JAWS • DECEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JAWS

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Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

The dream has been coming in waves for those new to Sleep's touch, as a shoreline that never stays still. As a sky that never remembers to include its stars. Beneath it all, there is a voice. Her voice: silk-sweet, coaxing from just beyond the approaching wave that towers like a moving mountain. She tells you to come home. She promises it won't hurt, even if she never tells you what waits beneath. You see the shape just before the dream ends: a massive black tidal wave, yawning wide and black until it looks like a pair of jaws breaking upon you. You don't have time to resist.

You and your veteran Vessels will awaken in water.

There is no surface. No bottom. No sky. No sound but your own heartbeat and the echoes of water being slashed though, dull and endless in the still, frigid dark. You are suspended, weightless— Some may have difficulty to breathe without inhaling water the first few times, while those aligned with the waves will feel it come like second nature. Once you acclimate yourself, you'll notice that around you drift glowing filaments; thin, pulsing threads that coil like jellyfish tendrils, softly luminescent. They curl and twist through the water, and when you look closer, you realize: they show you things. Memories, maybe. Dreams, maybe. Each one unique to your gaze: a hand reaching for yours in the dark, a goodbye that never finished, a face you haven't seen in years. They are what you think love looks like. What you once needed it to be. And when you touch them, they wrap around you, gently, warmly . . . Hungrily— and begin to pull you down.

To ascend into the next level, you must let go. But not everything that binds you wants to be released. The filaments drifting through the water show you what you think love looks like— what you've built it into. They are gentle at first, beautiful even, but the longer you cling, the more they pull.

There are ways to escape them: You may bind your filament with another's and together speak aloud a shared truth: what you believe love really is. If your hearts align or at the very least come to an agreement, the threads dissolve into light and lift you upward. If your beliefs clash or contradict, the threads knot tighter, and something . . . May take interest in you.

Beneath you, something moves. Huge, silent and almost regal. It glides through the deep like a phantom, almost too large to be real. You feel its presence before you see its flash of pearl white and glowing red eyes, three on each side of its face: a shark.

The shark is here to choose its next meal. It smells grief, fear and seeks out trauma most of all. It is drawn to the most unspoken parts of you, the very parts you thought were buried, roused from the tightened ropes of what you crave in your heart. And when it chooses you, it does not bite immediately. It invites, with its jaws opening like a sanctuary and slow towards you.

Inside is I, whispers Sleep. Allow Me to have you whole, and you will be at peace. Show Me love.

Fight against her, or even with your current partner about what love is, and Sleep will open her maw, spilling tendrils from her throat and begin to stalk you. Best be prepared to fight the possessed Megalodon— She will laugh, amused as you do, like a great cat playing with its food. And if you were to be caught, well. You'll wake in the dream's next level with an undeniable prey drive, whether Token or Offering.

She will do anything to keep you here.

NOTES:

• There is no surface visible at first. Light only comes from the filaments. As characters resist, act, or ascend, a faint stained-glass shimmer begins to pulse upward, hinting at the dream's next layer.
• Sound is muffled— speech emerges as bubbles, but meaning travels regardless. Words feel heavy here. Some phrases may literally change the water (turn to light, birth dream-objects, or ripple with tension). You will do better using The Murmur as a means of communication. Luckily you have your mask on!
• The Shark always circles once it senses trouble within you. Sometimes close, sometimes far, but always felt. If characters listen closely, they can hear the echo of One's voice coming from inside it: pleading with a haunted, at times screaming melody.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• The dream bends subtly around Tokens, especially at the whims of an Aquamancer. Walls of pressure open before them, and filaments shift course as if expecting them. This can make their path easier, unless they start to doubt their purpose.
• Tokens perceive emotional resonance as currents in the water such as subtle flows of energy. These can guide them (or others) toward escape paths, or signal when the shark is near.
• When a Token speaks or acts with strong intent, the dream sometimes translates it into a symbolic structure: A word might become a floating glyph. A gesture might alter the filament's shape. A moment of clarity might reveal a hidden path. Other characters can interact with these dream-objects, but they're fragile, unstable, and prone to distortion by doubt.
• The deeper Tokens go, the more they feel themselves pulling apart and begin to experience dual awareness: one part dreaming, one part watching— some may even see flashes of within the shark's belly, and One's voice much louder. The deeper they go, the more detached they become, and the more they lack the ability to act at all.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The shark is more fascinated by Offerings. It circles them often, sensing kinship— or potential. The more monstrous the Offering, the more the shark "pauses' near them, almost curious.
• Offerings feel "the pull" more clearly, particularly Merrows and other aquatic-based Offerings—they can sense where the surface might be, and where the shark intends to strike next. They may even see pulses in the water that others miss, similar to Spider Man's "spidey senses".
• An Offering may experience rapid body changes submerged. Fins may appear, bones may shift, teeth may lengthen without warning and so on. This makes their movement easier or harder, depending on how much of themselves they're holding back or how apt their monstrous forms are at swimming.
• Some Offerings may feel drawn to the shark— not in fear, but in understanding. They may see themselves in it, and vice versa— One's song in particular is hypnotic, and for split moments you may understand his pain through his words. This might make you more prone to being consumed, though, so hopefully your partner can help you out of it—?.

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Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator

The surface you breach is not water— it's glass.

You strike it with the force of falling sky. It fractures beneath you in a bloom of painted light. For one weightless moment, the dream hesitates, sputters. Then the world shatters, and you fall with the cascade.

Water pours through the crack in the ceiling, carrying you down in ribbons of color and a shattering splash. Stained glass shards drift like petals through the now collapsing roof, and you eventually land not in sand, but upon a cathedral floor, slick with tide. Around you, the water spreads, pooling across the stone and swallowing the walls in a rising hush as it finds escape through the doors.

The cathedral is vast, impossibly so. Its architecture towers, crooked and immaculate, built more from longing than stone. No altar awaits you. No congregation. Only the sensation of having trespassed into something meant to be private. Veteran Vessels may recognize this cathedral as St. Patrick's— before it was drenched in One's blood sacrifice.

High above and surrounding you, the stained-glass mosaics churn with captured light. f you linger beneath one of the window's rays, your appearance may begin to change under the light. You appear as someone else sees you. Be it a hero. A monster. A disappointment. A god. A weakness. A temptation. Even a burden. That version of you clings to your dream-body like a second skin; uncomfortable, intimate, and undeniable. For some, it may be beautiful. For others, unbearable.

If you and another stand beneath the same window, you may each appear as the other secretly imagines. There is no control and no negotiation. Only truth twisted through the lens of want, resentment, fear, or love. And it doesn't go away until you leave the light.

Eventually, the cathedral doors open by dream's will. Beyond them lies a cloister garden: narrow paths, pale trees, and wild flowers that bloom in stillness. At the far end, behind the overgrowth and ruined arches, you see a hollow.

It is a corridor where the dream collapses inward, twisting, warped, half-swallowed in fog and dread. Its stones pulse faintly beneath a shallow film of water. Black tendrils reach from its depths like roots, veins, twitching toward sound, warmth, and movement. You see them dragging matter into the earth, and between them lie bones, contorted and fresh, half-consumed.

And farther still, a body that still breathes. Glimpsed only briefly, A masked man's form is stretched by the hollow's gravity, arms pinned behind the veil. He does not move, or speak. Or perhaps, he cannot. The hollow does not let him go and will not, should you make your attempts. If you step foot in the hollows that have consumed him, you too will be consumed. A three eyed Tod sits at the hollow's edge, a single bushy tail splitting into three, as its body plays with illusion like smoke put to dance over fire. It says, as its head floats up and its maw splits into a grin too cheshire to ignore: Wearing shoes, yet no feet in sight. You'll hear steps pound in the death of night. What is it that you need, to cross this narrow blight?

It disappears and only leaves you the riddle to chew on.

Nothing living can cross the hollow, you'll soon find. Nothing except . . . The Nightmares.

Just outside the garden's boundary, you'll find horses built from wind and shadow, flickering at the edge of your vision. Their bodies are black— not the color, but the absence, swallowing all light. Some of their craniums cound be seen, others have a jutting horn of bone from their foreheads. Where eyes should be, there are six: three stacked on each side of the skull, glowing dimly red like distant embers beneath ice. Their manes flow like torn fabric, like drifting vapor that trails behind them like the smoke from a snuffed candle. Their maws are too damn wide to be herbivorous, yet they seem to enjoy the act of grazing. They wait, unchained and wild in a herd.

This is the only way forward. Only they can pass through the hollow untouched. But how to ride one—? You may chase them. You may plead, command, kneel. You may offer them all your need and all your love, promises that you will provide if they become your steed. But they were not made to answer it. For every Vessel, there is one single Nightmare that will choose them, and thus you will choose each other. They have their own personalities, some more aggressive or shyer than others. The harder you reach, the faster they vanish or harshed they will attack if unready. Try to mount one through force, and you'll regret ever trying. Try to bind one, and it will break you.

But if you are patient, if you figure out its nature and how to please it— your Nightmare may come closer. One may circle you. It may bow its head. Their snort is warm and real against your palm. If successful, it will lower itself to its knees. If you've got the height, they will simply wait, patiently, for you to get on their backs (Or not; there are plenty of sassy mares out there).

If you accept, you might not be taken somewhere safe, but you will be taken somewhere true, away from here. And if you force your want upon them, if you cannot let go— you will be left with something else.

In the distance, across the flooded cathedral floor, you may see One again. Flashes, glimpses. Always chasing a mare he never reaches, or the opposite— the mare chases after him.

NOTES:

• If a character successfully forms a bond with their Nightmare, it will return with them in the form of a waking world steed, officially introduced in the next event. You're free to give it the personality you wish.
• If a character attempts to force a connection with a Nightmare at any point (tries to catch, mount, command, etc.), the mare will bite or kick, which Vessels will suffer as a persistent dream-mark that will carry into the waking world.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Light clings unnaturally to Tokens in the cathedral, especially near the stained glass. It bends around their bodies like a false halo, casting them in divine or monstrous outlines depending on who watches.
• If a Token casts or channels any magic within the cathedral or near a Nightmare, the spell does not manifest, but instead, a cold mist escapes their mouth, and the Nightmare turns to look. The dream rejects force.
• When a Nightmare looks directly at a Token, their eyes eclipse, pupils vanishing into rings of shadow. In that moment, a fragmented vision floods the Token's mind . . . not from the Nightmare, but from another character nearby. It shows the Token how that character once dreamed of them, what they feared, needed, or hoped they would become.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The stained glass causes a subtle change in scent and physical appearance turning into a more grotesque version of this— Offerings begin to smell or look like what others most want from them.
• Offerings may always know where the Nightmares are, even when hidden. But the more they try to act on this knowledge, the harder the Nightmares are to reach.
• An Offering's body will react before they realize it, flinching from lies, bristling in moments of emotional pressure, pulling away from contact, and so on. They may startle even at gentle contact, as if something inside them is as reactive as they are.

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Where The Delicate Stops

As your Nightmare takes you through the misty hollow, you may begin to notice the empty city of Manhattan as veterans remember. There is no warning but the eerie silence that surrounds you like impossible weights. The cathedral once behind you folds inward— wrong, deep and full of pressure. It bursts through the hollow's path, through the city's street, and then— The dream ruptures.

Stone peels backward like paper. Glass liquefies mid-air. The sky above the city pulls itself inside out. Time bends sideways. And from the edges of the dream, something, someone, begins to hunt. Sleep's presence moves like the very shark she chose as a vision of her physical manifestation. She does not speak or rage. But you feel Her, rising like fever beneath the skin of Her world as the hairs at the back of your neck do. She does not want you this deep, and neither does One.

Somewhere within the collapse, you may see them— entwined, shifting, trembling. One's face is turned toward you, screaming something that doesn't reach your ears. Sleep's hands are tangled in his body. She pulls him back with a gentleness that breaks the sky, and he screams, reaching for you with his last breath before consumption. The dream convulses.

The Nightmares bolt with you still on them.

The city rises to meet you from the shadows, but it's not the city you know. Skyscrapers twist at unnatural angles. Streets flood, then dry, then flood again. Tendrils burst from subway grates and gutters, slashing upward like tongues. Streetlights spin like compass needles. Cars levitate, crash, freeze midair. You move through it all at breakneck speed, but the exit keeps shifting— a hole in the world that flickers just beyond reach where you see your body, fast asleep.

Somewhere in the chaos, a few Nightmares are caught. Sleep strikes like lightning— she coils like a viper and tightens like a vice. One touch from Her, and your Nightmare collapses mid-gallop, its body unraveling into smoke and light. No sound. No scream. Just absence. And you fall right off it like a ragdoll.

Others fall beneath impact, too— a wrong turn, a shattered wall, a burst of heat from One's grief. A broken leg. A crash. A wound too deep to ride through. If your steed is lost, you fall. And if no one reaches for you, you stay fallen. Others are near, and their Nightmares still run. All of you have a terrible dread in your bones— if you are caught or left behind, the consequences will be dire. You might not even wake up. So, call out. Cling. Climb. Share. Two Vessels on one mount. Anything to survive and flee as the dreamscape tightens its wrathful grip around you.

Sleep calls inside your spine. You can't make out what She says. One answers, the same blur of garbled words in your marrow. And then, just before the dream can take you, just before you reach an exit— you rise.

Your body lifts from the Nightmare as it paddles the air with desperation, it too rising. You're pulled upward, weightless, as if a thread inside your heart has been yanked by a furious god. You float, twist in the air. Your vision glows white.

We've got you.

And then you wake up— mid-air in the waking world.

Your body slams into your bed, floor, street, soil, wherever it was that you had slept. Reality greets you with terrible impact.

NOTES

• If a character does not find a mount in time, they may be caught in the dream collapse. They still wake— but they wake broken. These characters may wake up bruised, disoriented, or emotionally fragmented, and this can be explored in the next waking world event.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Any Tether they feel becomes unstable—splintered. For brief moments, they feel it breaking and re-forming again and again, with slight differences each time.
• The more emotionally charged they are, the more the dream pulls toward them; tendrils snap faster, debris veers unnaturally close.
• Their body flickers with signs of their own magic—sigils, symbols, runes— burning just beneath the surface of their skin like constellations. These glow brighter as the dream collapses, as if trying to tear free.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Where Offerings are grazed or injured, they bleed light, not red. It floats up like mist.
• They hear One's heartbeat, not theirs, and it speeds in panic. It affects their own pulse, the mare under them . . .
• The Nightmare no longer follows the Offering's will—it will respond to their fear instead.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's third TDM, which doubles as the month's gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible when they wake up.
➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options, Token or Offering to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!
➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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[cantilevers]

[Well, it wouldn't be the first time either of them disappointed each other, but he was thankful it wasn't him this time. Of course, if Silco was going to claim to be real, present, and interactive, it also meant that the other man was potentially a danger to him. Of course, without that little purple-veined monster, Vander liked to feel he had the advantage physically if it came to that.

However, he had learned over the years that never, ever underestimate Silco. The other man hardly engaged unless the deck was stacked in his favour, a fact that he would hold true even here in a foreign world surrounded by creatures neither of them had much interactions with even as boys.]

Considering the last time that I saw you... [He shook his head, rallying himself from his shock to walk until he found a different type of forage.] You're lucky I had other priorities so you could scurry away off that gangplank otherwise, I would have ended you.

[His tone did not indicate that, at present, he was willing to endeavor to change that narrative right now. This place was confusing and strange and the fact there was grass and clean air and horses. He was still young enough to be enamored at times with what it was to be in this kind of nature, a novelty.]

Feeding demonic horses, obviously. What does it look like I'm doing? Want to be fed to one? Maybe they like jerky.

[He thought he shouldn't be snide, but oh it was too easy right now. Confusion and anxiety about all of this made it easy to focus on the one thing he could control: Silco's retreat.]

[zauns]

[Silco doesn't drop the flowers, and he stays where he is, keeping a careful eye on Vander.

What are you supposed to do, when a dead man appears like this? Walking and talking just like he used to. It's unsettling. And Silco can't let himself be seen rattled or disturbed - he can't show Vander any weakness.]

That's twice you've failed to kill me, then. And you're interested in making it a third?

[They're taking shots at each other, but Vander doesn't seemed inclined to violence for the moment. And that's the way Silco would prefer it - because he knows he isn't likely to win that fight. Not without a weapon, without leverage of some kind. He could win against Vander a hundred times, he thinks, given adequate time to prepare. The man displays his weaknesses for all to see.

(Weaknesses that, unfortunately, Silco understands much better now).

But he doesn't have time, he doesn't have so much as a simple knife. Better to keep the peace, for the moment. Though he can't help but ask -]

That's the last thing you remember? The cannery?

[cantilevers]

[As at ease as he fronted, he was not willing to turn his back on Silco. He divided his attention between one eye being on the other man and the other on trying to attract the attention of the horses. They seemed to be the ticket out of this place, and perhaps also his ticket to putting distance between them legitimately.

He hummed in agreement to the sentiment. He had failed twice, hadn't he?]

No, not particularly. [He admitted that grudgingly, walking towards the shadow horses and offering out his handful. A few tail swishes and stares but not takers, but he was calm and patient.] Unless you want to take issue with me. After all, you won, didn't you? There isn't more to take for you, is there?

[He supposed there was a considerable more nuance than that, the years and years of history. Then there was the... confusing parts that existed in this well of disquiet inside of him, churning slowly like a low ugly growling.

He glanced sharply away from the horses towards Silco at the question, and his shoulders set almost unreasonably tense. He looked away almost too quickly.]

Yeah. And you?

[zauns]

[He watches, keeping his distance, as Vander tries to tempt the horses. He'll probably have more luck than Silco. He was always the likeable one, of the two of them.

But it's true, isn't it? Silco won, in the end. And there was a certain vindication in it, even if the story didn't end there.]

I won, and I took Zaun. [It's not as simple as that, not at all. It was never only about taking things from Vander, and he thinks Vander knows that too. There was too much history between them for it to be so simple. But it's easier to pretend it was only that.] That's what I remember. Everything you missed. All those years when I fought the way you never had the strength to.

[That's unfair, Silco knows now. He wasn't willing to sacrifice his daughter for his ideals either. He understands that much of Vander's hesitance, when once he never would have. But he's not ready to admit it to Vander's face, not when just seeing him is so unsettling.]

Oh, but don't worry. I died too, in the end. [He smiles, sharp, when Vander looks at him.] Do you think this is the afterlife?

[cantilevers]

[Bitterness rose like bile to the back of his throat as he imagined what "taking Zaun" looked like. He had imagined it honestly, those early mornings in his office upstairs instead of the ledgers. He was no fool; Vander understood the balances of power better than most would give him credit for, and he maneuvered himself well enough for the first few years but inaction came with a cost equal and proportional to if he had acted.

Either way: action or inaction, people would die, lives would be ruined but also some would thrive and find joy. He had cultivated what he had and kept it stagnant to protect and to preserve her memory.

Now he imagined it to be gone, and if he hadn't spent years choke-holding his own temper, he might have let loose right then and there. He didn't. He imagined the reality of Shimmer in the streets though, having felt its affects, having experienced the power it granted, the temptation, the freedom. People with limited hope had nothing to lose... so Silco would "take Zaun" as he called it.

He turned his head, narrowing his eyes at the little man and his jaw momentarily worked as he chewed on words better left unspoken.]

You couldn't unite Zaun without me. [He spat it quietly, like an ugly truth. A verbal blade to turn back on the man who had caused the death of his children.] Your monsters were to give you power over Zaun, but you and I both know Piltover needed subtler tactics. I bet you sold them greed little-by-little, and with enough time, they would have eaten it up.

[They had discussed it. At length. They had two tactics, his and Silco's. Mixed together, none over-competing with the other, he thought it might have worked.

He dropped his hand back to his side, abandoning the current sweet grasses and turned to look at Silco. The man was dead? He glanced around at the mention of afterlife, and he felt a stir of rebellion to the idea.]

How did you die? [Maybe he wanted to congratulate the person. Maybe it was Vi.] It'd be a sorry state of this place if they put you and I together.

[zauns]

I did, and they did.

[Vander certainly would have hated what he made of Zaun. But Silco chose his path long ago, when he realized that to have power, they had to become monstrous - he had to. And he did, and they did, and Piltover eventually came to realize that as well. Perhaps not quite the way Silco might have planned it, but in the end -]

They offered us everything. Independence, self-determination. It was a victory - the sort of thing your tactics would never have secured.

[He says the word like it's something nasty. He never respected Vander's conciliation, his apparent desire to roll over for Piltover. As if that could have won them anything, in the end. He lost the will to fight. Better off dead than defanged like that, Silco thought, and even as his plans came together he felt a sick thrill to realize that he could still coax some fight out of his former ally, his once-closest friend.

He still feels that. But to his own annoyance, he understands better now. That urge to hold back, for fear of losing something precious.]

But alas, I didn't live to see the result. [It all fell apart, he expects. A disappointment. But one he'd anticipated even before his death, given the circumstances.] As for who killed me - [He pauses, considering how to answer, not wanting to name Jinx. Wanting, somehow, to protect her. Or perhaps just wanting to keep her from Vander for a moment longer.] It was a simple accident.

[cantilevers]

[Vander froze where he stood mid-motion at the news, his head snapping around to stare at Silco. He could not hide his shock at the declaration of success, the end point they had once dreamed about as boys, planned as young men and enacted in their adult years. Piltover had folded? No. Yes?

He actually had to turn away and sit down in the grass, considering the herd of nightmares as he dragged his fingers through his hair. Silco had won, huh? He wondered if people rejoiced or what the other man had been through to force that through; surely Piltover had squeezed right back, right? He knew that, out of the two of them, Silco was always the more ruthless and driven to success; he had tempered some of those wild ideas early on, refined them now and again, but ultimately, he had been aimed in the direction they needed to go as much as he dragged everyone in his wake in his prime.

Silco had won. Little bastard had done it, huh? It could be a lie. The barb about his own tactics didn't stick this time.

Vander laughed. It started as a little chuckle and then grew to a full bellied laugh, tinged with madness. He tasted blood in his mouth where he bit his cheek to try to calm himself again. It was, for better or worse, the best joke he'd ever heard in a long time, better than anything the old scientist had deemed worthy of encouragement and praise.]

You're telling me that you dragged Zaun over the line with Piltover and then died in some simple accident? You're such a liar. [He was wiping tears of mirth from the corner of his eyes and finally leaned back to rest against his hands, back to Silco.] What did they demand for all of that? I bet it cut deep.

[zauns]

[With Vander occupied with his own amusement, Silco takes a few steps away, approaching the horses with his offering of flowers. They eye him, whicker quietly, but none drift nearer. Silco isn't especially bothered. In his own way, he can be a very patient man.

He does keep half an eye on Vander, though, not comfortable having him out of sight. For all that this is a surprisingly peaceful conversation, it could turn at any moment, and Silco would be a fool not to be prepared for something like that.

It's... odd to see him laughing. Silco thinks it ought to annoy him, and perhaps it does a little, but he finds he can't get too angry about it. He killed Vander, after all, and achieved the victory they once fought for together - with his way of doing things, instead of Vander's careful conciliation. It probably all fell apart after his death, and that irritates him, but there's nothing he can do about it now.]

Only one small thing. [In the grand scheme of things. And it's this, perhaps, that has taken some of the bite of his anger at Vander away: he understands, now, why he acted the way he did. Silco still doesn't agree, and never will, has no respect for many of Vander's choices. But he understands.] But it wasn't something I was willing to give.

[He knows that might surprise Vander more than anything he's said yet. When they knew each other, there was nothing Silco wouldn't have given, up to and including his own life.

But not his daughter's.]

[cantilevers]

[Honestly, he still couldn't believe it. He wondered how much of the Zaun that he had known and loved existed to get them to the point where Piltover would even entertain that kind of negotiation. Was it Shimmer? No, there had to be something greater of value and danger that Piltover had wanted or needed and Silco had the keys to that particular resource. Janna, he had missed so much after his demise, for better or worse.

He watched Silco openly, studying the way that the other man moved and appeared. He noted the simple finery of Silco's clothing, better quality than whatever they had worn back in the day and the gold additions spoke of wealth, simple and not over-the-top. Ever the practical man. The air about Silco was sharp yet he considered it somewhat subdued. Death did that to a man, he supposed.

One thing that struck him was that Silco did appear old, years beyond what he had last seen of the man. More gray to his hair, thinner (which was saying something as Silco had always been lean), the scarring on his face more pronounced and so many other little tells.]

Only a small thing. [He repeated it, dead-pan and in disbelief. Downplaying such events were not Silco's style, which meant the source of this 'accident' was someone or something that the other man considered dear. Those things were few and far between if experience was any indication. Someone, he decided after observing the other.]

Unlike you to grow attached enough that you aren't willing to sell it out for Zaun. It must be someone special. Who?

[A few of the herd made their way closer to him to gaze, and he watched one large mare with interest. He didn't make eye contact, knowing that was a predatory gesture, but he did watch her and tried to understand her.]

[zauns]

[It's a balancing act, really, deciding how to answer. On one hand, Silco should know better than to reveal one of his weaknesses - and to Vander, of all people. Vander isn't prone to exploiting that sort of thing, not the way Silco has always excelled at, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't if he thought it necessary. Why give him an opening? Why offer that information?

But then, if there is one thing Silco can say about him, it's that he cares for his children. That disgusted Silco once, Vander willing to bend over for Piltover so easily, conciliation instead of the fight they'd once shared. Even after everything, Silco wasn't willing to do that. He would never have given them Jinx, but he would never have stopped fighting either.

But even if she's an easy way to ruin Silco, Vander wouldn't want to hurt her. And the truth -

Well, it isn't as if there aren't people here who already know it. Jinx herself, of course. Even the Kiramman girl, here for some reason, there when he died. It's not a secret that can be kept, and it's that which decides him. Better he control when the information is known, rather than allowing someone else to do it for him.

And in its own way, it's a weapon, too. Vander hates him already. Surely this will only make him hate Silco more.]

My daughter. Jinx.

[He looks at Vander, cold.]

You knew her as Powder.

[cantilevers]

[Vander would find out, it was true. He had little else going on in his life at the moment other than to gather information, make bonds, ask questions and pull in a social power structure as was his normal methods. Silco was potentially the greatest threat to that, assuming they both woke up from this strange dream world or purgatory or afterlife or wherever this happened to be.

Janna's tits, if he was stuck here for all of eternity with Silco, he might choose to be trampled by horses. One or both of them would make an attempt on each other at some point; that seemed to be a standard for the evolution of their relationship these days. An eye for an eye.

Yet, he barked a unhumored noise at the revelation that Silco had bonded with Powder and that had been the man's undoing. There was a certain bitter irony that after throwing his own protective instincts for the children and his sacrifice for them and everyone else in the Lanes that Silco was ground down similarly. The fates truly thought themselves funny, didn't they?]

So let me get this straight: I prioritized my kids and you manufactured a scheme to kill them and myself. Years later - I assume years - you fall pray to the same pitfall? [He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair and staring off at nothing in particular.] A hypocrite, as usual. You never change.

[And it made him angry. Back then, Silco could have held him in some deep dank place and worked him over and left his kids out of it. No, the kids needed to slip in and become part of their historic squabble. He clenched his eyes shut as he recalled clearly Claggor and Mylo's bodies half buried in the rubble, Vi pinned under a door crying and Powder blessedly not there to watch their family ripped apart.

He shoved his hands in the grass and rose to his feet, furious and grieving at the same time. He crossed the distance to approach a massive mare, staring at her eyes and his own blacked out as what Silco thought of him flooded through him: all the disappointment, all the hopes, all the fears, all the fun and play...

We're all just monsters in the end. Be what they fear.]

[zauns]

[If Silco were a kinder person, this might be where he offered an olive branch. For the first time in a very long time, after all, there is something that they share. Unexpected on both sides, really, Silco had never imagined he would care for anyone like he does Jinx - and surely Vander had never expected that from him, either. Now he can understand better why Vander made the choices he did. He can admit, if only to himself, that in some small ways, Vander was right. Your children are more important than your dreams.

But Silco worked hard to kill that part of himself. And he did it because of Vander, who certainly now only wishes he'd finished the job. If there's any bit of that kinder, weaker man still inside him (and there might be, twisted and broken), there's only one person he'd show it to.

And it certainly isn't this man.]

Rich of you to call me a hypocrite. [He says it with a sneer, barbed.] Playing at peace, letting them all think you're some kind of hero. You and I both know that deep down you're as much a monster as me.

[He can never quite seem to keep his temper around Vander, the way he ought to. He should hold the power here, he's the one with all the knowledge - he's the one who won in the end. He hardly even has nightmares about Vander anymore.

But somehow, the man still seems able to get beneath his skin.]

[cantilevers]

[It was easy - simple even - to think the worst of Silco. The man had been abrasive since the first day that Vander had met him, but there was an unbreakable spirit as well, a determination that had once shored up his own doubts and strengthened his resolve. Yet, he knew better than to expect any manner of consideration, not after the last decade of history between them.

The fact was that he knew he was a monster. There had always been this thing inside of him, deep, dark and boiling beneath the surface. It was all well and good when aimed at those that they needed to either put in their place or take down, and Vander had once thought that he had it all well in hand. He'd never been scared of himself until the day on the Pilt when it had all gone wrong.

Felicia dead and sent to sea. Silco grievously wounded and likely to die within a few weeks. And Vander left bleeding and raw with emotion, seeking only the follow them both to that similar end. He'd returned to the bridge in the pouring rain, angry beyond measure and that's when he had unloaded on the Enforcers with the full intention of dying there with the revolution... somehow he survived. Somehow he always survived.

So yeah, he knew Silco's words rung true. With enough time and exposure, they were all monsters, weren't they? He liked to believe he wasn't that man anymore, but the cannery was Silco's crowning achievement, wasn't it? Vander showing him that monster one last time in defense of his daughter.]

We both know I'm not a hero. I had a few worthwhile skills that impressed people, and they elevated it to some heroic status. [He reached a hand towards the mare in front of him, understanding she was as much as monster as they were. Her tail swished and she did not withdraw.] At least I didn't hamstring out people with trench poison. Built an empire on their corpses and broken bodies, did you?

[Vander knew it. Even now, there was an itch under his skin, a whisper for the power that that unrefined Shimmer had given him. It had been simultaneously the best and worst feeling in the world; he felt unstoppable until he saw the fear on Vi's face. Of course, his heart was beating too hard, his bulk too much to sustain, the damage already too much from the previous altercation.

But for a moment, he had felt powerful. He supposed taking the head off a boy one-handed would do that.]

Let's get one thing straight: you are a hypocrite. You won and lost at the same time just the same as I did and for the same reason. Did you leave her to manage all of that on her own? [Where was Vi?]

[zauns]

[Silco can let some of that roll off his back - he doesn't feel guilty for what he's done. He made the choice not to, to treat his guilt as just another weakness to snuff out. Like his kindness, like the part of him that was willing to trust. He became a monster, and he crept into Piltover's nightmares. There was collateral damage, but it would have succeeded, in the end.

And though he's sure Vander would never listen, or believe it if he did, Silco's empire created opportunities, too. It brought money in, and he held the other chem-barons in check. Before Vander died - before Silco killed him - he and his deal with Piltover kept things more-or-less peaceful. Afterwards, there was a scramble for power, and since Silco had been anticipating it, since he'd caused it, he'd easily won. There'd hardly been much damage to repair.

Now that he is dead, he knows there'll be another scramble for power. And unlike before, there will be no one waiting to step into the space he once filled. It will be bloody, and he doesn't have a high opinion of any of the people he knows will be trying to fill it. What a waste.]

I did what needed to be done. [He bites the words out, angry more at the knowledge of what his death left behind than at Vander's words.] Zaun needed a monster to fight for it, not a hero - not even a false one.

[He turns away from Vander, looking at the horses. The creatures linger near, but don't step any closer, watching them as if there's something to see. Not like prey animals, Silco thinks, but something else.]

Should I ask you that? Did you leave them to manage it all on their own? [His lip curls.] Neither of us got to choose when we went. I would never have left her alone willingly.

[cantilevers]

[Undercity politics was notoriously messy, and people died as victim to it all the time. He and Silco learned that early on, and they had made it work for them just the same. Gangs, the Chem-Barons, shift supervisors, and business owners all played their part in how the undercity was run, money and illicit goods changing hands. The flesh trade was alive and strong even during the twilight of his reign.

His history and his reputation meant the Chem-Barons of the time left the Lanes alone; if he decided to take issue with their dealings, he could make trouble. So they waited him out, all to their mistake he suspected for they would be grossly underprepared when Silco swept through and discarded them. The man would have been too smart not to remove and replace them with others more aligned with Silco's way of thinking.

Now he wondered about the warfare and petty squabbling that would take place with Silco dead. Their legacy sliding to the abyss the same as everyone else. It would be chaos to be sure, and he did wonder who would capitalize on Shimmer, assuming that it was still around. Janna's tits, there was so much information he didn't know and honestly, he shouldn't care about, but he had loved his city, his people and the messy way of things.]

You did what you wanted done. You lost yourself in the monstrous nature of your own plotting without a care for who was harmed in your wake. [He shot that back, his hand still extended to the mare who still hadn't moved away from him.] You had a goal in mind, and that's what you strove for always. I bet there wasn't even anyone to curb your worst impulses, to remind you that we still need a city with people alive in it to be worth fighting for freedom for. You called it respect, but honestly, you just wanted Piltover to acknowledge your existence.

[Because they knew the best and worst of each other, always had. It meant that they were fully capable of hurting one another without ever laying a hand on each other, and now that the shock was wearing off of all that had been done, Vander felt himself rallying.

He huffed a loud bitter laugh at the returned question.] You didn't give me a choice, now did you? [His fingertips brushed the end of the mare's nose, velvety soft and her breath way too hot to be normal.] But I left them in better stead because I had been preparing them for my inevitable downfall. I put Vi in charge, and it would have been fine with Benzo mentoring her and me in Stillwater. I could have communicated from there...

[But that option had been stolen from him. Grayson and two other enforcers dead, Silco with a man on the inside (how the hell did he manage to recruit that sack of shit?), and the normalcy of the Lanes upended.]

You're wrong. I chose. I chose to save her life rather than tear your head off. It was my choice. [He supposed he should be satisfied with that. He wasn't. It bothered him like a sliver under his fingernail, bothersome and difficult to remedy.]

[zauns]

I didn't lose myself. I killed that part of myself.

[It was a deliberate choice, to stop caring. Silco had always had a harder time making connections with people - a harder time trusting, letting anyone in. But he did do it, and he cared about them. He fought for Zaun to make it a better place for all of them, and if his tactics were always a little harsher than Vander's, he never went too far. They balanced each other well, Silco pushing when Vander might have hesitated, Vander holding him back when he might go too far.

And that was the part of him that needed to be destroyed. That softer part, the Silco that might stop, might hesitate to do what needed to be done.

But that's the joke, isn't it? He didn't quite manage.

He thought he had. He'd become exactly the monster he needed to be, and he had victory in his hand. And if Piltover had done the wise thing, and asked for his head, it might all have worked out perfectly well.]

How like you, to cast judgment on something you never even saw. I did terrible things, yes. But you would think the worst of me regardless. [He watches Vander, somehow charming that mare, and he isn't surprised. It's a bitter pill, to know he's still the same as he ever was.] No, I didn't give you a choice. And I wasn't given a choice when I died, either.

[Who could he have trusted to take care of Jinx? What sort of plans could he have made? Piltover wanted her dead. Too much of Zaun would have given her up, to save themselves or for whatever profit they could. He'd been ready to make plans to keep her safe, had begun thinking of contingencies -

But he hadn't had time.]

Not even the sort of choice that you got. [And, because it seems obvious:] Are you sure you didn't make the wrong one?

[cantilevers]

As theatrical as ever. You never killed that part of you; you buried it under your own personal rubble.

[They could tit-for-tat and disagree all day (night?), and he had no doubt that they probably would if given the chance. This was probably the first actual opportunity where they both had the freedom to do so, and Vander happened to not have a a black eye and a pounding headache this round.

It didn't matter because if Silco had come to value Powder on a deep enough level to give up on Zaun and then die, he knew that 'soft' side was still there. Buried as it were, though apparently unearthed again by a blue-haired girl.]

Well, it seems we see eye-to-eye when it comes to rating one another's vileness in this day and age. [His fingers stroked the mare's muzzle, and she offered a sharp nip. He didn't withdraw, and she seemed satisfied with that by allowing him to stroke his fingers up the long bridge of her nose.] At least you admit it, though I doubt my death came the way you envisioned it. Sell me for parts, hmm?

[He turned his attention away from the mare in front him and regarded Silco for a long moment, mulling over the question. He wished he could say that there was an internal war taking place, but no, there was nothing but a quiet acceptance.]

I'd already lost a friend and two children that night. I wasn't going to lose another. [So no, he didn't regret the choice.] You were able to experience the monster you wanted me to be anyway. I would have been reinforcing your narrative about me if I'd chosen you over her.

[zauns]

[There's just a brief frown at that comment. He did let the doctor have Vander's body, so he supposes that's true enough - but after that, Silco stopped caring. He had quite a bit on his plate, between gaining control of the Undercity and raising a suddenly-acquired daughter. He's just not sure how Vander knows that, or why it matters. It's only a body, after all.

But he sets the thought aside, something to consider later. He'll have quite a bit to think about, it seems.]

Oh, yes. Always the hero, always making the right choice. It must be nice to be able to blame your worst qualities on someone else. [He looks away from Vander, finally, and tosses a flower, underhand, towards one of the horses grazing nearby. He doesn't approach.] Be certain to tell everyone you meet what an evil creature I am. I'll need to build a whole new reputation here - or wherever I end up.

[He's learned a little, here and there, from the people he's met. Not the afterlife, for all that it would make sense. But the idea that he might be stuck somewhere dangerous with Vander -

It's a complicated thing. His anger and hatred has dulled since those days. For him, it's been years, and though Vander still gets under his skin, though Silco can't trust him and still feels a spike of fury and fear every time he sees his face, it's more distant than it once was. He understands better now. They could argue like this for hours, he's sure - they could easily come to blows again, though he'd prefer not, since Vander would certainly win.

But they're both dead. For Silco, Vander is long dead. Even if he can't quite let what happened between them go (and how could he? He still sees it every time he looks in a mirror, every time his eye aches), he still won. He expects that Vander will, indeed, tell people what a monster he is. And that's fine. He's in no mood to turn over a new leaf anyway. He has to find ways to protect himself - and Jinx.]

[cantilevers]

[Vander didn't know why it was important for him to know it was Silco, but the frown was wholly unsatisfying as a non-answer. He wanted to press, should press, yet he knew better than to make a scene on something that might cause the other man to dig in and refuse to answer any further. It seemed confirmation enough that it wasn't denied, though the reason for its importance was muddled and irritating, like an itch he couldn't scratch properly.

He huffed in irritation, looking at the mare who he was touching. She flicked her ears forward and then jerked her head up and towards Silco. Yeah, he knows. The guy is a menace just shifting blame and pretending to be the villain.] I told you. I'm not a hero; if that's the party line you're going to continue to drag, at least whinge something more creative than that. I guess you being older now means you can lose your cognitive abilities from all the toxins we were exposed to.

[Vander had no intention of telling anyone about his dealings with Silco. He had kept the secret of the man for so long when he thought Silco dead that it was basically habit now. There was no reason to start a war now when they had no idea what they were dealing with in the first place. Either way, he wouldn't play into the narrative that Silco was currently attempting to see-saw between of his heroics and villainy.

So no, he wouldn't give air to the reputations of one another unless he was pushed to. He knew discretion, and he understood it would be valuable as they integrated into whatever happened after this. Besides, there was no guarantee they would both leave this dream world and also no guarantee they would appear as they were now on the other side either.

The mare in front of him moved and then lay down in the grass. Was that supposed to happen? Surely he wasn't expected to ride, right? He'd ridden many inanimate objects and men and women in his lifetime but never a horse.]

Let's keep the reputation slander to a minimum, shall we? I'm sure you'll bomb yourself out with your usual charms anyway.

[zauns]

[It's true, Silco knows quite well that's he's never been charming. Even before everything went sideways, he had a sharp tongue, and since then between his reputation and his face any chance of charm has utterly disappeared. He'll take respect - or fear - over it, though. And even without Vander telling the world the sort of person he is, Silco expects that people will assume the worst of him. That's how it usually goes. And it's only fair, considering how good he is at becoming exactly what they expect.

Vander will probably make friends. He's always been good at that. Charming, easy to like, apparently trustworthy. Silco fell for it too, didn't he, once upon a time?

And Silco -

He'll have to find people he can use, if he intends to keep himself intact. He isn't sure what to expect, where they'll end up. But if both he and Vander are there, well.

It'll be better to keep his distance.]

How comforting to hear you have such faith in me. [His words are dry as the desert. Though still standing a safe distance away, he waves a hand at the horse.] Well? Aren't you going to show me how it's done?

[Silco knows very well Vander has never ridden a horse. Of course, neither has he - but they don't seem inclined to kneel down for him yet, so he won't have to humiliate himself by trying. Hopefully not until Vander is gone, anyway.]

[cantilevers]

[Vander was not as stupid as people liked to make him out and he knew people. There would be those attracted to Silco's sharpness and driven nature, charisma or no. There was a productivity and planner that was attractive to some who didn't know where to start and he knew that Silco was excellent of knowing what pieces needed to go where and when. That made him dangerous to Piltover and that's what would make him dangerous here.

He disliked admitting how complimentary their skills were despite their opposing methods at times. They had always pushed the other to be better, to expand their own horizons, to look well beyond what they had and pull the other along. It wasn't competitive either; both of them had grown so close back in the day that they understood when one's skillset was better used in what situation. It was why they made it so far, and even if Vander had been more the 'face' of their revolution, Silco's contributions could never been undercut in his eyes.

Ah, he had promised himself to never go down that rabbit hole again. He shook his head, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose as he scattered that line of thought. It would do none of them good to reminisce about a broken past. They had both tried to bring harm on each other, and while they were holding back now, he had no doubt they would come to verbal or physical blows at some point.]

Shut it, I just know who you are and how you behave. You don't need me, remember? You'll do it all yourself, including elevating or tanking your reputation. [He eased into a crouch and reached out to stroke his hand over the mare's brow, and she let him.

He shot Silco a withering look as he continued to pet the massive mare. He had no idea how this was going to go, and he honestly was not particularly interested in humiliating himself in front of Silco. This did seem like the next step to progress in this place regardless.]

Shouldn't you be busy making friends with your own horse? You can use that charming personality you tout.

[For his part, he was standing and moving to the mare's back, surveying it like it was a wall to climb. He touched it with a hand and all she did was look back at him and then chew some grass nearby. Okay, here goes nothing. If he died - again - let his trampled body fall on Silco and suffocate the man. He made an awkward sort of hop and slid his way onto the mare's back, gripping mane like a lifeline. She shifted and then suddenly rose to her feet, and his legs clung on tightly. She was up! He was sitting on her back miraculously but weaving a little as he tried to keep his balance.]

[zauns]

True. I don't need you.

[It's good to be reminded of that. He clawed his way to the top without Vander's help, and he held his position there for years. Could have held it for longer, he thinks, if things hadn't gone the way they did. And even if it seems that Vander can still get under his skin, even if he isn't quite as free of his shadow as he might have thought, that's still true.

Silco will have to watch out for him, of course. Even if this conversation ends without bloodshed, they both know the next might not. Silco's anger may not be so fresh, so sharp as it once was - but for Vander, that likely feels like yesterday. And Silco doesn't intend to turn over a new leaf anytime soon. His priority is finding a way to keep himself and Jinx safe, and if the place they end up in is as bad as it sounds, he'll do whatever he needs to.

He watches Vander clamber up on the horse, amused, but also studying what he does - in hopes that if he eventually has to, he'll manage it with a little more grace. But Vander at least avoids falling and cracking his head open. Probably for the best, since Silco would simply have stood by and watched it happen.]

Be on your way, then. I'm sure we'll see each other around.

[A promise, or a threat. He'll keep his distance, if he can - but somehow, Silco doubts it'll be that easily. Hopefully when they meet again he'll at least have a knife to defend himself with.]

[cantilevers]

[As he sat astride this massive beast, he was wavering but managing to keep his seat. How long he would remain up there was uncertain, and if he did happen to fall, it had better be outside of Silco's line of sight. He'd rather bleed out alone in peace than have to face that scrutiny or worse... perhaps Silco had a shard of glass from the cathedral and make good on their ending interaction at the cannery.

He looked down at the other man as the horse turned towards the herd with a swish of her tail. His fingers remained interlaced with the mane like a lifeline, and he managed to maintain his balance in movement for the moment.]

Right. You need "Jinx", right? She's your light in the dark. You better find a horse to help you then, unless you want to ride with me, hmm?

[He wavered in his seat because this was not a skill he had built muscle for previously. By Janna, this was not going to be easy, and he didn't even pretend to be good at this naturally.]

I'll even let you ride in front of me, what with your current eagerness to put a knife in my back. [Petty yes, but he thought he had a right at this point. He'd take the moment then wash his hands clean of it.]

[zauns]

Please. I don't need your help.

[Silco says that with more than a little disdain, even though he knows it may not be entirely true. For all he knows, he'll send Vander away and then be completely unable to entice a horse of his own - and then what? If this is a dream, Silco doesn't know what might happen. It may be that he entirely regrets refusing Vander's offer - even if Silco thinks it's more mocking than serious.

But accepting it just isn't an option. After everything that's happened between them, he's not anywhere near ready to accept help from Vander. As if he needed it. As if he isn't capable of taking care of himself.

Besides. It probably isn't even a real offer. Just an attempt to condescend to him, or at most to kick him off the horse if he deigned to get that close to Vander.]

I'll find a horse, find my way out of this dream, and find my daughter. And if I'm very lucky, I'll never see you again.

[Perhaps Vander wouldn't make it out of the dream. Or perhaps he'd been unreal the whole time. It wouldn't be the first time Silco had dreamt of him - far from it. Not even the first time he'd dreamed a meeting that didn't involve violence, unfortunately, though they usually did.

It would be unlike Silco's luck for something like that to be true, though. He expects a different outcome.]

[cantilevers]

No, you don't want my help.

[He made a point of correcting the other man because neither of them seemed in the mood to request assistance from each other, though he wasn't unwilling to help Silco. It would likely come with heavy caveats and restrictions, but it was likely for the best that they avoided being in close proximity for too long. One or both of them was guaranteed to say something that they would prompt the other to act upon.

He huffed, thinking that leaving the man to have to tame a shadowy herbivore wouldn't even take the edge off of the welling grief he was stuffing way down. Maybe a sharp kick from a hoof would realign a few things that Silco prized so much, a small price to pay for the death of his children and whatever had happened with Powder. He wasn't willing to ask after Vi. Not him. Not now.

Yet his expression darkened.] Your daughter? She was Felicia and Connol's daughter first. You recall that, don't you? [Adoption was extremely common in the undercity. Adults and children alike died young or in accidents or due to disease. Still, why did it irk him so much?] If she'd been there that day, I bet you would have killed her just as you did the other three.

[He sneered, shaking his head and using his grip on the mane to indicate that he was done here. Of course, his nightmare regarded the other man, snorted then turned to walk off. Don't fall off, don't fall off, he kept mentally reminding himself as they went away.

Would this be the last time they saw each other? He had no idea. He was conflicted on how he felt about that, as he always was when it came to Silco. Moments of rage-filled clarity subsided into calm pacificism and guilt. He'd moved passed the latter as much as he could, but he knew from experience Silco was not a man who forgave wrongs against him. If Silco made it out, he had to watch his back forever.]