The door to their home creaked open, revealing a humble but well-kept space. Wooden beams reinforced the walls, the dim glow of a few oil lamps casting soft light over the room. It was small—cozy—but there was warmth here. A place that felt lived in. A place that felt… safe.
The scent of warm stew lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the faint metallic trace of Zaun's atmosphere. A small table with two chairs sat in the corner, papers scattered across it—job listings, blueprints, sketches of gadgets half-dreamed. A worn couch lay against the far wall, patched up with different fabrics, a quilt draped lazily over the backrest.
Powder shut the door behind them, locking it with practiced ease. She turned and leaned against it, arms crossed, grinning like she was barely holding herself together. Her short, vibrant blue hair framed her face perfectly—no uneven cuts, no streaks of dirt. Her eyes… Gods, those eyes. Still that bright, gentle blue, but now shimmering with pride and love.
She let out a breathless laugh. "Don't think I'm over with you yet, rockstar."
Bael, still dazed, glanced around, his eyes landing on a workbench filled with tools—clean, organized—before returning to her. "Yer really something else you know that?"
That's when she pounced—arms around his neck, pressing him against the door. Her lips crashed into his with desperate hunger, raw emotion fueling every movement. She wasn't holding back. Her nails dug slightly into his skin as she pulled him closer, as if she was afraid he'd vanish if she let go.
Her eyes burned with that same fire she had when they were kids—when they swore they'd take on the world together. But this time, it wasn't born from defiance or desperation. It was born from victory.
Bael felt his chest tighten. The weight of her words. Of her love. He placed his hand on her cheek, thumb brushing gently against her skin. "Powder… I swear, I'll give you everything. You and me… No one's taking this from us."
She smirked, tears finally slipping free. "Damn right, they won't."
Powder nestled deeper into Bael's side, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his chest.
"You know…" she started, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but her mind was somewhere far beyond it. "I always dreamed about having a family. A real one. With warmth. With laughter. With little feet running around… ours."
"I don't want just one or two," she continued, her voice picking up, eyes glowing with hope. "I want a house full of them. A whole pack. I want them to fight and scream and break things, but also hug each other when they cry. I want them to know what it feels like to be safe. To be loved. I want them to look at us and know we'll never leave. That we'll never let them feel like… like I did."
Her words hit hard. Bael's chest tightened. He felt the weight of her pain woven into every dream she was sharing. She wasn't just fantasizing about the future—she was rewriting the past she never got to have.
"I want them to have you," she whispered, turning her gaze to him, eyes fierce and tender all at once. "I want them to have a father who would fight the whole damn world for them. Someone strong, someone they'll look up to. And I want them to have me—a mother who will never let them feel alone."
Bael swallowed hard. He wasn't sure if he was ready for this future—this big future she was painting—but he knew one thing: he wanted her. He wanted whatever life she dreamed of, as long as she was in it.
"You serious about all this?" he asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.
Her eyes sharpened, that familiar defiance rising up. "Dead serious. I don't care how hard it is. I'll work every damn day if I have to. I just… I want it, Bael. I want us. And I want them."
Bael exhaled slowly, then smirked, trying to lighten the moment—though his heart was thumping harder than he'd like to admit.
"Well… guess I better make sure I don't screw up this job, huh? Gotta feed that whole army you're planning."
Powder laughed, but there were tears glistening in her eyes. She cupped his face, pulling him into a deep kiss—passionate, but filled with something more. Something permanent. Something real.
"You won't screw up," she whispered against his lips. "We'll build this together. All of it."
Bael wrapped his arms around her, holding her close—holding onto the future they were already starting to build.
...
Bael and Powder went to the last drop afterwards, and there they met the gang.
The Last Drop was lively—rowdy laughter, the clinking of glasses, the heavy thud of boots against the worn wooden floors.
Bael stepped in, eyes wide, taking it all in. This was his first time seeing this version of the infamous bar. It was different—cleaner, more welcoming, but still rough around the edges. Powder led him forward, her hand gripping his tightly, pride glowing on her face.
At a round table near the back, the gang was gathered—Claggor, Mylo, Vi, and Vander. All… alive. All whole.
Bael froze.
Claggor gave a booming laugh at something Mylo said, and Mylo was halfway through mocking him when he noticed Powder and Bael.
"Oi, look who's back! And with the future husband, huh?" Mylo grinned, leaning back in his chair.
Powder grinned smugly, tugging Bael closer. "Damn right! He nailed the job. Told ya he's got what it takes!"
Vander stood, his imposing figure still carrying that fatherly warmth, and clapped Bael on the shoulder—firm, but approving. "Good to see you making a name for yourself, lad. Powder's been hyping you up—glad to see you lived up to it."
Bael could only nod, still absorbing it all. Vi smirked, arms crossed. "Don't screw it up, or I'll break your legs."
Typical.
The laughter around the table was real, the kind that stuck to your ribs and made you feel like you belonged. Bael felt a lump in his throat. This… this was what he always dreamed of. What he thought he'd lost.
And here he was—living it.
The door creaked open again, and Bael glanced over, expecting just another patron. But his breath caught in his throat.
Silco stepped in, his face clean, both eyes sharp and clear—no corruption, no venomous gaze. He looked younger, less worn by pain and madness. Beside him was Benzo, broad-shouldered and relaxed, chatting quietly with Silco like old friends catching up after a long day.
Bael froze.
Silco and Benzo?
Together?
He had to fight the instinct to tense up, but around him, no one flinched. No fear. No tension. Instead, Vander raised a hand and called out with a grin.
"Oi, took you two long enough! Drinks are getting warm!"
Silco chuckled—an actual laugh, not the sharp, mocking tone Bael knew from his own world. There was ease in his steps as he approached, clapping Vander's back like a brother. Benzo greeted the others, giving Powder a warm nod before ruffling Vi's hair.
Bael felt like he was in a dream—or a nightmare. Everything was wrong, but… perfect. This was what they had all wanted back in his reality, wasn't it?
A family.
Together.
Whole.
Powder squeezed his hand again, her voice soft, but playful. "You alright, Bael? You're starin' like you've seen a ghost."
He blinked, forcing a grin. "Nah… just takin' it all in. It's… a lot."
Silco sat down next to Vander, leaning back with a content sigh. "Big day, huh? Heard you landed the job, Bael. Congratulations. Powder's been pestering me about this future wedding of yours nonstop."
Bael laughed, though it was slightly strained. "Yeah… thanks."
Benzo raised his glass. "To Bael! The newest man of progress."
Everyone joined in the cheer, raising their drinks, smiles all around.
Bael raised his glass with them—but beneath his smile, his mind raced.
What the hell is this place?
"I'm counting on you all to be in tonight's party!" Vander exclaims.
Bael whispers to Powder, "There's a... party?" He asks. She says yeah to celebrate his job. It' the first time a Zaunite is given such a high position in Piltover, we're talking inventor alongside Jayce and Viktor
"Yeah, we're gonna party like crazy!"
The voice cut through the cheers—high, energetic, and unmistakable. Bael turned just in time to see a smaller figure swing up onto Benzo's back like it was second nature.
Ekko.
He was younger here—barely into his teens. No scars, no weight of leadership in his eyes. Just that reckless, defiant grin Bael remembered from his own childhood.
Benzo grunted, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. "Get off me, ya little gremlin."
Ekko just cackled, raising a fist in the air. "Bael's movin' up in the world! And we're takin' the party all the way up with him!"
The Last Drop erupted in cheers again, tankards clashing together, the smell of cheap ale and Zaunite stew mixing with the faint burn of chem smoke in the air. It was rough. It was messy.
But it was home.
Bael couldn't help but laugh, the tension in his chest easing—just a bit. Powder's hand was still in his, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. He glanced down at her, catching that fire in her eyes.
She was buzzing with excitement, practically vibrating in place. That edge of wild energy was still there—but it wasn't the chaos of Jinx. It was joy. Pure, untamed joy.
"We're gonna drink 'til we can't stand," Powder whispered with a wicked grin. "Then we're gonna dance anyway. And after that…"
She leaned closer, her lips grazing his ear.
"We'll talk more… about that future."
Bael swallowed hard, his face heating.
Ekko punched his arm, snapping him out of it. "C'mon, big shot! You gotta survive the party before you start dreamin' of tomorrow!"
Bael laughed. "Oh, I'll survive. Question is… will you?"
Ekko narrowed his eyes. "Oh, it's on now."
And just like that, Bael felt it—like he had stepped into something special. Like maybe, just maybe, this place, this life… could be real.