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The very first time Viktor received the news, he went pale.
He doesn’t remember exactly when he found out — the day or time didn’t matter — but the brunette could swear the world held its breath for a second. It came to him like a heartbeat echoing in a quiet forest, a sensation so instinctive, so sacred, like a call of nature he didn’t even know he could hear. It didn’t stir like the arcane; this wasn’t some cosmic spell traversing the stars — this came from within, a whisper from his own flesh and blood.
Viktor wasn’t sure either of how tight his grip was on the table when he almost fell from the realization. Evie, the sweet village baker, a short and stubborn old lady, placed a hand on his back to steady him. Her voice came muffled, distant, like it was floating through water — “Are you okay?” She handed him the cane he’d dropped and helped him sit down. It took him a few minutes to reassemble his scattered senses before realizing the town doctor was now in front of him, gently patting his shoulder.
“I can measure around three weeks of gestation. Could you confirm that is correct, Viktor?”
They helped him walk back home once they noticed the silent shock that gripped him like a wave. But once safely inside, the mage found himself frozen before the mirror in the bathroom. With trembling hands, he splashed cold water onto his face, the faucet still running halfway — like his thoughts, unfinished and spilling.
He paced through the warm, comforting kitchen, the small studio nestled beside his tall bookshelf, then wandered out onto the front porch. There, he sat on the wooden deck, his bare feet brushing the grass, arms wrapped around himself like a fragile cocoon.
Pregnant. Really.
He was carrying life in his womb — Jayce Talis’ child. Jayce, the golden boy, now simply the village blacksmith — and adorably, the version Viktor loved best. It felt alien, like standing before an entire ocean of uncharted waters with no map in hand.
In Piltover, he had never dreamed of children. It hadn’t been a desire, not even a thought — besides, few Piltovans would’ve dared to look twice at a Zaunite. It wasn’t something he let himself imagine… Jayce, on the other hand.
Tall, radiant, magnetic — Jayce had the kind of warmth that made people orbit him. He was everything the world expected: the perfect husband, the dream father. Viktor had watched him fit so well into the life carved beside Miss Medarda. Oh yes, Viktor could picture it — almost too well.
No. He hated remembering that. Hated the idea of watching Jayce grow old as someone else’s loving husband, someone else’s father, while Viktor faded into “Dad’s old friend.” The thought could have shattered him.
But this — this was real. Not a fever dream whispered in the dark, not a lonely fantasy spun on a quiet Saturday night.
Life was blooming inside him.
Viktor couldn’t deny the awe it stirred. He had long used his arcane gifts to help the village — sensing the body’s quiet rhythms, blending them with his herbal knowledge to heal. One of his favorite patients had been a young lady with sudden nausea. Thinking it a stomach bug from spoiled food, he gently placed his hand over her belly — with her consent.
What he felt stunned him.
A jolt of life, raw and breathtaking. Not magic, not anything beyond this world — just the simple, undeniable miracle of life itself.
And now, as he slowly guided his hand onto his own stomach, he felt it again but…stronger… warmer and kinder.
He started breathing again.
Telling Jayce was simple, there would be no running around in circles with explanations, there would be no build up, cutting to the chase he told him.
“I’m pregnant”
Oh, and the sweet blacksmith — his husband, his Jayce — melted like a candle to a flame.
Naphtali was born first, in July. 9.92 lb. A big baby, for sure. Viktor once thought the spinal bolt surgery had been the worst pain he’d ever endured — metallic structures drilled right into his bones — but oh, pushing this damn thing out of him was five times worse.
He was this close to begging for the lower half of his body to be cut away from his torso; maybe then, with some herbal tea, he could forget he was missing his legs and stomach.
But when Naph was placed in his arms, the pain drained away like water slipping down a stream.
That beautiful bronze-tan skin, dark hair kissed with golden tips, a few scattered moles, and that unmistakable cupid’s bow — it was a carbon copy of Jayce.
Back in Piltover, Viktor would’ve sworn he lived to improve people’s lives. That had been his purpose, his claim. But when Naph opened their sweet eyes and looked up at their father — oh, there was nothing else in the world that could compare.
Jayce had always claimed his greatest achievement was Hextech. He poured his dream into it — restless nights, endless trial and error, every ounce of himself — until it became Piltover’s crown jewel. He had climbed to the top, earned his seat on the council, his face plastered across every wall, every ad and shining poster.
But oh — the sweet baby in his husband’s arms?
That was his true masterpiece. His pride. His joy. The creation that truly mattered.
The blacksmith, unlike Viktor, had always pictured a family — of course, not quite like this. Jayce had imagined cozy Sundays, children laughing in fields, a warm home where they could grow, maybe little geniuses running around. A dog, perhaps. A cat.
But when every equation was solved, or in other words, when he lost the way and his soulmate, fell into a ravine for eight months becoming permanently disabled, mentally traumatized, having to kill his partner and fight him for the greater good of the universe, leaving life as he knew it behind to run away with him into the unknown, being sucked into a rune to the middle of nowhere, married Viktor without hesitation and build an entire new life in a cottage by the stream; his plans of a perfect modern family were a bit- modified.
But he wanted this, he wanted to grow old with his best friend, he wanted a house together and admittedly, kids.
Naphtali had stolen Jayce’s heart the moment they were born, he could barely believe Viktor really popped out his mini clone, the mage’s features were very prominent and at least he figured they would take a lot of his features, but thankfully those gorgeous moles were adorning their beautiful skin.
Parenting came naturally to him. From the very moment he cradled his child in his big, careful arms, Jayce knew he would give them the entire world if it meant seeing them smile.
Then, a year later, on a quiet Valentine’s Day morning, Amaranthe opened their bright honey-colored eyes and blinked up with sleepy effort at the man holding them. Viktor’s gaze was as full of love and awe as it had been the first time with Naph. And that same Naph now sat curled in Jayce’s lap, sound asleep — poor little one couldn’t spare their afternoon nap, not even for the arrival of their sibling.
Jayce’s heart cracked open all over again, struck with that unbearable sweetness only his children could cause. He took in Amy’s soft features: warm tan skin, a single delicate mole resting on one cheek, long lashes like butterfly wings, and a tuft of pale blonde hai, a second little Jayce, as if conjured from sunlight.
Their temperaments, like their faces, carried gentleness. The villagers always said so, that wherever the couple went, a quiet peace followed, and their children were no exception. Kind little souls, both of them. Thoughtful, polite, eager to help. They were raised not with harsh rules, but with steady patience, and in return they bloomed into generous, clever hearts.
Sometimes Viktor would bring Naph along to help with natural remedies or assist at medical check-ups. Other days, Jayce would let Amy toddle beside him through the village, handing over small tools and watching curiously as he worked to fix broken fences or windows. And when schedules switched, so did the children. They adapted, always.
Dinners were the warmest part of the day, quiet celebrations of family. As soon as the kids could walk without tumbling over, they took to setting the table with proud little hands. Forks and spoons were their duty, but they always asked their dads to handle the knives. They poured water into glasses, sometimes spilling a bit, but always with care. It was their ritual, and they cherished it.
And when the sun dipped below the hills, it was bedtime story hour, always. Viktor would sit down with a book chosen by one of the little ones from the town’s bookstore, often thick animal encyclopedias full of colorful illustrations. The kids listened with wide eyes, learning about wild creatures, icy oceans, glowing deserts — their minds slowly wrapping around the truth that the world was far vaster than the woods and rivers that lined their sleepy little village.
…
“I felt it again,” Viktor spoke tenderly, holding Jayce’s hand as sweetly as an autumn leaf falling onto the grass. He delighted in the feeling of his husband's strong and calloused hands, covered in the scars of labor yet the same hands that gently brushed their child’s hair with the softest care, terrified of causing even the slightest pain.
They sat on the porch under a July night sky. Naph, barely five years old, had long since drifted to sleep.
Jayce turned his head from their intertwined hands to Viktor’s enigmatic face, not just meeting his gaze, but witnessing the quiet unfolding of his soul.
“Felt...?”
“Another... presence within me.” Viktor’s eyes wandered across the field, to the river, and finally upward where the full moon bathed the lovers in its silver blessing.
Jayce's mouth hung open briefly before he let out a small, joyful laugh — one of those charming giggles that bloomed warmth in Viktor’s chest.
“So... another Hextech collaboration dropping soon?”
Viktor bumped his shoulder against Jayce’s with mock annoyance. “Ah yes, Jayceling 3.0, our newest model.”
Jayce lifted a hand, drawing the logo in the air with a flourish. “Now powered by the Arcane! Get them before they sell out!”
“Make sure to mention it during your next Progress Day speech,” Viktor said, giving him a playful smirk. They both chuckled, wrapped in the softness of shared memory, until Jayce gently rested his head on Viktor’s shoulder.
“Thank you for giving me this, Viktor... this life. I would never trade it for anything.” His lips curled into a dreamy smile, a content sigh leaving his chest. “I can’t believe we’re having another.”
“I think it’s me who should be grateful,” Viktor murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved me.”
“I’m pretty sure it was the other way around. Every time,” Jayce whispered, his leg brushing against Viktor’s as he nestled closer. “I wouldn’t survive being apart from you.”
Viktor let out a small noise of doubt. “I was dying... I’m pretty sure you would’ve been s—”
But Jayce silenced him with sudden tenderness, cupping Viktor’s face in his hands. His amber eyes locked onto Viktor’s — first his lips, then his gaze — aflame with a devotion so profound it seemed to defy language.
“I would crawl into your skin and let you swallow me whole, just to be part of you... and I bet that would be the closest thing to heaven a mere mortal man like me could ever know.”
Viktor stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment, before finally whispering,
“Maybe Naph’s imaginary friends are a case of hereditary psychosis... from you, Jayce Talis.”
…
Viktor had just started his second trimester. He was sitting on the wooden floor of the living room, surrounded by scattered clothes, tiny onesies, little hats, and soft mittens once worn by Naph and Amy. With delicate fingers and a quiet focus, he rummaged through the pile, sorting them for the family’s soon-to-arrive addition.
As he folded each piece, Amy sat snugly between his legs, facing his rounded belly. The toddler tapped at it with gentle, curious hands, as if knocking on a door they hoped someone might open.
“Baby?” they asked, peering up at Viktor with wide eyes.
He nodded without breaking his calm expression, that familiar resting face, unreadable to strangers but soft in the quiet glow of home.
“Yes, dear, there’s a baby in there,” he said, folding a tiny shirt and slipping it into a fabric bag beside him.
“Baby?” Amy repeated, tapping again. “Baby?”
“Yes,” Viktor replied again, patient, folding and tucking, his voice steady as a heartbeat.
Meanwhile, across the room, Naph was making a joyful mess of Jayce’s hair. The boy had climbed up onto his father’s back like a determined mountaineer, ruffling and tugging playfully at the thick dark strands. Jayce laughed, helpless in the grip of tiny limbs and the boundless energy of a five-year-old, letting his head fall forward while Naph squealed behind him.
Viktor, still enduring Amy’s curious bongo session against his belly, glanced up at the scene and scoffed softly, shaking his head with a laugh.
“Nine months in my belly for each of them... and they have the audacity to come out as your little clones. I swear, the next one will follow the tradition.”
Jayce grinned from under Naph’s siege. “But they all inherited your ethereal little moles, I can at least claim that will live on. That’s all you.”
Viktor rolled his eyes and tapped Amy’s head lightly with a folded pair of socks. “Oh, and let’s not forget the inevitable eleven-pounder I’ll be pushing out again. Another titanic baby like you.”
Amy shook their head solemnly, not quite understanding what offense they were being accused of, but responding anyway with stubborn denial.
Jayce chuckled and scooped Naph off his back, settling him down beside him. “Hey, my mom used to say I was a giant baby too, apparently when I came out, the midwife looked at me like I was a fully grown man already. She swears I weighed almost twelve pounds, though I think she just likes exaggerating the story.”
Viktor raised a brow. “Twelve pounds? What were you, a bowling ball?”
“Worse. A charming bowling ball with a full head of hair,” Jayce said proudly, tossing a stuffed toy at Naph, who caught it mid-giggle.
“And you?” Jayce asked after a beat, glancing over. “What kind of baby were you?”
Viktor paused for a second, his hands stilling over a pair of booties. “I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “There aren’t many records... but I was told I was small. Frail, even. My mother used to say I looked like a kitten, always cold, always curled up.”
Jayce’s smile faded into something softer. “Look at you now,” he murmured. “Carrying half a nursery on your back, and still organizing everyone’s lives like a soldier.”
Viktor gave him a quiet, amused glance. “Some kitten I turned out to be.
”
Jayce leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “The fiercest one.”
And under the dim sunlight filtering through the windows, the home buzzed with the rhythm of life — folded cloth, soft laughter, and the quiet echo of love preparing to expand once more.
…
It was a cool afternoon in early spring, and the town was swaying between the last breaths of winter and the promise of warmth. Viktor walked slowly down the dirt path that led to the cabin at the edge of the woods, the same path he had taken several times over the years. The wildflowers were just beginning to bloom, their soft colors speckled among the green, and birds sang quietly in the trees overhead. His hand instinctively rested on his rounded belly, thumb stroking idle circles through his coat. He was just past the sixth month now. The weight was becoming more real with each week — not just physically, but in his heart.
The cabin came into view, small and worn but lovingly kept. It sat near the stream, with a tiny handmade wind chime dancing lazily above the front window. From within, he could already hear a quiet laugh — little Caleb’s, no doubt. And soon enough, the wooden door creaked open, and a woman with graying hair and a red shawl welcomed him in with a knowing smile.
“Come in, come in,” the grandmother, Atta, urged, already ushering him toward the hearth. “You’re late, young man. The stew is almost cold.”
“I told you not to wait,” Viktor replied with a quiet chuckle, stepping inside with his usual grace and care, the cane tapping softly against the floor. His movements were slower these days, his joints stiff under the additional strain of pregnancy, but there was a steadiness to him that never wavered.
The cabin smelled of thyme and garlic and root vegetables simmering low. It wrapped around him like a blanket.
“You need to eat something proper,” she said, already pouring the stew into a clay bowl. “You’ve given us enough miracles. It’s time someone fed you for once.”
Viktor smiled with a mixture of amusement and gratitude as he lowered himself into a wooden chair, hand still protective over his belly. “I appreciate the miracle of your stew, then.”
The visits to the house had become at first a job, helping Caleb with the physical rehabilitation of his bad leg, but then as often as the visits became, the boy’s little family had taken a liking to Viktor, even treating him like part of them.
The boy no older than nine came limping toward him with the help of a slender, polished brace and prosthetic that clicked softly against the wooden floor. His reddish hair was uncombed and his cheeks rosy from the indoor heat. His eyes sparkled as he held up a small paper drawing: a sketch of a machine, crude but enthusiastic.
“Look what I made! It’s like yours, but better!” he exclaimed.
Viktor took the paper gently, smiling down at the wild lines and imaginative parts. “Better, hm? I’ll have to watch out for you taking my job.”
The boy laughed. He stood taller now, more confident since the last visit. The prosthetic custom-built by Viktor and Jayce had made a world of difference. Before, the boy had barely walked. Now, he could run. A little uneven, yes, but joyfully, freely.
As the boy shuffled off to show the drawing to his mother, Viktor took a spoonful of stew, letting the warmth settle deep into him.
The grandmother sat across from him, knitting lazily. “You’ve given that boy something no one else could,” she said. “You and your husband… your hands have magic in them. First your babies so healthy, so strong and now you go around giving other people’s children new lives too.”
Viktor offered a polite smile, but her words lingered deeper than she knew.
Strong.
Healthy.
He stirred the stew quietly, his eyes drifting to the flickering fireplace, shadows dancing like old ghosts along the wall. Naph had been born enormous and vigorous. Amy too — full of brightness and energy. But a quiet worry had bloomed in him ever since he knew he was carrying again. It bloomed slowly, curling in the back of his mind like smoke.
What if this one wasn’t like the others?
What if this child had his bones? His weak lungs? His uneven walk? What if they inherited the parts of him he’d fought his whole life to survive?
He looked down at his belly, his hand curling protectively again. Was he selfish for wishing this one would be more like Jayce? Stronger. Effortless.
He remembered his own childhood — the clumsy gait, the pain he learned to bear alone. His first brace, too tight. His first cane, too heavy. The looks. The shame. The longing to run, and never being able to. He remembered the way the world treated a boy with uneven steps.
And now, he stared at this small boy so much like himself and wondered… was it wrong to be afraid?
The stew had gone still in the bowl.
“Viktor,” the grandmother said softly, drawing him from his thoughts. “You’re thinking too loud again.”
He looked up, caught, but not embarrassed.
“I just…” he began, then paused. “I wonder if this one… might have a life like mine.”
She studied him quietly, then set down her knitting and reached for his hand, the same hand that had guided so many people, that had built so many futures.
“If they do, they’ll have a life touched by your love, your wisdom, your strength. And they’ll have a world that’s better because of what you’ve built for them.” She smiled. “You weren’t defective sweetheart. You were just waiting for the world to catch up to you.”
He blinked slowly, then nodded, not with full certainty, but with enough to take another bite of stew.That warmth of the lady, even the tender hand that offered him more stew, really felt like home, but an ancient one, it felt like mom.
And when he rose from the table and the boy came running back to hug him, prosthetic clicking joyfully beneath him, Viktor hugged him back with a tender strength. He knew then — whatever came, whatever this next child brought with them — they would be loved. Entirely. Fiercely. And without condition.
As he walked back through the path lined with early blooms, his hand rested on his belly once more.
They would be enough. Just as they are.
Back in the quiet warmth of their home, the world outside dimmed into a soft blue hush, and Viktor found himself curled on the edge of the bed with Naph nestled between his legs. The little one had just come out of the shower, his cheeks flushed from the warmth and his pajamas still holding that faint crispness of fresh laundry. His damp curls clung softly to his forehead, and his legs kicked lazily as he settled in.
With a wide-toothed comb in hand, Viktor began to gently brush through Naph’s hair, each motion slow and delicate, as though threading through something sacred. He hummed a lull of old Zaunite rhythm, then began to speak, his voice low and flowing like evening wind.
“Have I told you about Janna?” he asked, and Naph blinked up at him, already lulled, his eyes dreamy and glassy.
“She’s the wind, you know,” Viktor continued, brushing through the boy’s soft strands. “The old folks said she lived in the deepest smog of Zaun, but never once did it cling to her. She brought clean air with her cool and light. The children said she whispered their names at night, kept them safe in storms.”
Naph said nothing, but his lashes drooped further with each stroke, his head beginning to tilt ever so slightly into his father’s chest. Viktor smiled faintly, brushing behind his ears with all the care in the world.
“They say… if a child ever found themselves alone, Janna would come. On silent feet, through closed windows. She’d carry them off in the wind and give them dreams filled with clouds and lullabies,” he murmured.
Naph shifted, a content sigh escaping him, the scent of his fresh-washed hair wafting softly into the air —sweet, clean, and warm with a trace of their lavender soap. And Viktor couldn’t help it — he leaned in, slowly, and pressed his nose to the crown of Naph’s head. A long, gentle breath.
It was like bottled safety. Like joy made scent. No matter how many things he’d built in his life, how many futures he had imagined, this moment — this quiet, fragrant instant — felt greater than all of them.
He closed his eyes, his hand still combing gently.
And as Naph finally dozed off fully, his breathing evening out, Viktor simply sat there with him, brushing, humming, guarding the twilight silence like a prayer.
…
And then, the morning of April 2nd.
Viktor had given birth in quieter tides this time. The pain had visited, yes, but it came like gentle waves rather than a storm. His body, worn yet familiar with the journey, had not fought him as bitterly as before. Now, in the calm aftermath, he sat slightly propped in bed, skin pale with effort but aglow with peace, the softest smile playing on his lips as he cradled their third child against his chest.
The town’s kindhearted doctor — a woman with silver at her temples and lavender always tucked behind her ear — gave Viktor’s hand a final squeeze before she stepped out of the room with a whisper of congratulations. As the door eased shut behind her, Jayce appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with the fragile awe of waiting too long on the other side.
He leaned down, kissing Naph’s crown and smoothing Amy’s hair, his voice barely louder than the wind outside.
“Come in gently, little ones,” he murmured.
Tiny feet padded softly over the wooden floor as Naph and Amy entered, eyes curious and expectant. Jayce followed behind, taking his place beside Viktor’s bed, breath held as if afraid to disturb the moment. But Viktor didn’t look at the children first — his gaze lifted to his husband, his head turning slow and warm, eyes alight with something more than just pride, something quiet and unspeakably sacred. The smile he gave Jayce was barely there, but it carried more love than any words could hold.
Jayce's voice cracked the silence. “How are they?”
In answer, Viktor shifted gently, peeling back the blanket to reveal the tiniest life nestled in his arms. And Jayce's heart stilled. His breath caught. His knees nearly buckled.
The baby — their baby — looked exactly like Viktor.
Not just resemblance, but reflection.
Light skin kissed by soft rose undertones, a halo of dark brown hair that curled ever so slightly near the temples, and those two unmistakable moles, one resting beneath the right eye, the other tucked above the lip like a final delicate brushstroke. When the baby blinked, slowly, sleepily, golden-honey eyes peeked up, not Jayce’s, not mixed, but Viktor’s entirely.
Jayce stared, wordless, lips trembling, as Viktor offered him the child with reverent hands. He took the baby gently, as though it were made of starlight and breath alone.
The newborn fit perfectly in his calloused palms, so small it seemed unreal, yet realer than anything else in the room. The kind of small that promised health and softness, not worry, just delicate beginnings.
Jayce’s chest cracked open.
Tears welled up without permission, spilling down his cheeks as he looked down at the little carbon copy of the man he adored. His shoulders shook with every breath, every sob thick and tender and raw, not from pain but from too much love to keep inside.
He stared at the baby, then at Viktor — the same face twice over, one asleep and new, one tired and shining.
His voice broke as he finally managed the only words that could come:
“Beautiful… perfect.”
And in that quiet room, with the soft ticking of a clock and the presence of everything he’d ever wanted, Jayce wept with joy, holding his world in his arms.
Viktor’s soft eyes glanced at their kids, nodding slowly asking them with the gaze to wait and let dad express his feelings, before once more looking at the mess that Jayce was who could not part his eyes from the newborn.
“I was thinking of, Rio” Viktor suggested “It’s a very special name to me… someone…full of wonder, innocence, and unique in the world”
“Rio… Rio my sweet, it’s… yes, it should definitely be Rio” Jayce confirmed with a soft enthusiasm leaning his head down to deliver a tiny kiss on Rio’s little forehead.
Jayce carefully knelt down, matching the children’s height as they gathered around, wide-eyed and brimming with curiosity. Gently, he shifted the soft blankets to reveal the tiniest member of their family, nestled securely in his strong arms.
“This is Rio,” he said warmly, pride glowing in every word. “Your new little sibling.”
Naph tilted their head, eyes glimmering. “Cute.”
Amy leaned in a bit closer, voice hushed in awe. “Really cute.”
The baby blinked up at the three faces peering down with fascination, a little hand twitching free from the blanket as if to wave hello. Laughter bubbled between them like warm honey, soft and golden.
...
As time passed, seasons softened and Rio grew, from tiny bundle to curious toddler. One calm afternoon, sunlight spilled through the windows in golden rays, casting a gentle glow across the wooden floor. Jayce crouched nearby, steadying Rio by the waist.
“You ready, little one?” he whispered with a smile.
Rio squeaked a sound of joy, legs wobbling as Jayce slowly let go. The child tottered, knees unsure but full of determination, arms stretched ahead like wings unsure how to fly.
Across the room, Viktor knelt, arms wide open, eyes glistening with quiet hope.
“Come here, my heart,” he called softly.
Rio stumbled forward, feet tapping in uneven rhythm, one, two, nearly falling, catching balance then finally reaching their destination. Into Viktor’s arms they went, crashing gently into his chest with the sweet clumsiness only a toddler could master.
Viktor wrapped his arms tightly around them, lifting Rio up into his lap and burying a tender kiss atop their dark hair. He let out a soft laugh, small and full of emotion, his eyes closing as he held them close.
“You walked,” he murmured, voice trembling with the weight of quiet joy. “You really walked.”
And for a moment, as he held his third child — so small, so perfect, and walking — Viktor felt the world hush again, filled with nothing but the steady rhythm of a family’s growing love.