(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
Meanwhile...
The park was quiet this late in the afternoon, the kind of quiet that made Akali feel like her heartbeat was too loud. Every step toward the bench Kai'Sa had agreed to meet at made the gifts in her hands heavier—though they weren't heavy at all. The bouquet of forget-me-nots trembled just slightly in her grip, their soft pinks and blues like a stubborn little flame in her chest. The matching charm bracelets clinked faintly, a reminder of the words that had pushed her here in the first place.
"These say more than an apology you're still overthinking," Peter had said, placing them into her palms with that maddening calm. "Sometimes it's easier to show you care first. Words come later."
She'd thought about that the entire walk. How easy he'd made it sound. How sure. Like he could see a version of the future where she and Kai'Sa were laughing again.
Akali wanted to believe him. Needed to.
Her stomach twisted as the memory of raised voices pressed in again.
"You don't even know what it's for!"
"I don't care what it's for! No petition is worth burning out over!"
Kai'Sa's words still cut sharp because they weren't just angry—they were tired. Tired in a way that scared her. Tired in a way that felt like a warning sign she'd ignored until it burst out into the open.
Akali squeezed the bouquet tighter, forcing the echo away. She wasn't going to let it end like that. Not when she'd walked away, pride burning hotter than love. She hated herself for that, but Peter's voice replayed in her mind like a mantra. Show you care first. Words come later.
That was the plan. If she froze, if she stumbled, at least Kai'Sa would see she'd thought about it. That she still cared. That she always had.
A small, wry smile tugged at her lips as she crossed the last stretch of sidewalk. "When this works," she whispered under her breath, "I'm texting him. Just to say thanks. Maybe even ask if he wants to hang out. Feels like I owe him at least that."
The thought steadied her. For the first time since that awful fight, she felt like maybe she could breathe.
And so, bouquet trembling slightly in her hands, bracelets nestled safe in her pocket, Akali lifted her head toward the bench where Kai'Sa was waiting—ready to close the distance, to fix what she'd broken.
Unaware, of course, that just a few blocks away, Peter himself was stepping into a tear in reality, swallowed by shadows that would drag him to the other side of this fractured world.
Kai'Sa was already there, sitting on the bench like she'd been rooted in place for hours. One hand cradled her phone, the other propped under her chin. She looked... distant. Not angry. Not sharp. Just far away, eyes somewhere past the line of trees where the fading light threaded through the branches.
For a second, Akali froze. Her breath snagged halfway in her throat. The gifts that had seemed like anchors of courage now felt like contraband—like she was sneaking into a territory she'd been exiled from.
But Peter's voice came back again, steady as ever. Show you care first. Words come later.
So she forced her legs forward, one step and then another, until the crunch of gravel finally drew Kai'Sa's gaze.
Her eyes flicked up, tired but softening, and Akali thought she caught the faintest hesitation—a pause that said she almost didn't come.
Akali swallowed hard. "Hey."
Kai'Sa blinked, then tucked her phone into her pocket. "...Hey."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut skin. Akali wanted to fill it, to pour every excuse and apology out at once, but her hand moved before her mouth did. She extended the bouquet, trembling just enough to betray her nerves.
"These are... for you."
Kai'Sa's lips parted slightly. Her gaze fell on the flowers, then lifted back to Akali, confusion flickering across her face. "Forget-me-nots?"
"Pink and blue ones." Akali's voice stumbled, too fast, too nervous. "I—I thought maybe... I don't know. Just seemed right."
For a long moment, Kai'Sa didn't move. Then, slowly, she reached out and accepted them. Her fingers brushed Akali's, light as air, but it was enough to send a sharp current racing up Akali's arm.
"They're pretty," Kai'Sa murmured, and the words, though simple, loosened something inside Akali's chest.
"And—uh—" Akali fumbled into her pocket, pulling out the bracelets. The charms jingled faintly, a fragile sound against the weight of her heartbeat. "These, too. I know it's kinda corny, but... I thought maybe, y'know, we could..."
Kai'Sa's eyes widened. The fatigue in them cracked, just slightly, giving way to surprise.
"Akali..." she whispered.
The name on her lips—it wasn't sharp. It wasn't tired. It was gentle. And that alone nearly undid Akali.
She sat down beside her, close but not too close, and pressed the second bracelet into Kai'Sa's hand. "I screwed up," she said, finally letting the words out before they rotted inside her. "I got stubborn. I got loud. And I—" she swallowed— "I hurt you. I don't want that to be what sticks. Not when... not when you mean so much more than that."
Kai'Sa's thumb ran across the tiny flower charm, the silence stretching again. Akali hated it—hated how every second felt like waiting for a verdict.
But then, softly, Kai'Sa let out a laugh. Not bitter. Not mocking. Just a fragile, almost disbelieving laugh.
"You," Kai'Sa said, glancing sidelong at her, "are terrible at apologies."
Akali winced. "Yeah. I figured."
"But..." Kai'Sa lifted the bouquet to her nose, breathing in its faint sweetness. "You're good at gestures."
Relief hit Akali so hard she nearly slumped. A shaky smile tugged at her lips. "Guess that's something."
Kai'Sa turned her wrist, sliding the bracelet on, the charm settling against her skin like it belonged there. She held it up to the light, then looked at Akali with something softer—something warmer.
"You didn't have to do all this."
"Yeah, I did." Akali's voice broke before she could stop it. "Because I don't want you thinking—even for a second—that I don't care. That I wouldn't choose you first. Always."
The words hung heavy in the air, but this time, Kai'Sa didn't let them drop. She reached over, fingers brushing Akali's, and held them there.
"Then... don't let your pride get in the way again," Kai'Sa said quietly. "I don't need you to burn out with me. I just need you with me."
Akali's throat tightened. She nodded quickly, fiercely. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I will do that."
Their hands lingered together, the weight of the fight slowly unraveling, thread by thread. And though the silence that followed was still thick, it wasn't sharp anymore. It was soft. Tentative. A silence that held room for healing.
They stayed like that for a while, trading halting words, letting the flowers and the bracelets speak where their voices stumbled. And somewhere in the back of her mind, Akali thought again of Peter—of the way he'd handed her these small, perfect tools like he'd known exactly how the moment would play out.
"Sometimes it's easier to show you care first. Words come later."
He'd been right.
And as Kai'Sa leaned her head against her shoulder, quiet but no longer distant, Akali realized just how much she owed him for giving her this chance to make things right.
Kai'Sa turned the bouquet in her hands like she was afraid to crush it. Pink-and-blue forget-me-nots, small and delicate, bright against the tired curve of her mouth. The charm bracelet slid warm onto her wrist, the flower catching a shard of late light and flashing once like a signal.
"Okay," she said, and the word came out as a breath. "You came prepared."
Akali huffed a laugh that shook on its way out. "You have no idea how many times I practiced not dropping these on the way here."
Kai'Sa's eyes softened. "I would've forgiven you even if you did."
The knot behind Akali's ribs eased just enough to let her breathe. She sat, leaving the careful space two people leave when they're trying to remember how to be close without breaking anything. The bench was cool; the wood pressed steady against her palms. For a moment, neither of them looked at the other. Birds stitched through the late afternoon. Far down the path, a stroller wheel squeaked. Somewhere behind the trees, a siren wailed and faded.
"I thought this was going to be worse," Akali admitted, a smile tugging despite the churn in her stomach. "Like... crying, yelling, maybe you throwing me in the fountain."
Kai'Sa angled a sidelong look at her. "The fountain is for tourists and dramatic music videos. Not petty revenge."
"Noted." Akali rolled her shoulders back. "Also, for real, I'm sorry. I hated how I sounded yesterday. Like—like I was trying to control you. I wasn't. I just... you were disappearing in front of me. And I panicked."
"I know." Kai'Sa's fingers worried the bouquet ribbon. "And I'm sorry for snapping. I don't like being told I can't do something when... when it feels like if I don't, no one will."
There it was. The hard, bright core of Kai'Sa—the part that ran itself ragged because stopping felt like failure. Akali had loved that about her, until she saw it hollowing Kai'Sa out from the inside.
"You help everyone," Akali said softly. "But you're not a bottomless well. If you dry up, there's nothing left for anyone. Including you. Including me."
Kai'Sa let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "You sound like you rehearsed that."
"I did." Akali held up her free hand. "In the mirror. To Towa. To my toaster. It didn't go great."
That earned a real laugh—small, but real. "The toaster's a tough crowd."
"Worst heckler in the house." Akali twisted the second bracelet, then slid it over her own wrist, matching Kai'Sa's. "Look... I know I walked away when you said you needed space. I shouldn't have. I could've stayed close without crowding you. That's on me."
Kai'Sa's shoulder brushed hers, and stayed. "Thank you," she said, and the words landed with the finality of a door unlocking. "I— I didn't sleep much. Guilt makes a terrible pillow."
"Tell me about it." Akali exhaled. "I built an entire shrine of excuses in my head last night and kicked every one of them over by morning."
They let the quiet exist. It wasn't empty now; it was the kind that lets two people hear each other breathe and remember they're made of the same fragile materials.
Kai'Sa lifted the bouquet again, nose brushing the petals. "Forget-me-nots. You remembered I like them."
"Of course I did. You made me learn what they were the first week we met." Akali glanced at the tiny flowers. "We got the bracelets because of them, remember?"
Kai'Sa looked down at her wrist, at the new charm glinting. "I was going to forgive you anyway," she admitted, cheeks pinking. "But this... this made it easy to start. You showing up like this."
Relief flooded Akali so fast she almost slumped. "Good," she said, a little too quick. She cleared her throat. "I mean—great. Amazing. Ten out of ten, would apologize again."
Kai'Sa snorted. "Please don't. Let's try not apologizing for a while."
"I can do that." Akali hesitated, then added, "I had help."
"Help?" Kai'Sa's brows pinched, curiosity pricking through the gentleness.
Akali chewed the inside of her cheek, fighting the ridiculous urge to be coy about it. It wasn't like she'd done this alone. "From... a guy. At the flower kiosk."
Kai'Sa blinked. "A florist?"
"Not exactly." Akali pressed her lips together, then plunged ahead. "He was there. Already buying something. I— I kind of blurted my life into the air like an idiot and he... caught it? And gave me these." She wiggled the bracelet charm. "And told me what to do."
Kai'Sa's gaze sharpened—not suspicious, just focused. "What did he tell you?"
"That I'm the kind of person who overthinks my own honesty," Akali said, a lopsided smile tugging. "And that I should show you I care first. Words could come later."
Kai'Sa looked down at the flowers again, and something in her face shifted—like a tension line crossing her forehead unclenched. "He's right," she said simply.
"Yeah." Akali's mouth went dry for absolutely no good reason. "He—uh. He was weirdly good at it. Like, disturbingly good."
Kai'Sa's attention flicked back to Akali's face, reading between lines as only she could. "Weirdly good," she echoed. "And?"
"And..." Akali stared very hard at a spot on her sneaker. "He was— you know." She made a helpless little circle with her hand. "Handsome."
There was a beat, then: "Akali."
"What?" Akali could feel the heat rising to her ears like she'd stepped into a hot shower. "I'm allowed to notice faces. It's legal."
Kai'Sa's lips curved. "Describe him."
"Oh my god." Akali laughed despite herself, throwing her head back. "You're actually going to make me say it."
"Consider it penance." Kai'Sa bumped her shoulder, eyes glinting. "Consider it friendship tax."
"Fine." Akali gave in, because she always did when Kai'Sa asked with that look. "Tall. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up like he thought he was on a book cover. Dark jeans. Hair that did that stupid effortless thing where it looks like it woke up knowing it was perfect. He... he had this calm. Like the kind of calm that makes you feel stupid for panicking. Not in a condescending way—just... sturdy."
Kai'Sa made a soft, thoughtful sound. "Sounds like a godsend. Or a walking red flag."
"Right?" Akali groaned. "Believe me, I checked for villain monologues and tiny mustaches. Came up clean."
"And he gave you his number?" Kai'Sa asked, too casual.
"I asked for it," Akali corrected, bravado wobbling into honesty. "Bold, I know. It just... felt right."
Kai'Sa's grin tipped into teasing. "So you collected a stranger."
"Don't say it like that; it sounds like a crime." Akali rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm not— I don't do that. Ever. I don't even ask baristas for extra napkins. But with him it was like... if I didn't, I'd be missing something I was supposed to have."
"That's either fate," Kai'Sa declared, "or you were very sleep-deprived."
"Both can be true," Akali deadpanned.
They sat with it—the relief, the shameless teasing, the edges of a new thread weaving itself into their shared tapestry. After a moment, Kai'Sa pulled her feet up onto the bench, shoes scuffing the wood, and angled toward Akali.
"What's his name?"
"Peter." The syllables felt weirdly nice in her mouth. "He said, 'See you around, Akali' when I left. Like he meant it."
Kai'Sa tilted her head. "So text him."
"I was going to." Akali pulled out her phone, thumb hovering. "But it felt rude to text while I was apologizing to my best friend."
"Text him after," Kai'Sa conceded. She touched the bouquet again, then looked back at Akali with frank gratitude. "Thank you. For doing this. For... not making me drag it out of you."
"Thank you for not making me crawl across the park on my knees."
"I considered it," Kai'Sa said, straight-faced. "Decided the fountain would be too dramatic."
Akali bumped her shoulder with her own, relief loosening into a grin. "You're the worst."
"You said that yesterday," Kai'Sa reminded her, and they both dissolved into a shared laugh that untied the last hard knot.
When the laughter died, the day had softened. The sun leaned toward the rooftops, light going honey-low. A breeze stirred the leaves and slid a cool ribbon down the back of Akali's neck. In the distance, a dog barked twice and then forgot what it was angry about.
"Can we... figure it out?" Kai'Sa asked, voice small in a way that always yanked at Akali's heart. "The balance thing. I don't want to stop helping Dad at the shelter. I don't want to stop— any of it. But I don't want to lose you because I'm terrible at time."
"We'll figure it out," Akali said instantly. "We'll make a plan. Boundaries. Schedules. Boring adult stuff. I will literally set alarms titled 'go to sleep or I will drag you by your hair.'"
"Tempting." Kai'Sa's eyes warmed. "Okay. We try. And if I say I need space again... you stay close, but not too close?"
"I'll hover like a supportive cloud," Akali promised. "A sexy cumulonimbus."
Kai'Sa narrowed her eyes. "You don't know what that means."
"Not even a little," Akali admitted. "But it felt correct."
They grinned at each other. The world righted itself by increments—small, stubborn turns.
Akali leaned back into the bench, phone heavy in her pocket. She thought of Peter again—of the steadiness in his voice, the way he'd handed her the exact right tools like he'd known her whole life. Gratitude swelled, bright and inconvenient.
"I'm going to text him," she said aloud, almost to herself.
"Do it," Kai'Sa said, then added, with theatrical seriousness, "But if you marry him I get veto power over the centerpieces."
"Deal," Akali snorted, then pulled out her phone for real. Her thumbs hovered as she stared at the empty text box under a contact she'd saved simply as Peter (Kiosk).
She typed. Erased. Typed again.
Hey — it worked.
She forgave me. The flowers + bracelets were perfect.
Thank you. Seriously.
She paused, lip between teeth.
Also... if you ever want to hang out (no crises required), I owe you coffee. Or seventeen.
She stared. Her heart tapped too fast against her ribs. She looked up to find Kai'Sa watching her with an expectant little smile.
Akali hit send.
Nothing exploded. The sky didn't crack. She remained, stubbornly, a person on a bench in a park with her best friend and a new charm warming on her wrist.
Kai'Sa exhaled like she'd been holding her own breath. "Proud of you."
"Don't say that; I'll cry," Akali said, and immediately blinked hard because of course that was all it took.
Kai'Sa, who knew her better than anyone, didn't call her on it. She just nudged their knees together, a quiet anchor. "Do you want to walk? Or sit here and people-watch until we judge someone's outfit too harshly and have to atone?"
"Walk," Akali said. "And then judge. In that order."
They stood. Akali tucked the now-lighter bouquet into the crook of her arm, and Kai'Sa threaded her hand through Akali's free one like it had always belonged there. They moved unhurried, bracelets chiming softly when they bumped.
They looped the pond. They reminisced—about the first time they'd tried to stop a shoplifter and ended up paying for his bread instead; about the time Akali had dyed Kai'Sa's hair with a product that smelled like a chemistry lab; about the time Kai'Sa had dragged Akali out of a party five minutes before it got raided.
At one point, Kai'Sa went quiet, then said, "You scared me yesterday."
"I scared me too," Akali admitted. "I don't like the version of me that thinks leaving fixes things."
Kai'Sa squeezed her hand. "I like the version of you that brings my favorite flowers and the exact right words."
"Stolen words," Akali corrected, half-proud. "Borrowed. From a mysterious flower-kiosk prophet."
"Who is very handsome," Kai'Sa added, face solemn.
Akali groaned. "He really is. Like—obnoxiously so."
"Then I look forward to teasing you mercilessly about him. For years."
"Best friends' duty," Akali agreed.
They circled back toward the bench as the light thinned. The park was never truly quiet—there was always a hum—but in that moment, it felt like they'd managed to carve out a pocket where the world couldn't reach them. Close by, a child let loose a kite that immediately nose-dived into a bush; his older sister retrieved it with practiced resignation. Somewhere off to their right, a couple argued brightly about the fastest route to the train.
Akali's phone stayed quiet.
She checked it once, twice—screen blank, no reply. Her chest sank just a little, though she covered it with a smile as Kai'Sa tucked the bouquet against her thigh. He's busy. Don't overthink it.
They sat again, nearer than before, bracelets chiming as they bumped together. Kai'Sa rested her head on Akali's shoulder, warm and familiar, grounding her in a way that made the silence of her phone easier to ignore.
"Thank you for coming," Kai'Sa murmured.
"Thank you for staying," Akali said.
The park exhaled around them. For a while, it was enough—the ordinary rhythm of footsteps on gravel, distant laughter, the lazy spiral of a kite overhead.
But then the air shifted.
It wasn't dramatic, not at first. Just a faint tremor under the bench, like a subway train passing too deep to hear. The branches above them shivered though the breeze had gone still. Akali's eyes flicked skyward, instinct sharpening.
"Did you feel that?" she asked.
Kai'Sa frowned. "Yeah. Probably nothing—"
A sound split the air. Not thunder. Not metal. A low, resonant crack, like glass being scored by an invisible knife. Both of them looked toward the fountain at the park's center, but the sound didn't stop there—it spidered outward, faint fractures racing along the edges of the world.
Akali's breath caught. The air bent. The space in front of them seemed to ripple, warping like heat over asphalt. And for an instant, just an instant, she thought she saw another park on the other side of that shimmer—twisted trees, a sky bleeding orange-black, shadows moving where people should be.
"What the hell..." Akali whispered.
Kai'Sa grabbed her wrist, bouquet forgotten at her feet. "Akali—"
The crack widened. Not in the fountain, not even in the ground, but in the air itself. A thin seam of light and shadow split open like someone tugging apart a zipper. The sound was everywhere at once—above, behind, under their feet.
Akali's phone buzzed in her pocket. She jolted, yanking it out with shaking fingers. But it wasn't a message. The screen just glitched, flickering static, her lock screen fracturing into mirrored shards before it went black entirely.
Her stomach turned ice. She didn't need Peter's words to tell her something was horribly wrong. She thought of his calm face at the kiosk, of his voice saying, Sometimes it's easier to show you care first.
And then, unbidden: his other words. These say more than an apology you're still overthinking.
Except this time, there were no words. No reply. No calm smile. Just silence—and the reality around them breaking open.
Kai'Sa's grip tightened painfully around her wrist. "We have to move."
Akali nodded, but the cracks raced faster, crawling across the air like a web spun by something they couldn't see. They didn't know it, but far across the city Peter Parker had just stepped through his tear in reality—triggering every other one like a chain reaction, a trap sprung on a universal scale.
And this park was no exception.
The seam in front of them burst wide, swallowing the fountain's reflection in a wave of black-orange light. The ground trembled hard enough to throw them from the bench. Akali hit the grass and looked up just in time to see the tear yawning wide—hungry, pulling.
Her scream tangled in her throat as gravity betrayed them.
The last thing she saw before the park inverted was Kai'Sa's hand still locked with hers, bracelets clashing with a sharp metallic chime.
And then the world turned inside out.
...
The first step across was quiet. Too quiet.
Peter's boots sank into the mirrored grass of Valoran Park with a sound that wasn't a sound, like air pressed flat against glass. Behind him, the faint shimmer of the tear hissed shut around the edges, though it never sealed completely. It pulsed faintly, holding the line between realities like a crack in an aquarium that hadn't quite given way.
He exhaled, shoulders straightening, forcing himself into the calm rhythm that had carried him through worse. Worse, he reminded himself. This wasn't the first corrupted world he'd set foot in. Probably wouldn't be the last.
Still... it didn't feel new.
The park stretched before him in uncanny reflection. The fountain was still there, but instead of water spilling downward in arcs of silver, a thick, dark fluid bled upward, vanishing into the orange-black sky. The trees leaned at angles that made no sense, their branches clawing into the dimness above as though begging for something that wasn't there.
The skyline was familiar, yet wrong: towers bent at odd joints, windows flickering like eyes squeezed shut against pain. The air itself carried an almost inaudible hum, like the city was alive but groaning under its own weight.
Peter adjusted his mask, more for grounding than anything else. Feels wrong, but not new, he thought. Darks loved their symbolism. Loved twisting the familiar into reminders of what was lost, what was fragile. The trick was to remember it was all theater — and keep walking.
He took a slow step forward, then another, each careful, deliberate. His senses were firing in that constant, buzzing way that wasn't danger, exactly, but tension stretched thin across every nerve. Like walking down a dark hall already knowing there was something waiting at the other end.
Still, nothing moved.
Not yet.
He walked deeper into the park. The ground felt normal beneath his boots, though it gave back the wrong sound — more like a wet smear than the crunch of grass and dirt. A dog barked faintly in the distance, muffled and warped, as if heard through several walls of glass.
Then the whispers began.
At first, they were just static — faint vibrations tickling the edges of his hearing. But as he kept moving, they sharpened.
"...not good enough..."
"...should've saved them..."
"...you promised..."
Peter froze, spine rigid, fists curling.
The voices layered, folding into one another like echoes stacked on top of echoes. Male, female, old, young. Familiar.
"...he's not ready..."
"...he'll fail again..."
"...you let them die..."
He forced himself to breathe, to catalog instead of react. Classic Dark playbook. Echo the guilt. Toss the regrets back at you. They want hesitation, not awareness.
But then one voice cut clear above the rest, sharp and unmistakable.
"Peter."
He whipped around.
No one was there.
Still, the sound rang in his ears — soft, bright, painfully familiar. Neeko's voice. That bubbling laugh tucked between vowels, the way she always put a weight on the second syllable.
It came again, lighter this time. "Peterrrr!" Followed by laughter, trailing off into the trees.
He clenched his jaw. "Not real."
But his chest still tightened.
More steps. The whispers didn't fade; they multiplied.
Ezreal's voice joined, edged with contempt: "I told you. I told them all. You're poison."
He ignored it.
Lux's tone threaded through, warmer, sadder: "We trust you... so why don't you trust us back?"
He ignored it harder.
Every sound was designed to sting, to hook. He knew the drill — ignore, compartmentalize, move forward. He'd trained himself past this before. This wasn't his first stage-dressed hell.
But the world kept pressing.
He saw it in the way Lux's light flared at the corner of his vision, bending into shapes that weren't possible — burning sideways, casting shadows in the wrong direction. He saw it in the way Ezreal's voice overlapped with footsteps crunching behind him, though no one was there.
And worst of all, he swore he felt a hand brush his shoulder once — light, almost affectionate — the way Neeko sometimes did when words weren't enough.
Peter stopped walking.
His pulse pounded in his throat.
The silence that followed was thicker, deliberate, like the realm itself was waiting for him to crack.
He adjusted his stance. This place is trying to unsettle me. Nothing more.
Yet the unease lingered. Because it wasn't random. It was precise. Every voice, every flicker of light, every sound — chosen. Crafted. Too sharp to be coincidence, too tailored to be generic Dark nonsense.
It was picking at scars, not wounds.
Not "you're weak."
Not "you'll lose."
But You failed her.
You poisoned him.
You made me need you.
And that was different.
He forced himself forward again, steps heavier this time.
The fountain grew larger in the distance, its stream of black fluid pulsing upward into nothing. The air shimmered faintly around it, like heatwaves over asphalt.
The whispers thinned, then concentrated into one voice, crisp and cold.
"Peter."
He froze again.
This time it wasn't Neeko. Or Lux. Or Ezreal.
It was a voice he didn't recognize — deep, smooth, steady. A voice that seemed to know him anyway.
"You crossed."
The words spread through the park like a ripple, low and certain.
"You stepped where you shouldn't."
Peter's hand flexed, web-shooters primed. He scanned the shadows, eyes narrowed behind the lenses.
"But you always do, don't you?"
Nothing moved.
Nothing stirred.
Only the park itself seemed to lean closer, listening.
Peter exhaled through his nose, steady, refusing the bait. "Yeah, well. Story of my life."
But the air didn't answer back this time.
Instead, a laugh rolled faintly through the trees. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just... amused.
It faded slow, as if it could afford to.
Peter adjusted his mask again, set his shoulders, and kept walking.
Still forward. Always forward.
Because whatever this was — whoever it was — it wanted him to stop.
And stopping was never the answer.
But even as he moved, the weight in his chest didn't leave.
Because for all his defiance, for all his experience — he couldn't shake the thought crawling in the back of his mind.
This wasn't just another stage-dressed hell.
This was crafted. Designed. Waiting.
And the worst part?
Somewhere deep down, under the stubbornness and the training, Peter knew it.
And kept walking anyway.
...
Akali hit the ground hard, air punched from her lungs as the bouquet she'd been clutching scattered like confetti in the dark wind. The sky wasn't sky anymore. It pulsed in colors no sunset should hold—black bleeds against orange veins, like someone had smeared molten metal across the clouds.
"—Kai'sa!" she choked, rolling onto her side.
Her friend was there, but not there. Kai'Sa's silhouette wavered against the light, like her body was being refracted through shattered glass. Her bracelets sparked, the glow crawling up her arms. For one impossible second she looked radiant, divine. Then the distortion surged, pulling them both off the grass.
Kai'Sa clawed for the bench, but her fingers passed through the wood as if it were painted on a pane of glass. Her hand snapped back, colliding with Akali's wrist, the bracelets striking each other with that cold metallic chime. The contact jolted them both—real, anchoring—before the world flipped inside out.
The park was gone.
No, not gone. Reversed.
Valoran Park stretched around them, yet wrong. The fountain burbled black water, spilling onto stone that breathed like skin. The trees loomed taller, skeletal, their branches twitching in a wind that didn't exist. The ground under Akali's sneakers flexed, like walking on muscle.
Her stomach lurched. "This... isn't real. Right? It's—some nightmare?"
Kai'Sa pushed hair out of her eyes, jaw tight. "If it is, we're sharing it."
Neither girl noticed the way their reflections in the fountain didn't move with them. The mirror versions sat calmly on the bench, hands still linked, smiling in a way that looked almost tender. Almost.
Akali swallowed, throat dry. "We need to... get out of here."
But the reflection-Kai'Sa shook her head. "No, Akali. You always run. You always leave me behind."
The words froze Akali in place. Her own reflection turned next, eyes cutting. "And you let it happen."
Kai'Sa blinked, horrified. "That's not—"
The reflections didn't stand. They didn't need to. Their whispers stretched like wires through the air, crawling inside the girls' ears.
Akali clenched her fists, voice breaking. "What the hell is this place?"
Neither of them noticed the tear in the air sealing shut behind them.
To Be Continued...