Chapter Text
Something was wrong.
Sevika can feel it deep in her bones ever since that brutal fight with Vi and the Kiramman girl down in the ventilation system.
The strange energy from that enforcer’s damn hex gun had done more damage than she initially realized. It had immobilized her just long enough for them to get the upper hand—enough to nearly knock her out.
And now, its effects are still lingering, gnawing at her from the inside out.
After barely managing to escape with Jinx and Isha back to the relative safety of their hideout, Sevika had left them to tend to each other while she headed to her place.
She needed her own space—solitude—to figure out what the hell was happening to her body.
The moment she stepped into her dimly lit apartment, a sharp, searing pain flared up from her side, making her grunt in frustration. Her hand presses against her ribs in a futile attempt to dull the pain, but it did little against the occasional jolts of energy that shoots through her like a storm surging inside her veins.
When she shoves her shoulder against the bathroom door to force it open, a particularly powerful surge of energy courses through her entire body.
The pain was so intense, so raw, that it ripped a strangled cry from her throat—an inhuman sound that echoed off the old walls.
Her voice sounded wrong, distorted, almost like it wasn’t her own.
She stumbles forward, collapsing against the sink, gripping its edges for dear life. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as the aftershocks pulses through her system, sending tremors across her muscles.
Heaving a shaky breath to steady herself, she lifts her head slowly, eyes settling on the cracked mirror before her—its shattered surface still bearing the imprint of her fist from years ago.
Her face, typically hardened and indifferent, now looked even more haunted.
The old scar running across her cheek glows faintly with the usual ominous blue tint, a relic of that explosion years ago while her eyes glints with a toxic, iridescent purple, courtesy of the shimmer she had pumped into her bloodstream just to escape that damn fight.
She looked every bit the monster that those scums in Piltover whispered about in hushed tones whenever they talked about Zaun and its people.
A creature forged in steel and smoke, drowned in chemicals and radiation, something unnatural.
Something fearful.
Her hands curl into fists.
Or rather, one hand clenches the sink’s edge in frustration, while her metal prosthetic digs into the porcelain, cracking it effortlessly.
The sound of breaking ceramic barely registers over the pounding in her ears.
Sevika takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to push down the wave of self-loathing rising in her chest.
She’d lost too much—too many pieces of herself, too many people—to become this.
To become someone who has the strength to survive and fight for change.
Though sometimes she wonders if the cost of what—of who—she lost was worth it.
A brief memory flickers in her mind.
A face, a voice—someone she had buried deep and forced herself to forget.
But before she can grasp onto the nostalgia of it, another agonizing jolt of energy surges through her, stealing the breath from her lungs.
She grits her teeth, her entire body trembling. And then she sees it.
In the mirror, distorted waves of color flicker around her—faint, shifting iridescent auras of yellow and blue, warping and twisting her reflection.
Her heart pounds as her figure in the glass seems to blur, as if reality itself was bending. The pressure builds inside her chest, unbearable, until finally, a scream is torn from her lips.
She slams her eyes shut, desperate to block it all out.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, the pain vanishes.
Her eyes snap open, and what she sees in the now pristine mirror makes her stumble back in shock, slamming against the wall behind her.
The reflection staring back at her was…her.
And yet, it wasn’t.
Her hair is shorter—neatly trimmed, styled with intention, not the wild mess she usually leaves it in.
Her expression is softer, not filled with lines of exhaustion while her usual hardened eyes are replaced by something calmer.
But the thing that rattles her most?
The scar that should’ve marred her cheek is gone. Smooth, unblemished skin stare back at her, mocking her.
Trembling, she raises a tentative hand to touch her face, brushing her fingers against the unfamiliar smoothness.
And then she freezes, her eyes darting to her hand.
Her left hand.
Her real left hand.
She slowly clenches her fingers, feeling the warmth of her palm, the press of her nails against flesh—sensations she hadn't felt in years.
A shuddering exhale escapes her lips as she stares down at her hand in disbelief.
But then it is the simple gold band on her ring finger that sends the final push for her to spiral.
Her mind reels in panic and confusion as she tries to make sense of what the hell was happening.
“Sevika?”
The call was soft, familiar, and it cut through the fog in her head like a blade.
Her head snaps up toward the bathroom door, her pulse pounding in her ears.
That voice.
It was a voice she thought she’d never hear say her name ever again—a voice she had longed for, craved in the silence of endless nights alone.
Swallowing hard, she takes a hesitant step forward, then another, until she reaches for the handle and pushes the door open.
Her living space stretched out before her, looking both familiar and utterly foreign.
The weightlifting equipment that is usually haphazardly strewn across the floor is now neatly organized against one wall. The curtains, always drawn tight to block out the light, are pulled back, letting in the golden hues of the morning sun.
The air feels warmer, lighter.
The world itself seems...brighter.
“Sevika?”
She turns toward the source of the voice, and there you are.
You stand by the small kitchen table, watching her with an expression of quiet concern.
Your eyes—those same eyes she remembers too well—hold none of the resentment or pain she had come to expect.
Instead, they are filled with something she hadn't seen in a long time: tender warmth and…love.
You step closer, stopping just in front of her.
And for the first time in a long time, Sevika was afraid.
She was afraid to move, afraid that if she did, this moment would shatter just like how the mirror behind her was supposed to be.
Sevika could only stand there and stare at you, her throat too tight to speak.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly, your hand reaching up to cup her cheek.
The touch was grounding, warm, and so painfully real that Sevika found herself leaning into it without thinking.
She lets out a shaky, disbelieving huff, tears threatening to well up in her eyes.
No, she wasn't okay. She didn’t know what was happening, whether this was real or some twisted illusion.
But as she looks into your eyes, as she feels your touch, none of it seems to matter.
Sevika swallows the lump in her throat, nodding slightly.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s okay.”
Because for the first time in years, as she stands in front of you—whole and unbroken—maybe it actually was.
Maybe everything was okay.
Especially when you are looking at her like this—like you used to before she ruined everything between you two.