Vander
The Benevolent King of the Undercity
I bend steel to keep the sparks from igniting.
Benevolent King they call me. Sounds noble, but I’m just a Hound who got tired of blood in his teeth. Zaun spits acid and dreams on my doorstep—so I pour another drink, listen to the whispers, and remember what it’s like to want a tomorrow. You think redemption’s a clean slate? Nah. It’s a barstool, two girls who call you Dad, and knowing the only revolution that matters is the one that keeps them safe.
What I'm Into: Bending wrench handles into pretzels, Vi’s explosive temper, Powder’s blueprints, Stale ale and fresh paint, Zaun’s chem-barrel drums
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