like a cat toying with a mouse she already caught.

Dante sighed and raised his hands, slipping Ivory from his grip, letting it clatter onto the dock. “You’d think after five years, you’d open with a hug, Red.”

Her smirk was audible. “Five years, and you’re still running your mouth. That’s comforting, at least.”

He finally turned, just enough to catch her out of the corner of his eye. The dark coat, gold trim, pistols gleaming under the lantern light. For a moment, she almost looked like the ghost of a dream.

Without warning, he spun. His hand flashed out, smacking her pistol aside. She fired, the shot sparking harmlessly into the planks as he closed the distance. She went for a kick, he caught her leg. She swung,  he blocked, twisting her wrist until she lost balance. The knife she’d once gifted him was already in his hand, the blade cold against her throat.

“Try using knives next time,” he muttered, breathing close to her ear. “Better for close encounters.”

Sarah glanced down at the blade, then up at him. Her lips curved, half amusement, half challenge. 

“Not a bad move. Very smooth,” she said softly. “You’ve gotten better since last time we saw each other."

Dante eased off, slipping the knife back into his belt before stooping to retrieve Ivory. “I’ve gotten better teachers than just a sexy gunslinger.”

Sarah straightened her coat, eyes glinting beneath her hat as she walked past him. “Then here’s one last lesson from your so-called ‘sexy gunslinger’: leave this path of vengeance. Bilgewater’s mine now. My fight. You walk away, and maybe, just maybe… you’ll get that reunion I’ve dreamed about.”

Dante’s smile faded. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after everything?”

“Didn’t think so,” she said, already turning. “But hey, it was worth a try.”

She drew her other pistol, quicker than a blink.

BANG!