Runeterra: Arcane - CH 5

The abandoned mines of Zaun smelled as terrible as they looked from the outside, damp earth, toxic fumes and rusted metal, the kind of combination that seemed baked into every corner of Zaun, but worse down at the mines. Shadows stretched long and jagged along the walls, cast by the faint light filtering through cracks in the ceiling. Vander led the way with an easy stride, his boots crunching over gravel and loose debris.

I trailed behind, taking in the cavernous space. The place had clearly been out of use for years, maybe decades. Old mining equipment lay scattered around, caked in dust and grime. Tracks for carts ran unevenly along the floor, disappearing into tunnels that vanished into darkness.

“This,” Vander said, spreading his arms wide, “is where the magic used to happen.”

“Magic?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, back-breaking labor that kept food on the table,” he clarified with a grin. “But it felt like magic back then.”

“Right. Nothing screams ‘magic’ like hauling rocks in a death trap.”

Vander chuckled. “Fair point. But it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

We walked further into the mine, Vander pointing out various landmarks like some kind of tour guide. “That over there was the foreman’s station. He used to bark orders so loud you could hear him clear across Zaun. And over there, that’s where we used to take breaks. Shadiest part of the mine. Literally and figuratively.”

I followed his gaze to a nook in the wall, half-hidden behind a stack of crumbling crates. “Let me guess. Drinks, cigarettes and stolen lunches?”

“Among other things,” Vander replied.

So fucking as well, I didn’t add to the list because not everything needs to be said, some stuff is already implied within the context, this being an example of it.

The air grew cooler the deeper we went, and I stuffed my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. Despite the place’s rundown appearance, and alarming amount of bones, Vander’s mood seemed lighter than usual. There was a nostalgia in his voice, a fondness that softened the edges of his usually gruff demeanor.

It wasn’t until we reached a wider chamber, where the tracks ended in a tangle of abandoned carts, that I finally asked the question buzzing in my head, the one that had been bothering me ever since this morning when he asked me to come with him. “So… what are we doing here? Sightseeing?”

Vander leaned against one of the carts, crossing his arms. “Nothing in particular,” he said, his tone casual. “I come here every now and then to clear my head. Remind myself of where I came from.”

“I see.” I leaned on the opposite cart, studying his face. There was something unspoken there, something he wasn’t quite saying.

He must have caught the look, because he reached over and ruffled my hair with a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Before you jump to conclusions. I’m not dragging you down here just for that.”

“You’re not?” I asked.

Vander smiled, his expression softening in a way that caught me off guard. “Truth is, kid, almost everyone in Zaun has something they’re trying to leave behind. A past they’d rather forget.”

I stayed quiet, letting his words hang in the air.

He went on, his voice steady but gentle. “I’ve noticed you don’t talk much about what brought you here, about your family, about what happened before I found you.”

I stiffened, but Vander raised a hand before I could say anything. “I’m not saying that to pry. I get it. You don’t want to burden anyone with it, everyone deals with their baggage their own unique way.”

I looked away, studying a crack in the wall that didn’t need studying.

If only he knew there was no way to explain my situation without someone putting a straight jacket on me. There is no way to say: I died, and somehow reincarnated in this world… who just happens to be the world where a video game I used to play takes place… or used to, because your universe was recently retconned by the creators to make the lore of your universe more solid and engaging, and they started doing this by creating an animated show named Arcane, which just so happens to be about your family… which by the way reminds me, you and some of your adopted children die, not all of them though, Vi and Powder survive, but thanks to the humongous amount of trauma they both acquired during this event, they went pretty much crazy, well, one more than the other… is Powder in case you were wondering, anyway… Pow-Pow, now officially rebranded as Jinx, will be totally different to the Powder we all know and love, going from tinkering for fun to killing people for shits and giggles.

What about me you ask? Well, you see, I wasn’t part of the story, so I guess probably dead. And as for Vi, well you can take solace on the fact that she remained pretty much the same, but was incarcerated by someone working for you ex-friend, Silco, not because he ordered the guy to put her away, but because he knew Silco would’ve killed her.

Oh… I almost forgot, Silco ends up adopting Powder, right after killing you, so that’s how Pow-Pow goes from tinkering for fun to tinkering for the sake of committing war crimes.

“Just so you know,” he said, snapping me back to focus, “I’m not asking you to share anything you don’t want to. But if you ever need someone to talk to, someone to listen… I’ll be here. No judgment. No pressure.”

For a second, I didn’t know what to say. His words weren’t pushy or invasive. They were just… there. A quiet offer, no strings attached.

I finally managed a smirk. “You’re a big softie, you know that?”

Vander chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Maybe. But someone’s gotta be.”

“Thanks,” I said after a moment. “I mean it. I appreciate it.”

He nodded, like that was all he needed to hear. Then he straightened up, a playful glint in his eye. “Although, I’ll admit, that’s only part of why I brought you here.”

“Oh, great.” I smiled. “So what’s the other part? More sentimental wisdom?”

“Not quite.” He snorted, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “But mostly.”

I smiled, watching as he walked toward the center of the chamber, rolling his shoulders like he was gearing up for something.

“But there’s another reason I wanted you to come with me,” he continued, his voice echoing slightly, “I want to teach you how to fight.”

“Huh,” I muttered.

He turned, motioning for me to follow. “You’re a strong kid, and you will only get stronger as you continue to grow, but that won’t mean a thing if you don’t know how to throw a decent punch.”

I chuckled, finding the proposition fun, and if I could learn something while at it, I mean, I never had any particular interest in martial arts, but I never disliked them, so yeah, why not? “Just tell me you’re not going to break my nose. Vi would make hundreds of broken beak jokes/puns if that happened.”

“Well, that depends on how fast you learn,” he said, his grin widening.

“Not the answer I was expecting, but okay,” I replied.

“Let’s go over the basics,” Vander stepped closer, motioning for me to mimic his stance. “First things first, stance. The key to everything else is having a solid, mobile base. You’re right-handed, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, adjusting my feet awkwardly to match his.

“Good. That makes you orthodox.” He nudged my left foot forward with his boot and adjusted my right foot slightly back. “Keep your knees bent, but don’t lock them. You want to be able to move in any direction at a moment’s notice.”

I wobbled a bit, trying to find the balance between “comfortable” and “not looking like a fool.” in turns the line between the line was rather thin.

“Better,” Vander said, circling me slowly. “Now, your hands. Keep them up, close to your face, but not so close you block your own vision.”

So he’s a boxer, it fits him.

I raised my fists, mimicking his posture.

“Good,” he said. “Now keep them there. No matter what. If your hands drop, you’re asking to get hit.”

“Got it.” I nodded.

Vander took a step back, his boots crunching on the gravel. “Alright, let’s talk footwork. Moving isn’t just about getting around, or looking fancy, it’s about staying balanced. When you step forward, your front foot moves first. When you step back, your back foot moves first. Same thing for side-to-side.”

I shuffled forward and back a few times, trying to get the hang of it. The uneven ground didn’t help.

“Not bad,” Vander said. “Just remember, every step has a purpose. You’re not just dancing around out there. If you move, it has to be for a reason.”

“Hey, dancing in fun,” I replied.

Vander chuckled. “Not when the other guy’s trying to knock your head off.”

Fair point.

“Now,” he said, raising his own hands into position, “Let’s talk defense. This is where most fights are won or lost.”

“Blocking and dodging?” I offered.

“Yeah.” Vander nodded. “When fighting, keep your hands up, close to your face. Use your arms to block punches, but don’t rely on them too much, you need them to fight. You’ve got a head and a body, use them. And if possible, move.”

He demonstrated, shifting his weight and dipping his head to avoid imaginary punches. I had to be honest, I felt like I was in Rocky.

I tried to copy him, but my movements were stiff and awkward. There were still things that didn’t come as easy on this body as they did on my previous one.

“Relax, kid,” he said, stepping closer to guide me. “It’s not a math problem. Feel it out. Let your instincts do some of the work.”

“Ok ok,” I nodded.

Vander ruffled my hair, before taking a step back. “You’ll get there. Next, you have to be unpredictable when fighting. If your opponent knows where you’re going to be, or where you are going to punch, you’ve already lost.”

“Got it, what’s next?”

“Now let’s talk about timing and distance,” Vander said, circling me again. “If you’re too close, your punches lose power, and you become an easy target. Too far, and you’re just wasting energy. Find the sweet spot.”

“How do I do that?”

“Practice, lots of practice,” he said simply. “And when the time’s right, you’ll feel it.”

He stopped in front of me, raising a fist. “Speaking of timing, let’s start with the jab.”

I took a small step back instinctively. “Go easy on me?” His fist was almost the size of my head, so yeah, I had my concerns, valid ones at that.

“Relax, I’m not hitting you. Yet.”

That didn’t sound as comforting as he probably thought it did.

Vander held his stance, demonstrating the motion. “The jab’s your bread and butter when fighting. It keeps the other guy at bay, creates openings, and lets you control the fight without burning too much energy. It’s not about power, so never put your all into a jab, you don’t throw a jab to beat your opponent, it could happen sure, but the jab is there to give you control, anything else is just a happy accident.”

I nodded, so far, most things seemed rather simple.

"Now, show me how you punch," Vander said.

And I complied, throwing my absolute best punch for him to see.

“Not bad,” Vander said. “But don’t forget to move your head before and after you punch. You don’t want to get countered. If the guy you’re fighting realizes you keep your head in the same place after every punch, he will knock you out into the next weekend before you even realize it.”

I threw another jab, this time shifting my head slightly to the side. It felt weird, like patting my head and rubbing my stomach at the same time.

Especially considering my approach to fighting had always been outlasting my opponent, or like my grandfather used to say: You don’t dodge punches, you send them a cordial invitation to your face, hoping the fist breaks. It wasn’t like that really, but he did have a point, I never put too much effort into the avoiding aspect of fighting, my sole focus usually was knocking the other person out, and it always worked, I had a high tolerance to pain and was bigger than most people.

“Better,” Vander said, stepping forward to correct my stance. “And don’t forget your footwork.”

I tried again, focusing on keeping my movements smooth and coordinated.

“That’s more like it,” Vander said, stepping back. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Ok,”

Taking his invitation, I balled my fists, drew back my arm, and swung with all my might. My knuckles throbbed as they connected with his chest, but he didn't even flinch. It was like hitting a solid brick wall.

“Jesus what do you eat? Cinder blocks?” I said, watching my knuckles grow red.

“No as of lately,” he replied. “As for your punch, it could’ve been better. Don’t just rely on your hands to do all the work. Use your whole body. Your legs, your core, and put them all to work, they’re all part of the equation, and if done right you would increase the strength behind your hit by miles.”

“Didn’t you just say this wasn’t a math problem?” I shot back with a snicker.

“Smartass,” Vander chuckled, giving me a friendly smack on the back of the head.