~ NO SPOILERS ~

(this is the setting for "The Hound of the Underground")

(this story-line contains SMUT aka sexual content, reader discretion is advised)

A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees, adding to the subtle symphony of sounds that travelled through the vast field. She inhaled, angling her practice bow away from the flittering strands of grass and directly at her target. An apple, red and nearly perfect in shape and size, was resting onto a pillar-like platform at the opposite end of the training grounds. Holding her breath, she expertly pulled the bow's string back, deftly pinching the arrow in place. The sun shone brightly and the golden tips of her favorite set of arrows consequently glistened underneath its rays. She gently released the body of the arrow, exhaling.

She remained frozen, perhaps stiller than the many statues that stood in her back, heaving up a slab of marble with their fragile arms to serve both as a roof for those who watched from below and a balcony for those who observed her trainings from higher up.

The thin arrow curved gracefully, as expected, slicing through the lukewarm air with a soft hum. Then, it accomplished its mission. In a brief instant, the golden point and dark wooden structure of the arrow had flown right throughout the center of the apple, obliterating its shiny skin, its sugary flesh, its bitter seeds and hard core. In a single motion, pierced by the arrow, the apple had been propelled off its pedestal, had fallen to the ground. Now, it lay there, a red sphere with a long ornate stick poking out of its sides. The delicate blades of grass brushed its vibrant surface.

She sighed, picking out an arrow and sliding it out off her practice quiver, previously thrown onto the ground next to her feet, on her right, by her most aggressive instructor. She didn't dare - or bother - slinging it upon one of her shoulders, or even moving it. Boredom was already creeping up inside her chest. She was tired of motionless targets. Surely, with her talent, she could at least attempt hitting something ever so slightly more challenging than a fruit. Where was the pressure, the rush, the excitement of pursuing her target, trying to predict its trajectory..? Craving some action, she began surveying her surroundings, bow and arrow in hand. Anything at all that moves, anything...

A satisfied smirk pulled at the left corner of her lips. Her fingers clenched around the bow nervously, but she quickly regained control. Confident in her skills, she heedfully licked her lips and aimed. Suddenly energized, her eyes flicked speedily, following the small creature she had spotted. It was a bird, light pink with beautiful feathers, each more sparkly and brighter than the last. It fluttered gayly, above the area, oblivious to her mischievous plans. The flying animal was small, with short almond-shaped wings and a tiny rounded beak the color of ripe plums. However, all of this could not have mattered less to the aspiring archer.

The arrow escaped the contraption as soon as she decided it would. The bird, just like the apple, never stood a chance.

   "Hiedra!" a voice screamed, most likely to reprobate her actions.

The limp, little corpse hit the grass, its bones snapped, blood-stained and losing its warmth even under the sun. She wanted to spin around, defy whoever desired to scold her. Strangely, though, she could not even lift a finger, movement was impossible, as if her legs were chained into the soil. Wisps of vapor started erasing the sides of the scenery, and before anything else occurred, her dream washed away like waves crashing upon the shore. In the remnants, the sea-foam, she heard her name again.

~

Hiedra sprang upwards, panting. The dark bedroom was spinning, and unbearable heat was crushing her whole being. Swallowing air in heavy, frantic gulps, she finally managed to breathe again and she could see the room clearly. Her heart was still beating against her rib cage, thundering violently. She hurriedly tossed her covers away, cold sweat running down her back. The prostitute patted the mattress to her right, her fingers trembling over the dent left by his muscular body. Her breath caught into her throat and her feverish heart ceased pumping her blood for a moment. Where..?

   "Vander..." she croaked, an inaudible whisper of dread sent into the obscure room.

Looking around anxiously, it took her a minute for her senses to adjust and to notice his pipe was not on the bedside crate. She hopped out of his bed, her bare feet knocking over a few bottles that were on the floor. Considering her nakedness, she needed to find something to wear. Roaming the vicinity of The Last Drop scantily clad would not exactly be the brightest idea. The hooker put her black lace underwear back on with ease, humming a childhood lullaby inadvertently, which thankfully calmed her. She could feel her lover's emotions, his frustration and discomfort, but she was not alarmed. Those were his default feelings, in other words, his usual state. The creature began rummaging through the closet that stood unsteadily in one of the room's corners, her singing slowly dying out. She pulled out a long, damaged black shirt, which was oversized for her slender shape, despite her height. It served efficiently as a short dress with a low cleavage and a nearly shoulder-less effect. Serene, she exited his bedroom and headed in the direction from where his emotions emanated.

The courtesan rapidly discovered where he had snuck off to, without crossing the paths of any nefarious acquaintances or strangers. The particular back alley of The Last Drop that he had chosen was not often visited by anyone else than the usuals - who knew of it - and offered an unexpectedly beautiful view of the night sky... If Zaun's firmament could be defined as a sky and as beautiful. Technically, the sky was always more Piltover's than it would be considered Zaun's. Like all the best elements of life, it belonged to the upper side. The polluted fumes of the Zaunite mines did interfere with the view and so did the chaotic architecture of the Lanes. Still, the sky was free and nothing except blindness could take it away from them.

Hiedra announced herself by tapping on a wooden panel with her knuckles, before joining Vander at his side. A cloud of smoke spewed out of his mouth, and he glanced at the fatally gorgeous young female.

Yelling, desperate laughter, clanking and hits... The background noises were as usual.

   "Welcome," he drawled, not entirely having left the confines of his mind.

   "What's up?"

She leaned on the brick wall with her right side, staring at him with a tinge of concern.

   "Nothing much... Go back to sleep." His voice was tired, hoarse from smoking.

   "No chance, you took the pipe," she jokingly remarked, masterfully snatching said-pipe from his fingers.

She inhaled deeply, exhaling softly to produce a precise spiral of smoke. The Undercity's tobacco was renowned to taste awful to any outsider, but not unlike many of the Lanes' key characteristics, she had learnt to love it. Her eyes followed the trail of smoke, and he asked her, covertly admiring her stance:

   "Can't sleep?"

She had the gift to appear confident, alluring, yet completely nonchalant. For anyone who did not know her, it would have been impossible to determine whether or not she behaved purposefully. In that instant, though, the creature faltered, accidentally revealing a more unpolished side of her personality. Her irises flickered, transitioning from their original dark green shade to settle on a deep blood-like red hue.

   "You're one to talk..!"

She pressed her lips to the tip of the pipe, breathing in an elongated puff. Then, she handed it back to him, blowing out enough smoke to create a heart.

   "Hiedra." His tone was serious.

She threw him a bored look, masking her interest. "Yes?"

Most evenings, this type of exchange would have ended back in his bed, but she could feel it would not that night. Or, at least, not immediately...

   "The day is close. We are going to make history."

He took a short smoke and spun to face her. His blue eyes anchored themselves into hers, and a rebellious grin formed upon his lips.

   "We're going to fight those topsiders, soon. It's only a matter of time. We'll claim back what's ours, no one's ever going to look down on us again. Picture that, a free Zaun..."

He shook his head with a determined expression, losing himself in his thoughts again. Before the prostitute could act, he grabbed her left hand, gazing up at the barely discernible stars.

   "The Underground, free..." He kept going, fuelled by rage instead of hope. "And we'll make them pay for what they did to us all these years..." His hand tightened into an ironclad grip around her own as he distractedly walked a few steps, distancing himself. "We'll be safe, we'll watch those stars from the bridge when we cross it..."

He gently lifted her hand, to kiss it, turning to observe her. "I want that more than anything. Us, up there. Together."