I Found You Sleeping Next To Me

by PiCkylanyardz

Summary:

When Vi and her siblings break into Jayce’s dorm, and cause an explosion that destroys it and half the block, she is caught by enforcers while helping her siblings escape.

Vi is set to take the blame and face a sentence in Stillwater. But Jayce steps forward, claiming full responsibility and sparing her from prison.

Returning to the Undercity, Vi tells Silco what happened. Seeing the act as a debt he owes, Silco orders Viktor to investigate Jayce—and perhaps assist him in his upcoming trial.

Notes:

This fic will run about 40–50 chapters. While some moments will mirror scenes from the show, much of the story will be original content.

I’m doing my best to portray Viktor’s disability with care and respect, and though I’m not trans myself, I want to approach Jayce’s identity with the same sensitivity. If I ever write something that comes across as clumsy or insensitive, please let me know—I’m always open to learning and improving.

Although the fic has smut tags, sex isn’t the central focus. There will, however, be a few scenes of masturbation between Jayce and Viktor. Specific content warnings will always be placed at the start of the chapters where they’re relevant, but I wanted to give a general heads-up here.

Thank you so much for reading—I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter 1: The Catalyst

Summary:

Jayce's dorm is broken into.

Notes:

Before diving into this fic, I just wanted to share a quick note. Some of you may remember my old (unfinished) story, Threads of Fate. I decided to orphan it rather than delete it, since I didn’t want to take it away from those who had already read and enjoyed it.

This new fic shares some similarities with Threads of Fate, but there are two major differences: first, Silco and Vander are a couple, and second, Viktor was raised by them. While certain scenes may echo ones from my earlier work, everything has been rewritten with these changes in mind.

I truly hope you’ll continue reading and enjoy this version of the story!

The Academy’s polished floors shimmered faintly beneath the fractured light spilling through stained-glass windows. Caitlyn and Jayce walked side by side down the corridor, the weight of the wooden box in Caitlyn’s arms making her shoulders ache. The contents inside clinked with every step.

“You really went to the Undercity for these?” Caitlyn asked, tilting her head toward him. “Weren’t you afraid?”

Jayce shot her a grin. “What’s life without a little danger? Besides, it was worth it. Want me to carry that?”

“I’ve got it,” Caitlyn insisted, though her tightening grip betrayed the strain.

They passed two Enforcers loitering against the wall, exchanging curt nods before continuing on. As they neared Jayce’s dormitory, Caitlyn stumbled. The box jolted, and something small slipped free, clattering across the floor until it spun to a stop in the light from the window.

“Careful,” Jayce said, freezing mid-step. “That’s your parents’ money rolling away.”

“Perfect,” Caitlyn muttered, lowering the box and crouching to search the floor. Her fingers brushed over cold metal. The trinket was heavier than it looked, catching a dull gleam as she lifted it. “This isn’t going to explode, is it?”

Jayce chuckled, plucking it from her hand and tucking it safely back inside. “Not unless we’re unlucky.”

At last, they reached his dorm door—its wood scarred with years of scuffs and careless kicks. Jayce slid the key into the lock. The knob resisted.

“Huh.” He frowned, jiggling the key, then shoved against the door with his shoulder. “It’s stuck.”

Caitlyn arched a brow. “Don’t tell me you’ve blocked yourself in with all your junk again.”

“Ha, ha.” Jayce leaned in harder. The door didn’t budge.

He heard murmurs. Faint, muffled, seeping from inside. Jayce froze, unease curling in his gut. “Hello? Is someone in there?” He pressed closer, glimpsing a faint silhouette shifting beyond the stained-glass pane.

“Hey!” His voice sharpened. “Open the door!”

With a final shove, the barricade gave way. The chair blocking it slammed to the floor just as a flash of blinding light erupted. The explosion threw Jayce backward into the corridor wall. His skull cracked against stone and the world swam.

Through the haze, fragmented images cut in and out: Enforcers storming the room, shouts echoing, smoke swallowing everything—and a girl with pink hair being seized, the Enforcers wrenched her arms behind her back. For a moment, her gaze locked with Jayce’s. He tried to move, but the darkness swallowed him whole.

The last sound that pierced the ringing in his ears was Caitlyn’s voice, calling his name.

---

The wind howled in his ears, distant yet relentless, like an echo from another life. The sky above was smothered by roiling clouds, spilling snow in endless sheets. It had dragged at his ankles, swallowed his every step, until walking felt like drowning in white. There had been warmth, faint and fragile—a body wrapped around him, holding him close, shielding him from the cold. Ximena. His mother. Her breath shallow, her arms weakening with every step.

He remembered her faltering, her legs giving out, and the way his knees sank into the snow beside her. His numb hands had shaken her, his tiny fingers stiff with frost. He had pressed his ear to her chest and heard nothing—only the silence that gnawed and hollowed him out. His cry had torn through the storm, raw and desperate, swallowed instantly by the wind.

Then a figure in robes. A mage came to them.

The man raised his palm, and a Runestone hovered above it, glowing faintly as threads of lightning crackled between stone and flesh. Jayce had stumbled back, frightened—until the mage closed his hand and turned away. For a moment, Jayce thought he was leaving them. He had reached out, begged for him to stay.

The man paused and lifted his staff.

A sudden burst of light flared, forcing Jayce to shield his eyes. The air filled with strange, delicate chimes, like countless bells hidden within the storm. Symbols spun into being around the mage, each one weaving into the next as if the air itself had become a tapestry of glowing script.

The mage traced a sweeping arc with his staff, and the sky opened. A vast sigil unfolded above them, its lines burning blue and silver against the clouds. Ribbons of light unfurled, curling like silken threads, scattering sparks that shimmered like fireflies. The snowflakes themselves seemed to pause, refracting the glow until the world was a kaleidoscope of fractured color.

The staff struck the ground once, and the sigil blossomed. Magic burst outward that perfumed the air as though flowers were blooming in the storm. Wind coiled around Jayce and his mother lifting them as if weightless.

Then came the light. Blinding, all-consuming. It wrapped him in warmth, chasing the frost from his skin. He gasped as breath returned to his lungs, as sensation flooded his frozen limbs.

When the brilliance faded, he was lying in a field of flowers at the foot of the mountain. Petals swayed gently in the breeze, snow nowhere to be seen. He turned his head and saw the Runestone dimming, its glow collapsing inward before it fell into the mage’s waiting palm.

Jayce sat up. His mother laid between them. Her fingers twitched. Her eyes opened. He nearly sobbed, but held it back, staring instead at the mage asking how he had done it.

The man said nothing. Only extended his hand. Jayce cupped his palms, and the Runestone dropped into them. He clutched it to his chest, a fragile smile tugging at his lips—only to look up and find the mage already gone, vanished into the air like the light itself.

Then came the sound of bells. The sharp bark of dogs. Figures descending the mountain. He could barely make out their faces, though now he knows they were the Kirammans. They lifted Ximena, wrapped her in blankets and strong hands hoisted Jayce onto the sled.

The sled rocked gently as it began its descent. Jayce had fought to stay awake, but sleep tugged too heavily at his eyelids. The last thing he remembered was the Runestone, clutched tight in his fist as he slipped it into his pocket, before the darkness claimed him.

---

A dull ache pulsed in Jayce’s skull as he stirred. The cold stone beneath him was a cruel contrast to the warmth of the Academy halls he remembered. Blinking against the flickering light overhead, his vision swam before finally sharpening into focus.

He groaned, pushing himself upright. His back screamed from the impact against the wall, and a sharp sting rippled through his temple when his fingers brushed a tender spot. Instinctively, he glanced at his wrist—his bracelet still clung there. The Runestone intact. Whoever had taken him hadn’t realized its worth.

“Great,” he muttered hoarsely. “Just great.”

A faint clink of metal drew his attention to the cell door. Beyond the narrow window slit, an Enforcer stood rigid, face hidden by a polished helmet.

“Hey!” Jayce called, stumbling toward the door, panic lacing his voice. “What’s going on? Why am I here?”

The Enforcer didn’t move. After a moment, he replied flatly through the mask: “you’ll have your chance to explain. Sit tight.”

“Explain myself?” Jayce pounded the door. “This is a mistake! I didn’t do anything!”

Only silence answered him.

Fragments of memory surged back—the barricade, the blinding explosion, Enforcers flooding in. And the girl with pink hair. 

“Caitlyn,” he whispered, heart racing. She had been there too. Was she safe?

He slammed the door again, louder this time. “Where’s Caitlyn?! What happened to her?!”

The Enforcer ignored him, staring down the corridor.

Boots echoed distantly, drawing nearer. Jayce turned just as the lock clicked. The Enforcer stepped aside, and at first the doorway seemed empty—until Jayce looked down.

Professor Heimerdinger stood there, hands folded behind his back, ears twitching.

“Imprisonment,” the yordle mused as he stepped lightly into the cell. “What a curious principle. We confine the body, and yet the mind remains free.” He gave the walls a thoughtful glance, as though studying architecture rather than the place of Jayce’s confinement. “Ah, I do love a good conundrum!”

Jayce stared, wide-eyed. “Professor—”

“I remember the first time I saw you at the Academy,” Heimerdinger interrupted, his tone touched with nostalgia. “You reminded me of myself, once. A mind eager to carve a new path, a spark of brilliance. But brilliance without restraint, my boy, is a wildfire.” His ears drooped. “And wildfires destroy.”

Jayce swallowed hard. The explosion replayed in his mind. Had anyone died?

Heimerdinger’s voice softened. “Tell me—what manner of inquiry was this?”

Jayce hesitated, then drew a breath. “Professor... I think I’ve discovered something extraordinary. A way to harness magic—through science.”

The yordle froze. His eyes widened. “Magic?”

“Yes!” Jayce said, the word bursting out of him. 

“No.” Heimerdinger’s tone snapped.

Jayce blinked. “No?”

“The Arcane is volatile,” Heimerdinger said firmly, pacing the cramped cell. “A primal force of the world. Science cannot tame it. To try is folly.”

“But maybe it can!” Jayce stepped forward, his voice rising. “If we could stabilize it, control it, imagine the possibilities—”

“How old are you, my boy?” Heimerdinger cut in suddenly.

Jayce frowned. “I'm... Twenty-four.”

“I,” Heimerdinger said quietly, “am three hundred and seven. In all those years, I have seen countless attempts to master the Arcane. They all end in catastrophe. Some truths, Jayce, are not meant to be bound.” He turned toward the door. “Admit your work was reckless when you face the council. Speak nothing of magic. Do that, and you may walk away with, as you youth say a slap on the wrist.”

Jayce’s fists clenched. “Wait!”

Heimerdinger stopped, ears flicking.

Jayce’s voice cracked. “The girl—the one who broke into my dorm. What happened to her?”

Heimerdinger blinked. His tone shifted, more measured. “Her name, I believe, is Violet.”

“Violet,” Jayce repeated. “What’s going to happen to her?”

The yordle hesitated before answering. “For breaking into Academy grounds... and for causing the explosion... the council debates sending her to Stillwater.”

Jayce’s stomach dropped. “Stillwater? She—she’s just a kid! She can’t be more than sixteen!”

“The law does not discriminate by age in such matters,” Heimerdinger replied, folding his paws behind his back.

“That’s insane!” Jayce snapped. “She doesn’t belong in a prison—especially not that prison!”

“She broke into a scholar’s quarters and endangered countless lives,” Heimerdinger countered, his tone cool but not unkind. “Her choices led her here.”

“She looked scared! Desperate!” Jayce’s voice rose, raw with frustration. “You can’t just throw her away like that—she’s not some hardened criminal, she’s a teenager!”

For the first time, Heimerdinger’s expression shifted to irritation. “And you, young man, nearly unleashed a catastrophe that could have leveled half the Academy. Yet here you stand, spared of Stillwater.” His ears lowered. “You should worry less for a stranger, and more for yourself.”

Jayce froze, stung by the words.

Heimerdinger’s expression softened only slightly as he turned toward the door. “Prepare your statement for the council, Jayce. The girl’s fate is not your concern.”

With that, the yordle padded out, the Enforcer shutting the door behind him. Jayce stood in the silence, heart pounding, his fists trembling.

But his thoughts weren’t on himself. They were on Violet.

---

The air in the home felt heavier than usual as Jayce stood before the mirror, tugging at his cuffs for the fifth time. He could still feel the chill of the cell on his skin, the memory of stone walls pressing in on him even though he was now surrounded by the familiar comfort of home. Released into his mother’s custody late last night, he hadn’t slept. His thoughts were a storm—nervousness, guilt, and a stubborn resolve colliding with every beat of his heart. Today was his trial.

“Jayce,” came his mother’s voice from the doorway.

He turned. Ximena leaned against the frame, her fingers twisting at the fabric of her dress, the tension in her movements betraying the calm her face tried to hold. She stepped softly into the room, the sound of her heels muted on the floor.

“Please,” she said, her voice strained. “I know this matters to you. But I’m worried. You don’t understand how dangerous this all is.”

Jayce exhaled sharply, forcing the knot in his chest to loosen. “I know, ma. But I have to do this. I can’t walk away now.”

She placed a trembling hand against her chest as though steadying her breath. “The council won’t see you the way you hope. You’ve been playing with the Arcane, and they fear it more than you realize. If they decide you’re a threat—”

“They won’t,” Jayce cut in, his voice harder than intended. He clenched his fists before softening. “They can’t. I’ve worked too hard for this. They’ll understand if I can just explain.”

Ximena’s lips quivered as she looked at him, her eyes glistening. “And what if they don’t? What if it goes wrong? I could lose you.”

Her words pierced deeper than any Enforcer’s blow. Jayce hesitated, guilt twisting inside him. But no—he couldn’t turn back.

“I know the risks,” he said, stepping closer, gently brushing her arm. His voice faltered only for a breath. “But if I don’t try, then all of this—the research, the sacrifice—it’ll be for nothing. I can make a difference, mama. For everyone.”

Tears pooled in her eyes, though she blinked them away. “I already lost your father,” she whispered. Her hand shot out, gripping his with fragile strength. “Don’t let me lose you too. Don’t let your ambition blind you.”

He squeezed her hand, guilt and determination warring in his chest.

“Ma...” He hesitated, then drew in a sharp breath. “There was a girl with pink hair—Heimerdinger said her name was Violet. They’re talking about sending her to Stillwater.” His voice hardened. “She’s just a kid.”

Ximena’s eyes widened, then narrowed, her voice snapping sharper than before. “That girl broke into your room. She’s the reason you were thrown in a cell. And you’re worrying about her?”

“She doesn’t deserve Stillwater,” Jayce shot back. “She's just a teenager. If the council condemns her, she won’t survive it.”

Ximena’s tone trembled between fear and frustration. “And what about you? You’re the one standing trial, not her! Don’t you see? If you don’t survive this day, if they turn against you, I lose my son.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “You need to stop thinking about strangers and start worrying about yourself.”

Jayce’s chest burned with conflict. “But if I don’t say something—”

“No!” she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. She stepped closer, gripping his face with trembling hands. “Promise me you won’t throw your life away for her. You can’t save everyone, Jayce. Right now, you need to save yourself.”

He froze, her words hitting like a hammer. He wanted to argue, to fight—but he saw the tears streaking down her face, the raw terror in her eyes.

At last, he nodded, though the promise tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’ll be careful.”

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a desperate embrace. “I love you, Jayce. More than anything. Please—don’t let them take you from me.”

Jayce held her tight, but his thoughts strayed to Violet, locked away somewhere, her fate dangling by the council’s hand.

When he finally pulled back, his face was set with determination. “I’ll be fine.”

But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

---

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and Commander Greyson’s firm hand pressed against Jayce’s shoulder, guiding him into the chamber. His boots echoed across the stone floor. The grand hall stretched around him, lined with gilded columns and filled with rows of onlookers whispering like a restless tide.

At the center of the chamber sat the council of Piltover, gathered around their vast circular table. Their expressions were carved in stone—cold, assessing, ready to pass judgment. Above them, high windows let in a bleak drizzle of light that seemed to wash the color from everything. Jayce swallowed hard; the air was thin, suffocating. He had dreamed of standing in this hall his entire life—but not like this.

Greyson gave him a steady, almost sympathetic look before retreating to the wall. Alone, Jayce stood in the pool of light at the chamber’s heart.

“Jayce Talis,” Cassandra began, her voice clear and commanding as the blinds slid shut, cloaking the chamber in shadow save for the single light illuminating him. “You stand accused of illegal experimentation, reckless destruction of property, and endangering the lives of Piltover’s citizens. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Jayce’s throat tightened. His entire body was trembling—part nerves, part the unbearable weight of knowing how much he stood to lose. His eyes darted to Heimerdinger at the center of the table. The professor gave him a small, encouraging nod.

“The... materials I worked with were more dangerous than I realized,” Jayce began, his voice unsteady. “And I admit—I broke Academy regulations. My actions were reckless. They endangered others. For that, I am truly sorry.” He forced the words out, unable to lift his gaze from the polished floor. “I ask for the council’s forgiveness. I only hope I may continue my studies under stricter guidance.”

A hush lingered until Cassandra spoke again. “As Jayce’s patron of many years, I can speak to his character. He is intelligent, ambitious, and I believe, in time, will become a great contributor to Piltover’s progress.”

Hoskel scoffed loudly, his stubby fingers fumbling with a toy puzzle he’d brought to the table. “A great contributor? He blew up an entire laboratory! Is this the progress we’re to expect? Smoke and rubble?” He shook his head with a bitter laugh.

Heimerdinger spoke up next. “If you were a scientist, you’d know prototypes often break before they shine,” he said lightly. “Even so, I—”

Mel Medarda leaned forward, cutting in. Her eyes fixed on Jayce. “Do you have anything to show for your work, Mr. Talis? Anything at all—besides an explosion?”

Jayce’s mouth went dry. His heart hammered in his chest. “I...” His eyes fell away. “No. It came to nothing.”

Mel’s brow arched delicately. “So it was meaningless?”

“No!” Jayce’s voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. “It was revolutionary!”

Her lips curved in faint amusement. “Revolutionary how? All I see is a boy meddling with forces he doesn’t understand.”

“Seems the Academy has loosened its standards,” Salo sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“This is a fine line,” Councilor Shoola added, tapping her golden nails against the wood. “If we condone this, what’s next? More students playing with fire?”

The chamber dissolved into a storm of overlapping voices. The councilors’ arguments clashed like steel, their disdain crashing down on Jayce from all sides. He tried to speak, but the noise drowned him. Panic welled in his chest until—

“I was trying to create magic!” Jayce shouted.

The hall fell into a stunned silence. Every eye turned toward him. The air itself seemed to freeze.

Hoskel’s mouth dropped open. “Magic?” he said, incredulous.

“The Arcane is not something you build,” Shoola said icily. “It is inherited. A talent of blood, not invention.”

Jayce’s hands trembled, slick with sweat. But his voice grew steadier. “I believe it is possible. No one has ever truly tried. Why should we fear the unknown? We are pioneers of science—of progress. Why can’t we use this power for good?”

“Jayce, enough,” Heimerdinger warned softly.

But Jayce didn’t stop. His voice carried, urgent, pleading. “This is the City of Progress! Think of what we could achieve—what wonders we could create! Let me prove—”

“Enough!” Heimerdinger snapped, his voice echoing like a thunderclap. Jayce froze, his words strangled in his throat.

“You don’t understand what you’re tampering with,” Heimerdinger said, his small frame trembling. His ears drooped, and his eyes glistened as though with painful memory. “I have seen what the Arcane does in the wrong hands. It corrupts. It consumes. It lays waste to civilizations. I will not watch that fate befall Piltover.”

Jayce’s heart plummeted. He looked down, the fight draining out of him.

“Heimerdinger is right,” Shoola said coldly. “Piltover was founded to escape the wars of mages, not nurture them.”

“The Ethos is clear,” Bolbok rumbled. “He must be banished from Piltover.”

The chamber filled with murmurs, shock and agreement rippling through the crowd. Even Cassandra faltered. Jayce’s pulse roared in his ears. Everything he had built his life around—every sleepless night, every sacrifice—was being stripped away.

“Please—let me speak!”

The crowd parted as Ximena pushed her way forward. Her hands pressed to her chest as though holding her heart in place, tears trembling in her eyes. She moved to stand behind Jayce.

“As a member of the lower house, my words carry little weight here,” she said, her voice trembling but determined. “But as a mother, they must. My son isn’t in his right mind.”

Jayce’s head jerked up. The words stabbed like a blade. His own mother... saying this, here, before them all. He looked away, shame burning his cheeks.

“His whole life,” she continued, “he has chased an impossible dream. Foolish, yes. Dangerous, perhaps. But never with ill intent. What he did was reckless, but his heart is good. Please—please let him come home.”

Salo folded his arms. “A crime like this cannot go unanswered. The boy must be punished.”

Heimerdinger leaned forward, voice heavy with sorrow. “A violation of the Ethos calls for banishment. But...” His gaze lingered on Jayce, softening. “I sympathize with a young man’s dream to change the world. Perhaps... in this matter, a lesser sentence may suffice.”

He took a deep breath. “I move that Jayce Talis be summarily expelled from the Academy, and remanded to the care of his parents. All those in favor?”

One by one, hands rose. Heimerdinger’s. Cassandra’s. Then Mel’s, followed by Hoskel after she gave him a glare.

“You may take your son home, Mrs. Talis,” Heimerdinger said gravely. “But hear this: he is never to set foot on Academy grounds again.”

Jayce stood frozen in the silence that followed, his chest hollow, his dreams shattered before his eyes. His mother’s hand slipped into his, warm and trembling. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at anyone. All he could feel was the weight of everything slipping away.

His life’s work—gone.

His future—gone.

Everything he thought he was meant to be... gone.

---

Jayce’s footsteps echoed down the marble corridor, but he barely heard them. His mind reeled, looping back on itself: every word, every accusation. All of it—his work, his reputation—snatched away. And worst of all, it was his mother’s voice he kept hearing in the chamber, weaponizing his doubts, his sleepless nights, the gnawing worry that had plagued him since boyhood.

He had thought she’d come to stand by him. Instead, she had stood against him.

Ximena walked just ahead, her hand brushing his sleeve as if to remind him he wasn’t alone. But the touch barely reached him.

Heimerdinger’s voice did. The professor shuffled up, ears drooping with uncharacteristic heaviness. “My boy... I am truly sorry. The trial... it was not just. I had hoped—well. Perhaps, had you followed my counsel things might have been... different.”

Jayce lifted his eyes at last. He couldn’t even summon anger; only exhaustion. His throat worked, but no words came.

Ximena spoke instead, bowing her head. “Thank you, Professor Heimerdinger, for being present today.”

The old yordle nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on Jayce.

Finally, Jayce managed a whisper, raw and strangled. “Will Violet be alright?”

Heimerdinger paused. Then, gently: “Yes. She will be released. There are... stipulations, of course. But she is not to remain confined. She will walk free.”

Relief fluttered through Jayce’s chest, a fragile spark against the hollow ache. He swallowed hard. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Heimerdinger glanced away. “If you wish... you may be there when she is discharged. It is the one kindness I can secure for you. But...” His tone grew heavier. “Afterward, you must return home. That much, I cannot change.”

Jayce closed his eyes. He already knew it. He would not be allowed out of his house for a very long time—if ever again. Piltover itself suddenly felt smaller, colder.

Still, he opened his eyes and nodded. “Yes. I’ll go. If that’s the last chance I have... then yes.”

---

Jayce pushed through the heavy iron doors leading to the holding cells, the hinges shrieking like they resented his intrusion. The air grew colder, thicker, with each step he took. Damp mildew clung to the stone walls, mingling with the stench of sweat and rust. The dripping of water echoed faintly, like the measured ticks of a clock.

The prisoners stirred as he passed. Whispers curled through the shadows, unintelligible but close, as if breathed against his ear. Some pressed their faces to the bars, hollow-eyed and desperate, while others prowled their cages with restless steps. One hand shot out suddenly, clawing at his sleeve—thin, pale fingers with cracked nails. Jayce wrenched himself away, the prisoner’s laughter following him down the hall.

The worst were the silent ones. They just sat in the corners of their cells, motionless, watching. Even without seeing their eyes, Jayce felt the weight of their gaze.

He pressed forward quickly, boots squelching against the wet stone, until at last he stood before the final cell. The number 167 was etched deep into the corroded metal plate beside the bars.

The shadows inside were thicker than in any other cell, swallowing what little light flickered from the dying lamps. He couldn’t see her—just the sound of water dripping into a shallow puddle, and the faint scrape of someone shifting inside.

Then a voice cut through the dark. “What do you want?”

Jayce steadied himself. “Violet. You’re... not being sent to Stillwater.”

There was a long pause. Then a sharp scoff. “What? Don’t play games with me.”

“It’s not a game,” Jayce replied. His voice was firm, though the words felt strange leaving his mouth. “The council ruled. You’re being released.”

Movement stirred in the shadows, her figure emerging into the faint light. Violet’s eyes, sharp and distrustful, locked onto him. “Why?”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have a clear answer, not one that would matter to her. “Because...” he hesitated, “...sometimes, the council decides mercy is better than punishment.”

“Mercy?” Violet barked out a laugh that held no humor. “That’s rich. People like me don’t get mercy. Not from Piltover.”

Jayce didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Her words struck too close to the truth.

The silence stretched until the rattle of keys broke it. An Enforcer approached, heavy boots thudding against the damp floor. “Stand back,” he ordered, giving Jayce a nod.

Jayce stepped away from the bars, but his gaze never left Violet’s. For a brief moment, their eyes held—hers fierce and unyielding, his conflicted, uncertain.

The lock screeched as the door swung open. Violet stepped out, shackled wrists held firm by the Enforcer. She didn’t look back at the cell. Her eyes stayed on Jayce as she was led past him, steady and unflinching, until the corridor swallowed her into shadow.

And just like that, she was gone.

---

Heavy rain sheeted down from the clouds, soaking through Jayce’s clothes until the chill gnawed at his skin. He should have gone straight home—his mother would be waiting—but his heart dragged him elsewhere. His boots splashed against the slick cobblestones as he stumbled forward, lungs burning, vision blurred by the downpour.

He had to see her. Just once more.

At last, the towering iron gates of the Kiramman estate loomed through the haze. He gripped the bars, rattling them, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“What are you doing here, Jayce?”

The voice made him turn.

Caitlyn sat at the edge of the gate, a dark umbrella tilted above her, rain dripping steadily from its edges. She looked small against the wrought iron, her fine clothes dampened at the hem, hair sticking to her face in loose strands. She’d been waiting.

“How long have you been out here?” Jayce asked, voice trembling despite his attempt to steady it.

“Long enough.” She rose to her feet as he approached, her posture calm but her eyes... her eyes were heavy with something softer. Something sad.

His gaze immediately caught on the fresh bandage taped across her cheek. His chest tightened. Without thinking, he reached through the bars, but she shifted back a step, and he froze.

“What happened?” His words cracked.

“The explosion,” Caitlyn said simply, brushing her fingers against the edge of the bandage. “Some debris caught me. It’s nothing serious, really.”

“Caitlyn, I—” Jayce’s throat closed on the words. “I’m so sorry. If it weren’t for me—”

“I said I’m fine,” she cut in gently, though her voice dropped softer than before. She hesitated, then added, “I’m more sorry about... what happened today at the trial.” Her eyes lowered, lashes beaded with rain. “It wasn’t fair.”

Jayce gripped the cold bars tighter, forehead pressing against the iron. The sting of her sympathy cut deeper than anger ever could.

“My father says you’re dangerous now,” Caitlyn continued, lifting her chin but unable to hold his gaze for long. “That you’re a misfit, and... that we can’t be friends anymore.”

Jayce let out a bitter laugh, one without humor. “Then why are you here, waiting for me in the rain?”

Her lips curved into a faint, wistful smile. “Because I'm a misfit too. I’ll miss you. I’ll miss sneaking out to the rooftops, and racing you down the roads, and talking about things we’re not supposed to. You were... different, Jayce. You made me feel like I didn’t have to be perfect all the time.”

His chest ached at her words, sharper than any punishment the council could’ve handed down.

The great oak doors behind her creaked open. A stern voice rang out through the storm. “Caitlyn. Inside. Now.”

Her mother stood framed in the light, an umbrella of her own in hand, gaze landing on Jayce with icy disdain. She didn’t need to say more; her sneer was enough.

Caitlyn hesitated, her eyes lingering on Jayce’s, wide with unspoken words she couldn’t say here. She took one step back, then another, before finally turning to run up the steps.

At the top, she glanced over her shoulder one last time. Then the door shut, cutting her from view.

Jayce stayed where he was, the rain pounding against his back, dripping from his hair and eyelashes. His fingers loosened from the bars at last, but the cold iron had already left its mark on his palms.

And so had she.

The gate stood silent after Caitlyn vanished, her absence sharper than the rain that needled his skin. Jayce stayed there too long, forehead still against the bars as if the cold iron could hold him together. But it couldn’t. Nothing could.

At last, he forced himself to move. His boots squelched against the flooded street as he turned away from the estate, each step heavier than the last. He told himself he should go home—back to his mother’s house where it was warm, where someone would be waiting. But the thought only twisted like a blade. Home meant facing her. Home meant pretending.

His thoughts started to spiral, quick and merciless.

The council had stripped him of everything. His reputation, his work, his future—it was all ash now. The trial replayed in his mind, every accusation louder than the rain, every doubt carved deeper into him. He could still hear the whispers, the looks of fear. Unstable. Dangerous. Not fit to lead.

And Caitlyn—her words clung to him like the wet fabric plastered to his skin. I’ll miss you. A farewell disguised as kindness. Even she was being pulled away, and what was left for him now?

The streets stretched before him, black rivers reflecting the gaslights in trembling shards. He barely noticed where he was walking. He didn’t care.

A thought crept in, quiet at first, then louder, insistent. What if it just stopped here? What if he stopped here?

His chest tightened, breath coming shallow as the rain blurred the world into streaks of gray and gold. The city felt too large, too empty, its shadows whispering the same word over and over: enough.

He realized, dimly, that his feet had carried him somewhere familiar. His vision lifted, and through the haze he saw the looming silhouette of the Academy dormitories.

His old door waited in the dark, like it had been waiting for him all along.

Jayce stood there, rain dripping from his hair, heart pounding in his ears. The world pressed in on him—his failure, his isolation, the unbearable weight of still being here.

And still, his hand rose, trembling, to the door.

Notes:

This chapter was a monster to write—seriously, it took me all of yesterday, and then I stayed up until early morning to finish it... only to pass out before I could actually post 😅 But it’s finally here!

A quick note: this chapter spans two days, and Viktor will be showing up in the next one (promise!)

For those who’ve read my older work, I’m aiming to make this fic’s chapters longer than what I usually write. That does mean daily updates will be tricky, but I’ll do my best to post every-other-day.

I’m also organizing the fic into four “acts.” It’s mostly for me, but I figured I’d share:

Act One → Covers Episodes 2 & 3 of the show, plus extra scenes I’m adding. It’ll wrap up with Jayce’s graduation and run 10 chapters.

Act Two → The seven-year timeskip. Each year will get 1–3 chapters, so I’m not sure on the exact length yet.

Act Three → The rest of Season 1. This will be the shortest act.

Act Four → Season 2, planned at around 14 chapters.

This will be a slow burn. Jayce and Viktor won’t get together until the last few chapters of Act Four/Season 2. That said... I might let them slip into a friends-with-benefits situation during the timeskip. Or maybe just one messy encounter that they never talk about again like the idiots they are ☠️ (I promise I adore them).

Anyway, thank you so much for reading chapter one—I hope you enjoy it! See you in the next one!

Chapter 2: Violence Is Necessary For Change

Summary:

Silco is not one to let a debt go unpaid.

Notes:

Tw suicide attempt

The office is dim, lit only by the faint glow of Zaun’s neon lights filtering through the tall window. Shadows stretch long across the floor, pooling in the corners, while the heavy curtains stir faintly from a draft. Silco stands before the glass, one hand behind his back, the other resting on the folder he holds. His silhouette is sharp against the fractured glow of the city, smoke curling faintly from the cigar resting in an ashtray on his desk.

When Viktor steps inside, the door clicks shut behind him, muting the sound of raucous laughter and music below. The room feels quieter up here, the weight of the city pressing in from beyond the window.

“Did you know Violet was home?”

Viktor pauses, brows lifting slightly. His surprise is genuine—he’d only just returned from spending time with Sky. He shakes his head once, cane tapping softly as he walks further in. “No. I had not heard.”

Finally, Silco glances over his shoulder, his good eye glinting in the dim light. “As it turns out,” he begins, “the very man she and the others stole from... helped her leave prison.” He shifts, turning his face fully toward Viktor now. “Strange, don’t you think?”

Viktor steps up to stand beside him. His gaze follows the line of Zaun’s skyline, flickering with the lights of factories and the flickering glow of signs below. “Very,” Viktor agrees softly.

Silco’s fingers tap against the folder before he finally holds it out. “Jayce Talis,” he explains. “According to his trial, he was conducting illegal experimentation with magic. He has been sentenced to a conservatorship, placed in the care of his mother. Ximena Talis.”

Viktor accepts the folder, flipping it open as the faint scratch of paper fills the silence. His eyes skim the pages, his brow furrowing briefly until he stops at a photograph. A young man. Handsome. Sharp jaw, warm eyes, his college years noted neatly—senior, straight As, swim team. Twenty-four years old.

Viktor studies it a moment longer than necessary before shutting the folder lightly. “And what would you have me do?”

Silco exhales a soft chuckle. “Look into him. Speak with him, if you can. The boy saved my daughter. I intend to pay that debt.”

Viktor’s brow arches, his tone dry. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“By getting him out of the conservatorship.”

A snort escapes Viktor before he can stop it, his lips twisting wryly. “And tell me—is it you who will help him, or me?”

Silco only smiles. “You are Heimerdinger’s assistant. Information about Jayce Talis will come more easily to you than to me.”

Viktor looks down at the folder again, lingering on the name. “Very well. I will look into him.”

Silco turns back to the window. “I wasn’t asking.”

---

The scent of smoke still clung to the room. Acrid, heavy, and stale, it seeped into every breath Jayce took, clinging to his lungs. Charred scraps of paper littered the floor, curling at the edges like blackened leaves. His workbench was gone. His shelves of books had collapsed into ash and ruin. His bed—half-burnt, half-buried under debris—was nothing more than a carcass of fabric and splinters.

Jayce’s chest tightened as he stood among the wreckage. He could see the outlines of what once was, ghosts pressing against the edges of his vision: blueprints taped to the walls, ink smudged from too many sleepless nights; tools scattered across the bench where his hands had moved until they bled; notes pinned haphazardly, each scrap of paper holding a piece of his ambition.

Now all of it was gone. Scattered. Worthless.

His breath hitched. His eyes burned, though no tears came. He stared at the cracked stone beneath his boots, at the remnants of years he’d convinced himself weren’t wasted. Nights where he told himself it was worth it—that every calculation, every sacrifice, every empty morning after a sleepless night was building toward something greater.

But the truth pressed down on him now, suffocating and merciless. It had all been for nothing.

His hand drifted to his wrist. He tugged up his sleeve, revealing the bracelet, the Gemstone at its center faintly glinting in the moonlight pouring through the jagged hole in the wall. A promise. A dream. A lie.

He slid it off slowly, as if testing the weight of letting go. It felt smaller in his palm than he remembered. Once, it had been everything. Now, it was just metal and stone.

His fingers opened.

The bracelet fell with a dull clink against the rubble. His hand felt suddenly lighter, his chest hollower, as though something had been pulled out of him and left nothing behind.

Jayce staggered toward the broken wall, boots crunching softly over the ruins of his life. The night air slipped inside, sharp and cold, coiling around him. Beyond the jagged edges, Piltover stretched downward, its lights glittering like a thousand indifferent stars.

He placed his hand against the crumbled stone. Leaned forward. The void yawned beneath him, vast and endless, a welcome silence waiting to swallow him whole. His breath shallowed, his pulse slowed.

One step. That’s all it would take.

For the first time in weeks—months—he felt close to peace.

“Am I interrupting?”

The voice snapped like a whip, shattering the fragile stillness.

The sight before him froze Viktor in place.

At first, he hadn’t been certain what he would find when Silco handed him the file. Curiosity had driven him to the ruined dormitory. Nothing more. But now—

He saw the way Jayce stood, body tilted ever so slightly toward the broken wall, fingers white-knuckled against the jagged stone. His shoulders hunched, trembling, as though the act of breathing itself was unbearable.

Viktor’s chest tightened. He knew what this was. 

He forced his cane forward, the sharp tap breaking the silence. Jayce jerked violently at the sound, spinning around, his face streaked with exhaustion. His eyes burned—red, hollow, furious.

“The hell’s your problem?!” Jayce spat, his voice harsh and jagged like broken glass.

Viktor didn’t flinch. He had been cursed with seeing too much, feeling too much. And right now, it was all written across Jayce’s face: despair carved deep into every line, grief dragging at every movement.

“My problem,” Viktor said evenly, “is that you saved someone important to me. Violet. She is... like a sister.” His voice softened slightly, though his gaze never wavered. “And so, by extension, you are now my problem. I owe you for that. Whether you like it or not.”

Jayce blinked, thrown off. His anger faltered, if only for a moment, replaced by something more fragile, more unguarded. “I didn’t save anyone. I ruined everything.”

Viktor stepped further into the ruined dorm, his cane clicking against the scorched floor. “Ruined?” he repeated softly, tilting his head. “Or perhaps... not yet finished.”

Jayce laughed, sharp and bitter. “You don’t understand. I wanted to change the world. To make it better. Hextech could have been—” He broke off, his voice cracking, his hand balling into a fist. “—something more. Something that meant no one else would ever have to feel... this.” He gestured weakly at the ruins, at himself. “But it was naïve.”

For a moment, Viktor said nothing. His golden eyes lingered on Jayce, searching the depths of that despair. Finally, his lips curved—not into mockery, but into something solemn.

“Naïve? Perhaps,” he admitted. “But sometimes it takes naïveté to imagine a future others cannot see. Hextech... it is dangerous, yes. Unstable. But the potential is undeniable.”

He bent slightly, his long fingers brushing against the rubble until they found the discarded bracelet. He lifted it carefully, turning it in his hand so the Gemstone caught the dim light. His gaze flicked back to Jayce.

“You threw this away. Why?”

Jayce swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Because it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

Viktor stepped closer, holding the bracelet out to him. His voice lowered, softer, but firm. “Then give it new meaning. You want to change the world? So do I. We may not yet know each other... but I think our paths should align.”

Jayce stared at him, breath uneven, caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion. His hand hovered before finally taking the bracelet back, his fingers brushing Viktor’s.

“...I don’t even know your name.”

Viktor’s expression softened, his lips quirking faintly. “It's Viktor.”

---

The room was dim, lit only by the stubborn glow of a single surviving lamp and the silver wash of moonlight spilling through the cracked wall. Shadows stretched across the walls, bending and warping as Viktor moved in front of the chalkboard, his cane tucked against his arm. The sharp squeak of chalk filled the silence, cutting through the heavy air as equations sprawled across the battered surface.

Jayce sat a few steps behind, elbows braced against his thighs, one leg bouncing restlessly. His eyes burned from hours of work, but his frustration weighed heavier than fatigue.

“All this time I thought I needed to dampen the oscillations,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “It feels so obvious now...”

Viktor paused, his hand hovering just before the chalk struck the board again. Then, with quick, precise strokes, he underlined a key sequence in the formula. His voice was quiet but sure. “The crystals will only stabilize at high frequency. You don’t suppress the surge you—”

Jayce blinked, then shot upright, eyes wide as the realization hit. “Crank it!” he shouted, slapping his thigh in sudden excitement.

Viktor startled at the burst of noise, turning sharply. But as Jayce grinned, exhilaration sparking across his face, Viktor’s lips curved into a rare smile. “Yes,” he said with a breath of laughter. “You have to crank it.”

Jayce leaned back, laughter escaping his chest. “It works!”

“On paper,” Viktor corrected, turning back to refine the scrawled equations. His chalk scratched a neat rhythm against the board, steady where Jayce’s energy scattered.

Jayce’s grin faltered. He slumped back into his chair, staring at the floor. “Heimerdinger will never let us test this. And we don’t even have crystals anymore, not since—” He cut himself off, bitterness seeping into the pause.

For a moment, Viktor said nothing. His posture remained rigid, intent on the board—yet his hand dipped to his belt, and a soft jingle echoed as he slipped a ring of heavy keys into his palm, twirling them in the air.

Jayce froze. His breath caught as his gaze locked on the glint of metal. “Wait. Wait—Viktor.” He jumped to his feet, panic rising in his chest. “You can’t just—break in! If Heimerdinger finds out, we’re finished!”

Viktor didn’t glance back. The keys clinked softly, steady as his voice. “Break in?” A quiet chuckle slipped from him. “No. Merely... gaining access.”

Jayce ran a hand through his hair, pacing, his heart hammering. “The guards, the council—if we’re caught—this isn’t just reckless, it’s suicidal!”

Now Viktor turned, his expression cool but edged with mischief. The keys dangled from his fingers, glinting in the dim light. “Caught? Jayce... sometimes you mistake caution for wisdom. The crystals will not wait for permission. Progress never does.”

Jayce faltered, his words collapsing in his throat. For all his fear, there was something in Viktor’s certainty that pulled at him, something solid and immovable.

“Why?” Jayce whispered, his voice low, raw. “Why risk everything—for me?”

Viktor’s eyes softened, but his tone was sharp with conviction. “Do you think it was my life’s ambition to be an assistant?” He stepped closer, the lamplight carving sharp angles across his face. “Scientists exist to seek. To push. To break open the boundaries that hold the world in place. My place here is not to pay a debt—it is to follow truth. And truth lies in this.” He gestured toward the chalkboard, the sprawling equations glowing pale in the moonlight.

Jayce stood still, the words reverberating through him. He had thought Viktor’s help was obligation. But now, he saw something else—a fire that matched his own, though shaped by different wounds.

“This Hextech dream of yours,” Viktor continued, his golden eyes catching the faint light, “it could change everything. I see that now.”

Jayce’s throat tightened. Slowly, he stepped closer, until he stood beside Viktor. He lifted a hand, hesitating only briefly before resting it on Viktor’s shoulder.

Viktor stiffened at first, then exhaled, the tension easing from his frame.

Jayce’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Our Hextech dream.”

---

They moved in near silence through the Academy’s corridors, the only sound breaking the stillness was the steady tap of Viktor’s cane against the stone floor. Shadows flickered and stretched long across the walls beneath the weak light of the sconces.

Viktor led, a small flashlight clutched in one hand, its thin beam barely carving a path ahead. Jayce followed close behind, heart hammering, the weight of what they were about to do pressing like lead against his chest. Then Viktor stopped, crouching before a heavy iron door.

PR. HEIMERDINGER

The nameplate glinted dully in the pale light, brass worn smooth by years of careful polish. Jayce swallowed hard. Oh, gods. They were really doing this.

Viktor inspected the locks, then handed the flashlight wordlessly to Jayce. Jayce held it steady as Viktor set aside his cane, fishing a jangling ring of keys from his coat. He thumbed through them before sliding one into the first lock.

Click.

A sharp, satisfying sound. Viktor exhaled softly, lips twitching at the corner. “So far, so good,” he murmured.

There were three more. He began sorting through the ring again—

When the hallway exploded in blinding white light.

Viktor hissed, jerking back, eyes squeezed shut against the glare. Jayce threw a hand over his face, wincing as pain stabbed behind his lids. His thoughts spun into chaos—caught, they were caught, expelled, jailed, ruined—

Then a voice, smooth and amused: “willing to risk expulsion for your little experiment? That’s quite the conviction.”

Jayce’s stomach lurched. He knew that voice. “Councilor!” he blurted, voice cracking like glass. It was Mel Medarda.

He scrambled for words, excuses, anything, but they tangled uselessly on his tongue. His mouth opened, closed, opened again—like a drowning man gasping for air.

Viktor, of course, recovered first.

Tilting his head toward the door, he stroked his chin in mock thought. “Wait a minute this isn’t my bedroom?”

Jayce went rigid. His entire body locked up as heat surged to his face. He snapped toward Viktor so fast his neck nearly protested. What—what did he just say?!

No. No, no, no.

It wasn’t that Viktor was unattractive—god help him, that wasn’t the issue—but he was a student, Viktor worked here, the power imbalance alone—completely unethical—absolutely not—

Jayce cleared his throat hard, forcing his voice back under control. “Please,” he begged Mel, stepping forward, “we can prove this works.”

One of her sculpted brows arched high. “You couldn’t do so earlier today. What makes tonight different?”

“We’ve stabilized it,” Viktor said simply, rising to his feet and brushing his hands off.

Her eyes cut toward him. “You’re the professor’s assistant.”

“No.” Jayce’s voice was firmer now, conviction grounding him. He looked at Viktor, then back to Mel. “He’s my partner.”

Something flickered across her expression before her smile returned. “Even if you succeed, the council will destroy it.”

“Heimerdinger will see the potential,” Viktor pressed, stepping subtly closer to Jayce.

Mel’s laugh was soft, a velvet scoff. “He already does. That’s why it terrifies him. Why it terrifies all of them.”

Jayce swallowed, voice breaking with urgency. “What about you?”

She paused, considering it. “I recognize that nothing worthwhile comes without risk.”

Before Jayce could respond, a sharp whistle pierced the corridor.

His blood ran cold. The sound of boots pounded closer, a guard’s flashlight flickering against the far wall.

Desperation clawed at Jayce. “Councilor, please. This technology—it’s real. Whether we fail or succeed here tonight, it can change the world. Piltover prides itself on progress, on innovation—why shouldn’t we be the ones to lead it?”

The whistle shrilled again, louder, nearer.

Jayce drew in a ragged breath. “I know it sounds impossible,” he said, voice shaking. “But when has that ever stopped us?”

For a long moment, Mel simply studied them. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“One night, gentlemen,” she murmured. “Impress me. Or I suggest you start packing your bags”

And with that, she flicked off her flashlight, pivoting gracefully into the shadows. The sharp click of her heels echoed, then faded, until the hall fell silent again.

Viktor remained still, listening. When the sound was gone, he crouched once more and turned back to the locks.

Jayce released the breath he’d been holding, dragging a hand down his face before clicking the flashlight back on.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“So,” Jayce said at last, lips twitching into a grin, “this isn’t your bedroom?”

Viktor froze mid-turn, shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he glanced up, face coloring in the pale glow. “I—well, I had to come up with something!”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax. I’m teasing.”

Viktor huffed, rolling his eyes, but Jayce caught the fleeting curve of a smirk before he turned back to the lock.

Click. The second lock gave way.

---

The final lock gave way with a soft click.

Viktor let out a breath and pushed the door just wide enough for them to enter. A narrow beam of golden lamplight spilled from Heimerdinger’s office, catching the dust motes drifting lazily in the air.

Jayce’s throat tightened. His pulse hammered in his ears, but it was far too late to retreat. Viktor slipped through first, moving with surprising ease despite the uneven rhythm of his steps. Jayce followed behind, shutting the door carefully until the latch settled into silence.

The office smelled faintly of parchment and oil, ink and brass. Models, contraptions, and half-finished mechanisms cluttered the desk, their delicate gears catching the light. But none of that mattered. The true prize gleamed from within a locked glass case across the room.

Viktor made straight for it, ignoring the clutter as though it didn’t exist. Jayce lingered, his eyes flicking over neatly stacked papers and immaculately drawn schematics, every line and label a reflection of the professor’s tireless work.

Without hesitation, Viktor produced a small brass key and fitted it into the lock. A clean click broke the stillness, and the glass swung open. Of course he had a copy—Heimerdinger misplaced his own keys often enough that his assistant carried spares for nearly everything in the office.

---

Jayce hunched over the desk, chair pushed back, hands working restlessly as he adjusted the last fragile details of the stabilization device. The lamplight flickered across scattered blueprints and scribbled notes, casting long shadows that stretched across the professor’s office. His goggles pressed tight against his face, lenses fogging slightly as he leaned closer to the machine before him—a compact lattice of brass and steel, its coiled framework encircling a chamber built to house what had once felt impossible.

He heard footsteps.

Jayce froze, then pushed the goggles up onto his forehead, scrubbing at his tired eyes. Viktor stepped into the glow, his cane tapping once against the floor before he lifted something in his hand.

It was one of the crystals 

Jayce’s throat tightened as Viktor held it out. The shard pulsed faintly, casting a ghostly blue glow that danced over Viktor’s pale fingers. With unsteady hands, Jayce accepted it.

Slowly, he fitted it into the chamber.

The instant crystal met metal, the air shivered. Energy rippled outward in waves, the glow brightening as thin arcs of light pulsed through the frame. Jayce’s breath hitched, his fingers hovering over the controls. For a heartbeat, there was silence.

“It’s time to crank it!” Viktor exclaimed, snapping Jayce’s notebook shut with a sharp thwack.

Jayce jumped, shooting him a look of wild disbelief. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Viktor hesitated, then gave a helpless shrug. “...Ehh.”

Jayce groaned under his breath but slammed the switch.

The machine roared to life.

The crystal lifted, suspended in the air above its chamber. Its radiance swelled, reflected in their wide eyes. Brass gears spun, a deep metallic hum filling the room as threads of lightning crackled around the chamber. Papers whipped off the desk in the sudden wind, the air alive with raw, unrestrained power.

Jayce’s thrill of awe curdled into panic as he darted toward the monitor. The numbers were climbing too fast—dangerously fast. “It’s going to overload!” he shouted over the rising roar. “Viktor, it can’t hold!”

But Viktor didn’t flinch. His gaze never left the levitating crystal. “The resonance will stabilize!” he called back, his voice steady, certain. “Trust me!”

Jayce turned, caught by the fire in Viktor’s eyes. It was faith—unyielding, absolute. Faith in their work. In the dream. In him.

And though every instinct screamed at him to kill the power, Jayce’s hand hovered over the switch. His pulse thundered in his ears.

He chose to trust him.

---

“I told you it would work,” Viktor murmured.

He and Jayce stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces washed in cerulean light. Before them, the crystal hovered effortlessly, its glow steady, pulsing like a heartbeat finally brought under control.

Jayce’s breath caught. “Woah...” he whispered, unable to look away. “It’s never done that before.”

The crystal had always been a beast—unpredictable, violent, impossible to cage. But now... now it floated in perfect equilibrium, humming softly, as though tamed.

Jayce’s hand hovered over the controls, trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration. “All right,” he said under his breath. “Here goes.”

He twisted a dial.

The machine responded instantly. Gears spun, coils thrummed, and the crystal rose higher, its glow intensifying until the air around them seemed to vibrate with invisible currents.

The crystal flickered. Once. Twice.

The steady hum pitched into a sharp whine. The glow fractured into erratic pulses, wild and blinding. The machine shuddered violently, sparks leaping from exposed wiring.

“Uh—Viktor?” Jayce’s voice cracked.

Viktor lunged toward the panel, jaw tight. “No, no—stay with me—”

A deafening crack split the air. Energy burst outward in savage arcs, clawing across the metal framework. The machine bucked like a living thing, its scream echoing through the chamber.

“Shut it down!” Jayce bellowed, slamming switches. 

“It’s not—responding!” Viktor’s fingers flew desperately across the controls. Dials spun on their own, red needles slamming past their limits. The energy was spiraling out of control.

The crystal shrieked. Not a sound of metal, but something otherworldly—alive.

A flood of blinding blue light erupted, tearing through the lab. Windows shattered in showers of glass. Books, tools, and blueprints became shrapnel in the storm. The shockwave hit Jayce like a titan’s fist, hurling him backward—

—Shards of glass froze mid-flight, glittering like suspended stars. Smoke curled in slow motion, flames twisting lazily in the weightless air. Jayce floated in the silence, his body unmoored, mind spinning.

He turned his head. Viktor was there, caught in the same impossible stillness, wide eyes locked on the machine. His hand was outstretched, suspended in the act of reaching.

Glass reassembled in glittering streams. Smoke funneled back into nothing. The blast imploded, collapsing inward as the crystal settled neatly into its chamber. The light dimmed. The roar subsided.

The lab was whole again. Pristine. As though nothing had happened.

Jayce stumbled forward, his chest heaving, staring at his trembling hands. “It—” He couldn’t even finish.

Viktor inhaled sharply, words rough in his throat. “That was impossible.”

Jayce’s gaze shot back to the crystal, still floating serenely, untouched, calm.

“What the hell...” His voice cracked into a whisper. “What the hell did we just do?”

Viktor’s lips curved into something between wonder and fear. His eyes burned with fascination.

“Incredible.”

---

Jayce wiped sweat from his brow, exhaustion tugging at the edges of his mind, but adrenaline kept him sharp. Across the room, Viktor bent over a mess of schematics, his eyes flicking through equations.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The door rattled violently.

“Stop this lunacy at once!”

Jayce flinched at the unmistakable bark of Heimerdinger’s voice.

Viktor’s head snapped up. Their eyes met—panic flashing silently between them.

Another round of furious pounding echoed through the room, joined by a sharper command.

“You are in violation of Academy regulations! Open this door immediately!”

Jayce’s stomach dropped.

Viktor was already moving. He jammed his cane through the door handles, barricading it, then limped back toward the machine. “We are so close,” he muttered under his breath.

“Jayce Talis!” Heimerdinger thundered. “I know you’re in there! You have five seconds before I override the locks myself!”

“They’re almost through!” Viktor shouted, his wide eyes darting between the trembling door and the glowing machine. Urgency bled into excitement. “No pressure!”

“That sounds like pressure!” Jayce snapped, fumbling with the controls.

Outside, the locks groaned. Metal screeched as the Enforcers began forcing the door. Heimerdinger’s words were lost beneath the grinding of gears.

Jayce’s jaw tightened. 

Screw it.

He grabbed the crank and heaved it down.

The machine roared.

The crystal pulsed, flooding the lab in blinding light. 

Tiny symbols ignited from within the crystal, swirling upward like glowing embers. They twisted and reformed midair, intricate as runes, alive with motion. Jayce’s breath hitched. 

“Jayce,” Viktor whispered, awe lacing every syllable. “Look.”

“I am looking!” Jayce yelled, bracing against the humming storm of power as the entire room trembled.

And then—

BOOM!

The machine erupted. A shockwave tore through the lab, hurling everything upward—except gravity never pulled it back down.

Jayce felt himself lift, stomach lurching as the ground vanished beneath him. 

Viktor floated too, arms outstretched in disbelief.

The door burst open.

Enforcers stormed in—only to freeze, slack-jawed at the sight above them. Jayce and Viktor hung suspended near the ceiling, light wrapping them in shimmering tendrils. The crystal floated between them, brighter than ever, wreathed in an ethereal web of energy. The living symbols still circled it, dancing in impossible patterns.

Jayce twisted helplessly in the air, panic rising. “Viktor! What is happening?!”

A loose gear drifted past him, caught in the current. It floated through the light and toward Viktor, who let out a startled laugh. He poked it, then plucked it carefully into his hand.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, eyes wide.

“You’ve actually done it.” Heimerdinger’s voice carried into the stunned silence. His fury was gone, replaced by reluctant awe. But then he frowned, muttering under his breath. “Just because it can be done doesn’t mean it should...” He looked up sternly. “Now—will you please stop hovering?”

“I am... not entirely sure how to do that, sir,” Viktor admitted, his voice faltering for once. “This is far beyond anything I’ve—”

“Do you think we chose to be up here?!” Jayce snapped, flailing helplessly against the pull of the magic.

The Enforcers remained rooted in the doorway, staring in stunned silence.

“This...” Heimerdinger began, his voice softer now. “This is not the future for Piltover, my boys.” Yet even he didn’t sound convinced.

“That is for the council to decide,” came a smooth voice from behind the Enforcers.

Mel stepped into the lab, her heels clicking against the floor. Her eyes swept over the sight.

“Perhaps it is time,” she said, her gaze sharp, “for the era of magic.”

Jayce caught her eye, a slow, tired smile breaking across his face.

“Hextech,” he corrected softly. “For the era of Hextech.”

The symbols swirled faster, the crystal’s glow shifting from steady light into an erratic pulse that filled the lab with humming pressure. Jayce clawed for something solid—anything to anchor himself—but the rubble he grabbed slipped from his hand and spun away.

“We need to shut this down,” he muttered, voice tight with panic. His eyes darted to Viktor. “I don’t even know how to—”

“The resonance has built up too much,” Viktor cut in. “We must stabilize it.”

“Stabilize it?!” Jayce snapped, flailing midair. “We’re floating in the middle of the air, Viktor—I don’t even know if we’re coming back down!”

Viktor’s brow furrowed, but his tone stayed steady. “Then we make a way down. Together.”

“Focus yourselves! Anchor one another!” Heimerdinger encouraged. 

Jayce twisted toward him, his heart hammering. His stomach lurched as the ground spun beneath him.

“Viktor,” Jayce gasped, panic fraying the edge of his voice. “If we don’t do this now—”

But Viktor had already extended his arm. His eyes locked onto Jayce’s. “Trust me.”

Jayce reached for him, their hands colliding midair. The instant their grip closed, the wild current shifted. Instead of pushing them further apart, the energy tethered to their connection, pulling downward.

They sank together, slow at first, then faster, the oppressive weightlessness bleeding away. Their boots touched solid ground again. Jayce let out a shaky breath, clutching Viktor’s arm a moment longer before finally releasing it.

The crystal dimmed to a steady glow as Viktor adjusted the machine.

Silence followed—save for the fading crackle of residual energy.

Heimerdinger approached, his small frame dwarfed by the looming machinery. His expression was not fury, but deep concern. “My stars... you’ve done something remarkable, and terribly dangerous. This kind of experiment requires caution, and...”

Jayce’s face burned with shame. His shoulders slumped. “We’re sorry, professor. We didn’t mean to endanger anyone.”

Viktor clasped his hands behind his back, posture composed. “It is stable now. And more importantly—it works. Hextech can be controlled.”

Before Heimerdinger could reply, the sound of heels clicked against the stone floor. Mel walked toward them.

“Well,” she said, her lips curling into a faint smile. “I thought I heard quite the commotion.” Her eyes flicked to the still-glowing crystal. “Seems the two of you enjoy putting on a show.”

Jayce straightened, flustered. “It wasn’t meant to be—”

Mel cut him off gently, her tone wry. “Relax, Jayce Talis. If anything, you’ve just proven what I already suspected. This has potential.”

Heimerdinger cleared his throat, bristling faintly. “Potential, yes. But without safeguards, it is peril incarnate. One wrong calculation, and the consequences could be catastrophic.”

Mel tilted her head toward him, thoughtful. “And yet... with the right oversight, this could change everything. The council will want to hear of it.”

Jayce’s stomach twisted. “The council?”

Heimerdinger nodded gravely. “This decision is larger than any one of us. I’ll need to deliberate—and inform them. For now...” His expression softened. “Rest. Both of you. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

Mel’s gaze lingered on the crystal, then shifted to Jayce with a spark of intrigue. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it—opportunities like this don’t stay quiet for long.”

The Enforcers at the door relaxed, exchanging uncertain glances before stepping aside.

As the room emptied, Jayce exhaled heavily, the weight of it all sinking in. He glanced at Viktor, who was staring at the machine, his mind racing far ahead.

“We’ve proven it,” Viktor said quietly, determination burning in his voice. “Now they cannot ignore us.”

Jayce managed a small nod, hope breaking through his lingering nerves. Maybe—with Viktor at his side—they could change the world.

---

The hallway outside Heimerdinger’s lab was quiet, the night air cool against the glass of the tall windows. Jayce and Viktor had settled at a small two-person table, the moonlight spilling across the surface and drowning them both in silver. 

Viktor was the first to break the silence. “Tell me, Jayce,” he asked softly, his eyes steady in the moonlight. “Why do you want to create Hextech?”

Jayce hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the table. “You’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

“The best scientists are,” Viktor replied, his lips quirking with the faintest smile.

That earned a laugh from Jayce. “When I was ten, my mother and I were leaving Ixtal. We were immigrating here, to Piltover.”

Viktor tilted his head. “Why?”

Jayce’s smile faltered, softening into something heavier. “My father had died... just a few months before. He was from Piltover, and he always talked about wanting to return here one day. After he was gone, my mother decided we had to. She said it's what he would have wanted.”

Viktor’s expression gentled. “I am so sorry.”

Jayce looked at him then, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a bittersweet smile. “At least it meant I got to meet you.”

That simple honesty sent heat rushing into Viktor’s cheeks, his gaze flickering away for a moment. But Jayce wasn’t finished.

“There was a blizzard on the mountain pass,” he said quietly, his eyes dropping to the table. His voice had grown distant, as if replaying something he’d never quite escaped. “We got caught in it. At some point... my mother collapsed.” His throat tightened. “She was... she was gone.”

The silence stretched, thick and unbroken. Jayce stared at the table as if he could still see her lying there in the snow. For a moment, it was as though the moonlight itself bowed around the weight of his memory.

“But then...” His voice steadied, softer now. “A mage saved us. Pulled us from the storm, brought us somewhere safe. And gave me this.”

He lifted his sleeve to reveal the bracelet and its embedded Runestone, faintly catching the silver glow of the night.

“I want to give that same magic to the world,” Jayce said, his voice fierce now with conviction. “How could someone see what I saw—and not want to help?”

Viktor studied him, his chest tight with something unspoken. “And so... Hextech.”

“Exactly.” Jayce’s gaze flicked up. “A way to share that miracle.” He leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “What about you? What would you do with it?”

Viktor faltered. “It is not my creation.”

“It is,” Jayce insisted. “You helped me figure it out.”

“I merely... advised,” Viktor countered. “You have done the real work.”

Jayce reached across the table, his hand closing gently over Viktor’s. The touch startled him, his face flushing deep red. But Jayce only smiled. “Without you, I’d have never figured it out. You’re the one who told me to fight for it. I meant what I said. You’re my partner, Viktor. I want you working on Hextech with me.”

Viktor’s heart clenched at the words. Partner. The warmth in Jayce’s eyes was almost unbearable. He could fall in love with this man. And quietly, in some corner of his mind, he made a note to thank Silco for urging him to investigate Jayce Talis.

“...Perhaps,” Viktor murmured, his voice softer than the moonlight around them, “Hextech could even help me bring something better to my home. I am from Zaun.”

Jayce’s brows lifted, but he answered without hesitation. “I don’t see why it couldn’t.”

His words came quickly, passionately, his free hand moving as if shaping the visions in his mind. “A ventilation system... a better sewer system perhaps or a way to make clean water available to everyone. Infrastructure that sustains, instead of poisons. There is so much suffering in Zaun, Jayce. With Hextech, we could change that.”

Jayce never let go of his hand. He watched Viktor with awe, his chest swelling with something he couldn’t quite name. When Viktor paused for breath, Jayce’s fingers tightened around his.

“We will,” Jayce promised. “I swear it.”

Viktor froze. And then—he smiled. A small, unguarded thing that wouldn’t leave his face no matter how hard he tried. “Then... yes,” he said softly. “I would love to be your partner.”

The moonlight bathed them both as they sat there, hands clasped, a spark of something larger than either of them beginning to burn.

Notes:

Kinda glad I decided to let go of Threads of Fate. Honestly, I'm just reusing my old chapters—and since I’m rewriting everything anyway, chapters can come out faster. At least until I catch up with all the stuff I’ve already written ☠️

I know the last two chapters have been pretty long, but I actually like them that way, so expect more of that length going forward.

Now, onto Viktor. In a lot of AUs where he stays in Zaun or works with Silco/raised by him, he usually ends up... harsher? Like, more Silco-ish. And hey, don’t get me wrong—that’s hot as hell. But I really love writing him as this awkward nerd so that’s what I’m sticking to. Sorry guys, he’s not gonna be smoking Shimmer and blowing it in Jayce’s face.

Also, quick clarification: correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t Shimmer made from Rio? If I’m making that up, yikes ☠️ but it doesn't matter cause Viktor stole her from Singed. (Check the tags, she’s showing up soon!)

For anyone who read my old work—should I add Mercury, Jayce’s cat? Still debating.

Oh, and another big AU note: Shimmer also doesn’t exist here because Silco and Vander went to marriage counseling (that’s a total lie, we all know they wouldn’t) and are now a disgustingly affectionate couple. They kiss, and Mylo immediately throws up—not because he’s homophobic, but because parents kissing is just gross. 💔

Anyway, enough rambling. See you in the next chapter!

Chapter 3: The New Target

Summary:

Heimerdinger has some rules for Jayce to follow.

The next morning, Jayce and Viktor sat side by side in Heimerdinger’s office.

Heimerdinger folded his hands together. “I am willing to give you both a chance,” he began. “One chance. Hextech has promise, but it is still unstable, still dangerous. You must promise me you will approach this with caution—nothing reckless.”

Jayce leaned forward, eager. “We’ll prove it can work, professor. I know we can.”

“You’ll have until the end of the school year,” Heimerdinger continued, ignoring the interruption, “to produce something worthy of presentation at the Innovators’ Competition. Consider this your test.”

Jayce’s grin widened, but it faltered as Heimerdinger added, “Hgwever, there will be rules. Strict ones.”

The professor turned his gaze on Jayce. “First: you are being re-enrolled as a student. Your studies must take priority. You may spend two hours in the mornings before class working in the lab with Viktor, but once your school day begins, you are not permitted in the workshop. Only after your classes and extracurriculars are finished may you return—and no later than ten o’clock at night. At that point, you are to return home and sleep.”

Jayce frowned. “That’s—professor, that’s not enough time! If you want results, I need more freedom than—”

Heimerdinger’s held a hand up. His voice remained calm, but resolute. “This is your final year, Jayce. Graduation is mere months away. Do not squander it now. Finish what you began.”

Jayce opened his mouth to argue again, but Viktor placed a hand on the arm of his chair. “He is right. Your degree is important. You should not abandon it.”

Jayce sighed, leaning back with visible reluctance. “Fine.”

“Discipline is often mistaken for restriction,” Heimerdinger replied, hopping down from his chair. He pulled two small bronze keys from his pocket and held them out. “You will share Lab Five. Only the two of you, and myself, will have access. Take care of it—and of yourselves.”

The boys each accepted their key.

“You may begin Thursday,” Heimerdinger added. “The lab requires a bit of preparation before then.” His expression softened, though his tone was still stern. “Now—have a good day, gentlemen. Make me proud.”

Dismissed, Jayce and Viktor stood and left the office, once the doors closed behind them, Jayce blew out a breath and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Six months,” he muttered. “Six whole months of waiting. By the time we’re allowed in that lab full-time, we’ll be halfway to retirement.”

Viktor arched a brow. “You are twenty-four, Jayce. That is hardly retirement age.”

Jayce shot him a sideways look. “Feels like it when all I want to do is work. Classes are just... a leash.”

Viktor’s expression softened, though his voice remained steady. “You will graduate soon. That is not so long. And... if it helps, I can tutor you. Make sure you keep your marks high enough to remain in Heimerdinger’s good graces.”

Jayce gave a small laugh, leaning in just a touch. “I can’t waste the chance to learn from the professor’s assistant.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “As long as you listen. I am told you have a talent for getting distracted.”

“Only when the company’s interesting.” Jayce’s grin lingered for a beat longer than necessary before he glanced at the tower clock above the quad. “Damn, I really have to go—class starts in five.”

“Then go,” Viktor said, stepping back. “I will see you later.”

Jayce gave him a half-wave as he started down the path. “Yeah. Don’t miss me too much.”

Viktor shook his head, but the faintest curve of amusement lingered on his lips as he watched him go.

Viktor’s day passed steadily. A string of minor mechanical faults, adjustments to prosthetics, a recalibration of the centrifuge in the lab. His mind should have been on his notes, the experiments awaiting his careful touch—but it wasn’t. Every so often, his thoughts strayed back to Jayce, to the way his eyes had softened in the morning light when they spoke outside. He pushed it away. Work came first. Always.

By the time he set down his tools and put his workspace in order, night had draped itself across Piltover’s skyline. He did not hesitate long before taking the path downward toward Zaun.

Silco sat behind his desk, swirling a glass of amber liquid as wrote on a peice of paper.

“Jayce Talis is no longer in his controversy,” Viktor began, “Heimerdinger allowed him to remain at the Academy. The council has quieted their outrage.”

Silco hummed low in his throat, took a slow sip of his drink, and set it down with a faint clink. “So, all that fuss for nothing.” A small smirk tugged at his mouth. “And here you were, huffing at me last night for making you look into him. Strange how quickly you’ve shifted.”

Viktor’s lips pressed thin, but he hesitated before speaking further. He could keep it to himself, but—no. “There is something else.”

At that, Silco finally looked up, one brow arched. “Go on.”

“Jayce has created Hextech.” The word lingered like a spark in the air. “The ability to harness arcane power through science. He believes it can change everything—medicine, labor. It is a beautiful vision, Silco. He asked me to join him, as his partner. Together we could build something that would benefit not just Piltover, but Zaun as well.”

Viktor’s eyes gleamed as he spoke, his usual restraint slipping away under the sheer excitement of the idea. His hands moved unconsciously, painting images of what it could mean—the sick healed, the weak strengthened, the future finally within reach.

Silco, however, did not share his expression. He watched Viktor carefully, swirling his glass again, but his gaze had sharpened. “A Piltovan dreamer with promises of salvation,” he murmured. “How convenient. And you believe him?”

Viktor froze. “Of course I do. I have seen his work, his mind—his heart. He does not seek power, only progress.”

Silco leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, voice low. “Men like Talis always speak of progress. But in Piltover, progress means chains for Zaun. They build shining towers while we choke on their runoff. You think he’ll share his miracles freely? Or will he sell them, keep Zaun begging at his door?”

The faint joy in Viktor’s face faltered, replaced with a flash of anger. “You are wrong. You do not know him as I do.”

“And you,” Silco’s tone hardened, “are blinded. This boy whispers pretty dreams and you lap them up, forgetting who profits from Piltovan innovation. Forgetting where your loyalty lies.”

Viktor’s voice rose, sharp and cutting in a way it rarely was. “My loyalty is to Zaun! That is why I must do this. Hextech can give us more than weapons, more than scraps from Piltover’s table. You speak of freedom, but you would deny us the chance to grasp it if it does not come from your hand.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, tense and brittle. Silco’s expression didn’t falter, but the softness Viktor had glimpsed earlier was gone, replaced by a cool, guarded mask.

Silco leaned back in his chair, glass balanced in his hand, the amber liquid catching the dim light of his office. “Pretty dreams, Viktor. But dreams can be dangerous when they come from Pilties.”

Viktor stiffened, his expression souring. “He is not just a Pilty. He is my—” he stopped himself, jaw tightening. “He believes in more than their arrogance. He believes in me. In Zaun.”

Silco set down his glass, finally meeting Viktor’s eyes. “And you believe him because you want to. Because it’s easier to cling to a boy’s ideals than to see the leash he’ll one day hold around your throat.”

Viktor’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You don’t know him.”

“I know his type,” Silco shot back. “Privileged. Entitled. A golden child of Piltover. He’ll use you until it suits him, and when he’s done—he’ll leave you to rot with the rest of us.”

“That is not true!” Viktor’s voice cracked through the room, sharper than he had intended. He stepped forward, glare burning. “He is different. He sees a future that could be shared—between Piltover and Zaun. Between him and me. Why can you not trust that?”

“Because trust is what gets us killed,” Silco said, his voice rising now, edged with steel.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his words tumbling out bitter and sharp. “Perhaps you are too blinded by your paranoia to see hope when it is right in front of you.”

Before Silco could reply, Viktor turned on his heel, cane striking the floor with sharp, furious clicks. He shoved the door open and stormed out, leaving Silco alone.

---

 Viktor didn’t care where his feet carried him—only that it was away. Away from Silco, from the harsh words still ringing in his ears. The air outside the Last Drop was thick with smoke and metal tang, but it cleared his head better than the alcohol ever could. It was harder to walk without his cane, but he bit his lip and ignored the dull pain in his leg.

He climbed toward Piltover without pause, his mind running circles around their argument. Silco’s suspicion, his cautious refusal to believe... Viktor’s jaw clenched tighter with each step. Why must he always see shadows where there is light? Jayce’s vision wasn’t just some dream—it was real, tangible, and for once Viktor had seen a future worth reaching for. And Silco had dismissed it.

By the time he crossed into Piltover proper, his breathing had steadied, but his anger hadn’t cooled. He knew where to go. He hadn’t asked Jayce, but finding his mother’s house wasn’t difficult—the name Talis carried some weight, and Viktor was nothing if not resourceful. Asking a few passersby, soon enough, he stood before a modest but well-kept house, far humbler than he had expected of a Piltover name.

He stood on the street for a long moment, hand hovering over the gate. His heart was still racing—not from the climb, but from the turmoil inside him. He hadn’t planned this visit. He hadn’t thought about what he’d say. Only that he needed to see Jayce.

With a sharp breath, Viktor pushed the gate open.

The Talis home was two stories tall, its brick walls weathered but sturdy. The shutters were painted a fading green, and the front garden—though trimmed—showed more practicality than wealth. It wasn’t the grand estate Viktor had half-expected from someone who carried themselves with Jayce’s confidence. This house was lived-in, modest, carrying the warmth of family rather than the shine of fortune.

Viktor circled to the side until he found himself beneath a window. The glass reflected the street lanterns faintly, but what caught his eye was the poster plastered just inside—bright colors and bold lettering, a stage magician with cards suspended midair. A boyhood fascination, no doubt. It wasn’t hard to guess whose room this might be.

The sill was low enough, the climb manageable. With a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure no watchful eyes were near, Viktor tested the window. To his surprise, it was already cracked open, as though left in a haste. He pushed it wider, the frame creaking faintly, and hoisted himself up. It wasn’t graceful—but determination outweighed discomfort. With effort, he pulled himself inside.

The room was chaos. Posters lined nearly every wall: musicians with wild hair and strange instruments, illusionists frozen mid-performance, acrobats caught in impossible balance. The bed sat against one wall, the sheets tangled and hanging half off the frame as though their owner never bothered to make it. A stack of notebooks and loose paper spilled across a cluttered desk beneath the window, ink stains dotting the surface. Scribbled equations and half-finished diagrams mingled with sketches of machines and doodles that spoke of restless nights spent thinking rather than sleeping.

On the shelves and floor stood trophies—small metal figurines and plaques engraved with achievements from years past, their polish dulled by dust. Some were for science fairs, others for school competitions, each crammed together without pride of place, as if Jayce had earned them but never stopped to admire them.

Clothes were strewn across the chair, boots kicked haphazardly under the bed, and a jacket lay crumpled on the floor.

Viktor stood in the middle of it all, turning slowly. His lips curved faintly despite his stormy mood. This was a room he could see Jayce in.

The door opened and Jayce came into his bedroom, toweling his damp hair as steam still clung faintly to his skin. He’d only thrown on a pair of gray sweatpants and a snug sports bra, not expecting company. When he looked up and saw Viktor standing stiffly in his room, he froze mid-step.

“Viktor?” Jayce blurted, eyes widening. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Viktor’s gaze flicked up for the briefest second—just long enough to catch a glimpse of Jayce’s chest. His face went scarlet in an instant, heat rushing all the way to his ears. He jerked his eyes downward, staring at the floor as if it had become the most fascinating thing in the world.

“I...” His voice cracked slightly, then steadied into something quieter. “Silco and I had a fight.”

Jayce blinked, still stunned by both Viktor’s sudden appearance and his answer. “So you broke into my house?”

Viktor shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t... difficult to find. I needed... I needed to see you.”

Jayce closed the door snd stepped inside further. “So... what happened?”

Viktor pressed his lips together, his gaze fixed on the floor. For a long moment, he seemed to debate whether to answer at all. Finally, he exhaled through his nose.

“Silco does not like... this.” He gestured vaguely between them. “Us. He believes you will... use me. 

He gave a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “He does not believe that you will help Zaun.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. “I told him he was wrong.”

For the first time, Viktor lifted his eyes toward Jayce, sharp but uncertain. “But he would not hear it. And so... I left.”

Jayce’s brows knit together, his voice softening as he sat down on his bed. “Viktor... I woud never use you. You’ve got more brilliance than anyone in this city could dream of. If Silco can’t see that—then that’s on him, not you.”

Viktor gave a tired huff, almost a laugh, and flopped backward onto the bed, one arm over his face. “He is stubborn. Once he decides what is true, nothing can pry it from him.” His voice dropped, quieter, almost wistful. “I only wish he could see you the way I do.”

Jayce froze, heat creeping up the back of his neck at those words. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in his cheeks, and slowly stretched out beside Viktor. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, their shoulders nearly brushing.

“...That’s... flattering,” Jayce muttered, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling as he tried not to smile. “You see me differently?” 

Viktor turned his head slightly, meeting Jayce’s eyes. The redness in his cheeks hadn’t faded, but his gaze was steady now, earnest. “Yes. Where others might see a dreamer too foolish to listen, I see... someone who cares. Who dares to hope. That is rare.”

Jayce swallowed hard, the compliment sinking deep. He wanted to laugh it off, but the words felt too precious to dismiss. Instead, he inched closer, close enough that their shoulders brushed at last.

“Viktor...” Jayce murmured, a little breathless. “I see you too. And not just as a partner in Hextech.” His hand hovered, then rested gently over Viktor’s, testing, waiting.

Viktor’s breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. His lips quirked into a faint, shy smile. “Then perhaps... Silco was right to be worried.”

Jayce laughed softly at that, nerves easing, and his thumb brushed over Viktor’s knuckles. “Maybe. But I don’t care.”

Viktor’s eyes flicked up toward the ceiling, as though he could find an escape written in the beams above. He has not known Jayce long enough to be doing this. “I... forgot my spare cane.”

Jayce blinked, then tilted his head. “You have a spare?”

“Yes. Though it is poorly made compared to the one I use. It wobbles.” He gave a faint shrug, trying to make light of it.

Jayce frowned, gaze dropping to Viktor’s face. “I could make you one. A better one.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed, lips parting like he meant to object, but he hesitated. “Jayce... you should not trouble yourself. I do not wish to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Jayce said, firmer than he meant to. He softened his voice, a smile tugging at his lips. “Think of it as a birthday gift.”

That drew a startled laugh from Viktor. “My birthday is not until December.”

“Then it’ll be an early birthday gift.” Jayce leaned a little closer, his grin warm and earnest.

Viktor’s laughter faded into a softer expression, his gaze lingering on Jayce’s. “Silco is very wrong about you.”

Notes:

Silco, you don’t even know the man—CHILL.
Trust me, though, he will come around to liking Jayce eventually.

Anyway, sorry this chapter was on the shorter side! I’m hoping to make the next one longer. :)

Chapter 4: Love With Every Stranger

Summary:

Viktor meets Jayce's mother.

Viktor had stayed the night. Of course, he hadn’t shared Jayce’s bed—that would be far too forward, far too unprofessional. Friends, yes, he could call them that now. But they’d only known each other for... two days? Hardly enough time to cross such boundaries.

Instead, Jayce had gatherd an armful of pillows and extra blankets for him, spreading them neatly across the floor beside his bed. Viktor had insisted he sleep there. When he stirred awake the next morning, his body reminded him sharply of how unforgiving the wooden floor could be. His back ached, his legs felt stiff, and he lingered there on the blankets a moment, staring at the ceiling and silently vowing to never again take a mattress for granted.

Jayce crouched down to help him up when Viktor finally let him know he was awake. “You’re gonna break in half sleeping like that,” he teased, slipping a steady hand under Viktor’s arm. Between the two of them, they got the makeshift bedding folded and stacked in the corner.

Afterward, Jayce rummaged through his closet and pulled out a set of clothes for Viktor to borrow. Viktor blinked down at them—an old t-shirt with a faded logo and a pair of sweatpants clearly too big around the waist but short on the legs.

“They’re from middle school,” Jayce admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Middle school?” Viktor raised an eyebrow as he held up the shirt. “You were... very large, even then?”

Jayce laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What can I say? Growth spurt hit early.”

Viktor slipped the shirt over his head anyway. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do.

Together, they made their way downstairs. The scent of something rich and savory was drifting through the air, and when they reached the kitchen, Viktor paused in the doorway. A woman stood at the stove, hair tied back, humming softly to herself as she turned eggs in the pan.

Jayce smiled. “Mamá,” he greeted.

Ximena turned, spatula in hand, and her eyes immediately landed on Viktor. Her brow arched. “¿Y este quién es?”(and who is this?) she asked, her tone curious. “No recuerdo que me dijeras que alguien iba a quedarse aquí.”(I don’t remember you telling me that someone was going to stay here.)

Jayce let out a sigh, glancing back at Viktor before returning to his mother. “(Te dije de Viktor, mamá. él no tenía a dónde ir.” I told you about Viktor, Mom. He had nowhere else to go.)His voice softened a little, almost pleading. “Solo quería ayudar.”(I just wanted to help.)

Ximena studied him for a moment, then let out a small sigh of her own. She set the spatula aside and wiped her hands on a dish towel before finally offering Viktor a smile.

“It is good to meet you Viktor,” she said. “Come, sit down. Breakfast is ready.”

Viktor blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sudden shift. But her kindness was unmistakable, and after a beat of hesitation, he inclined his head politely. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said quietly, and allowed Jayce to guide him toward the table.

Ximena hummed to herself as she set down plates, sliding eggs, beans, and warm tortillas onto each one. She made sure Viktor’s portion was just as full as Jayce’s before placing the plate in front of him.

“So, Viktor,” she began lightly, switching into English for his sake. “Tell me about yourself. You are... not from Piltover, no?”

Viktor sat a little straighter, adjusting his borrowed shirt, which hung loose at the shoulders. “No. I am from Zaun,” he said. “I... work at the Academy. I assist Professor Heimerdinger with research.”

Ximena’s brows rose in surprise. “Not a student?” She looked at Jayce, then back at Viktor, her lips curving in amusement. “Mijo, you didn’t tell me your new friend was a professor’s right hand. What’s this, then? You planning to have him sneak you all the quiz answers?”

Jayce groaned, pushing his fork through his eggs. “Mamá, por favor...” He muttered something about her making him sound twelve again before excusing himself. “I’ll be right back—bathroom.”

The sound of his footsteps faded up the stairs, and in that silence, Ximena set her own fork down and turned her full attention to Viktor. The softness in her expression sharpened into something serious.

Viktor noticed. His fingers tightened faintly around his fork.

Her voice was quiet, but firm. “What are your intentions with my son?”

The question landed like a weight in the air.

Viktor blinked, caught off guard. “I...?” His words faltered, then he drew in a breath. “Forgive me, ma’am, but I do not understand.”

“You understand,” she said, still calm, but her eyes were serious now. “Jayce has worked his whole life for this dream. For Hextech. Every day, since he was old enough to scribble notes in the margins of his textbooks, I have seen him give everything to it. It is his heart, Viktor. His future. And I worry—for him.”

Her gaze softened slightly, but it didn’t let go. “What is it you want from my son?”

For a moment, Viktor was silent. He hadn’t expected to be put under interrogation first thing in the morning. And yet... her concern wasn’t cruel. It was love, fierce and protective. Something he recognized.

At last, he spoke carefully, but with conviction. “Your son is... remarkable,” Viktor said. “He sees the world with a vision most do not. I do not wish to take advantage of him. I only want to help him achieve what he dreams of. I believe Hextech can... change lives. He wants to help me make Zaun a better place. That is why I am here. Because I believe in him.”

Ximena studied him, eyes narrowing slightly as though testing the weight of his words. Then, slowly, her expression softened again, the tension easing from her face. She let out a small breath, almost a laugh.

“You are very serious, Viktor,” she said finally, picking her fork back up. “But I think you mean what you say.” She gave him a small smile, warm again. “ayce could use someone who believes in him, not just someone who humors him.”

Viktor inclined his head, quietly relieved. “Then we understand each other.”

Just then, Jayce clattered back down the stairs, wiping his hands on his shirt, completely unaware of the conversation that had just taken place. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing, mijo,” Ximena said lightly, sliding another tortilla onto his plate. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Viktor allowed himself a small smile, though he still felt the lingering echo of her gaze. 

---

When they finished eating, Ximena rose to clear the plates. Viktor offered to help, but she only waved him off with a small smile, insisting he was a guest. Jayce grabbed his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder, and Viktor leaned on his cane as he followed him toward the door.

“Thank you for breakfast, ma’am” Viktor said carefully, his accent softening the words but his sincerity unmistakable.

Ximena’s expression warmed at once, her eyes creasing in a smile. “You’re welcome, Viktor. You are welcome in this house anytime And—enough of ma’am. Ximena is just as fine.”

Jayce looked a little embarrassed, rubbing at the back of his neck, but didn’t argue. Together, the two men stepped out into the brisk morning air. They walked in silence most of the way, Jayce glanced over once or twice, as though he wanted to say something, but each time he caught himself and kept walking.

At the tall archway of the Academy gates, they paused. Students streamed around them, the hum of conversations about exams and lectures filling the air.

“Well,” Jayce said, adjusting the strap on his satchel again. “Class for me. Heimerdinger’s office for you.”

Viktor gave a small nod. “Yes. Thank you again... for the clothes. And the place to sleep.”

Jayce’s grin came easily. “Don’t mention it. Just—don’t make it a habit of stealing all my old shirts.”

That coaxed a quiet huff of laughter from Viktor. He shifted his weight on his feet and inclined his head. “We will speak later, I am sure.”

And with that, they parted ways—Jayce vanishing into the tide of students, and Viktor heading down the quieter hallways that led toward Heimerdinger’s office.

---

Viktor set down his satchel and began sorting through the morning’s stack of schematics, adjusting notes Heimerdinger had scrawled in an impossible-to-read shorthand. The professor himself was humming as he scribbled furiously at a fresh design.

“Ah, Viktor! Good, good—excellent timing,” Heimerdinger chirped, not even looking up. “Review these calculations, will you? I want to test this prototype by week’s end.”

“Yes, professor,” Viktor replied, taking the sheets in hand.

Numbers and symbols grounded him. He threw himself into the work, but his thoughts still drifted back to Jayce’s kitchen—bright morning light, the smell of eggs, Ximena’s sharp eyes weighing him as though she could cut right through to his soul. She’d been polite, warm even, but her sudden seriousness had caught him off guard.

She wasn’t wrong to be protective, Viktor thought, frowning faintly as he wrote a correction in the margin. Jayce was ambitious, brilliant, but idealistic to a fault. He needed someone steady, someone not only to challenge him, but to keep him from flying too close to the sun. Viktor hoped to be that person once the lab was set up.

Still, there had been something oddly reassuring about her gaze softening when he answered. The suspicion had ebbed, replaced with trust—or at least, a willingness to wait and see.

Viktor worked through the day, occasionally assisting with small lab adjustments, fetching equipment, or leaning over notes until his back ached. By midday, he found himself stretching carefully, leaning against the wall with a tired exhale. The ache from sleeping on the floor at Jayce’s house hadn’t quite left him.

“Long night?” Heimerdinger asked absently, not looking up from his microscope.

“Something like that,” Viktor murmured.

He carried on. 

---

The humid air of the pool room hit Viktor the moment he stepped inside, heavy with chlorine and echoes of splashing water. He scanned the space and found Jayce almost immediately; he was hard to miss as he got out of the pool with water streaming down his chest and arms, droplets tracing over the curve of his shoulders and catching the light. His swim uniform was different from what Viktor had expected: trunks clinging to his hips, paired with a high neck swim top, snug against his chest.

Jayce noticed him at once, breaking into a bright smile as he raked wet hair back from his face.

“Vik! What are you doing here?” he asked, padding across the tiles, water dripping off him with every step.

Viktor shifted on his feet, a small shrug in his shoulders. “I just... wanted to see you.”

Jayce’s grin softened, and he tilted his head, warmth shining in his eyes. “You came all the way over here just for that?”

“I am not so busy today,” Viktor replied, amused. “And you are not so difficult to find.”

Jayce chuckled, “well, you found me, alright.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if it were a secret. “Give me a few more minutes, and I’m free. Then we can head over to my uncle’s workshop—” his smile widened, excitement bubbling in his tone “—and I can start working on your new cane.”

Viktor’s brows lifted slightly. “Already? You don’t waste time.”

“Not when it’s for you.”

---

Viktor followed Jayce out of the pool. He lingered a little closer than usual, listening to Jayce chatter about practice while his damp hair clung in soft curls to his forehead. Viktor had to remind himself to keep his eyes forward, not fixed on him.

By the time they reached the busier streets of Piltover, Jayce’s hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat. Viktor kept pace, half a step behind, when Jayce suddenly slowed and glanced sideways at him.

“So...” Jayce began, a faintly sheepish note in his voice, “before we get there, I should warn you—my uncle can be a little... intense.” He lifted his brows in emphasis.

Viktor tilted his head. “Intense?”

“Yeah.” Jayce gave a quick laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s... well, he’s passionate about his work. And he’ll probably size you up the second you walk through the door. Don’t take it personal, he does that with everyone.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Then I shall brace myself. Should I expect an interrogation, or merely a lecture?”

“Honestly?” Jayce grinned, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. “Both.”

Viktor shook his head, but there was the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. “And you still insist on dragging me there?”

“Of course,” Jayce said without hesitation. His tone softened as he looked at him. “He’s going to help us get you a better cane. That’s worth a little intensity, right?”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He only studied Jayce for a moment, struck again by how effortlessly warm he was, like his wellbeing was the most natural priority. At last, Viktor gave a quiet hum.

“Very well,” he said at last, his smile. “I can endure intensity—for your sake.”

Jayce’s grin widened at that, and he leaned closer as they walked, their shoulders brushing again as the streets narrowed toward the neighborhood where his uncle’s workshop was waiting.

*

The shop looked old but well-kept, sitting snugly between a tailor and a tea house. The outside walls were dark brick, soot-stained from years of work, and the sign above the door bore a simple engraving of a hammer over an anvil. The broad windows were fogged from heat and smoke, but through them one could see faint silhouettes of half-finished blades, tools, and gears. The air outside smelled faintly of iron, oil, and coal dust.

When Jayce pushed the door open, a bell above it gave a sharp jingle, cutting through the muted roar of the forge in back. The shop floor was a cluttered display of Arthur’s craft—rows of polished tools gleaming in the light, racks of weapons with fine engravings, and shelves stacked with gears, plates, and rods for mechanical work. The counter itself was scarred by years of hammer strikes and burn marks.

From the back, heavy footsteps approached, accompanied by the clang of metal being set down. Arthur appeared in the doorway—a tall, broad-shouldered man with arms corded from decades of blacksmithing. His hair was peppered with gray, his apron stained with soot and ash, and there was a faint smear of grease across his cheek. 

“Jayce.” His gaze flicked immediately to Viktor. “And you’ve brought company.”

He tugged off his heavy gloves, tossing them onto the counter with a thud, and dusted his hands against his apron. “What’s the occasion? Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to join the family business?” His laugh rumbled deep in his chest.

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head, and gestured toward Viktor beside him. “Not this time. Viktor’s cane gave out on him, and he needs a new one. I was hoping to use your forge for a bit.”

Arthur arched a brow. “You want to use my forge, my coal, my bellows—just like that?” He leaned across the counter slightly, mock offense playing at his lips. “And here I was, expecting a nice ‘please, Arthur, you generous soul, might I trouble you for—’”

Jayce cut him off with a crooked grin. “Don’t start. You wouldn’t say no anyway.”

Arthur’s laughter rang through the shop like a hammer on steel. “You’ve got me there, kid. You know me too well.” He clapped Jayce heartily on the shoulder, sending a puff of soot into the air, before casting a friendly glance at Viktor. “Then let’s see about getting your friend sorted, eh? The forge is yours.”

Jayce and Viktor headed deeper into the shop, Jayce leading viktor up a creaking staircase, Arthur chuckling behind them.

“Careful, boy, you’ll spoil him too quickly,” Arthur teased, his voice warm and booming.

Jayce groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Janna, please shut up, tío.” He didn’t even look back, clearly used to this.

Viktor followed quietly until they reached a small nook that overlooked the forge below. It was cozy—walls half-hidden by stacked books and tools, a pile of mismatched pillows and blankets thrown together as if this was Jayce’s personal retreat. A few shelves leaned with scraps of metal, wood, and old sketches pinned haphazardly. The faint smell of iron and ash drifted up from below, but here, surrounded by all the comforts, it almost felt like a hideaway apart from the world.

Jayce sank into the cushions and patted the spot beside him. “C’mon,” he said, smiling faintly at Viktor.

Jayce pulled out his sketchbook from his bag, flipping to a fresh page. And found a penicl. “Alright,” he said, settling cross-legged. “Let’s design you something better than what you had before. Stronger, lighter... maybe even with a bit of style.”

He glanced up at Viktor with a grin. “You’ll be the one using it every day—so it has to feel like yours.”

ayce balanced his sketchbook across his knees, pencil moving as Viktor explained the height, angle, and balance. Every so often Jayce would pause to ask, “Would you prefer a straighter handle, or something curved for your grip?” or “Heavier headpiece, or lighter—more control?” and Viktor would answer while his eyes traced the lines Jayce laid down.

Jayce seemed in his element here, completely focused, but not in the usual hurried, obsessed way. He was... calm, steady, careful in every stroke, as if he didn’t want to miss even the smallest detail of Viktor’s needs.

After a while, Viktor set his hand lightly against the sketchbook, halting Jayce mid-line. “Your uncle,” he asked quietly, his eyes flicking toward the workshop below. “What is he like? He seems... enthusiastic.”

Jayce chuckled at that, leaning back against the mound of pillows. “That’s one way to put it. Arthur’s my dad’s younger brother. He’s... well, he never sits still. Does a lot of back-packing, climbing, forging in whatever town or country he happens to end up in. He’s only in Piltover a few months every year.”

Viktor tilted his head. “And the rest of the time?”

“My mom runs the shop,” Jayce explained, absently turning the pencil between his fingers. “Before I started college, between eighteen and twenty, I traveled with him. Searching for the crystals I needed for Hextech.”

Viktor listened intently, his brows lifting slightly. “So he helped you gather them?”

“Yeah,” Jayce said softly, flipping back through his sketches. “Honestly, for a long time, Arthur was the only person who really understood what I was trying to do. The way I saw the world. My mom and friends didn’t—not really. He believed in me. Closest thing I had to someone who... got it.”

Jayce’s gaze shifted from the page to Viktor then. “Until I met you.”

Viktor tilted his head, curiosity brightening his eyes. “You traveled so far. What was it like? The world beyond Piltover?”

Jayce smiled faintly, leaning back on the pillows as he shifted through memories. “It’s different everywhere. Ionia was the first place Arthur and I landed. We stayed about four months. It’s lush—green everywhere, like the air itself is alive. The people are calm and graceful. They carry themselves like they’ve got centuries behind every word they say. I learned a lot there, though half the time I felt like a clumsy giant compared to them.”

He chuckled, then went on. “After that, Shurima. We stayed six months. Endless sand, cities built like they rose straight out of the dunes. Hot as hell during the day, freezing at night. The people there were tough, resilient, some of the friendliest I’ve ever met. They know how to endure, how to make joy out of very little.”

Viktor listened, enraptured, his hand absently running along the edge of Jayce’s sketchbook.

He paused before smiling faintly. “Freljord, though—that’s where Arthur nearly froze me to death. Seven months. Cold like you can’t imagine, storms that chew right through your bones. But the people? Fierce, proud, loyal. They’d fight and drink in the same breath. I’d never seen bonds like that.”

Viktor’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his eyes soft. “And Noxus?”

Jayce exhaled slowly. “Four months there. Brutal. Everything is competition, but there’s strength in that. I met some brilliant minds, people who challenged me more directly than anyone else ever had. It wasn’t comfortable, but it left a mark.”

“And Ixtal?” Viktor asked next.

Jayce hesitated for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “That’s home. I was there the longest, obviously. A year and a half. Ixtal is... wild. Thick jungle, storms that never let up, and magic humming through every tree and stone. I missthe food most of all.”

He trailed off, then smirked. “I met a lot of people along the way. Interesting women... and men.”

Viktor’s cheeks flushed immediately, color blooming high across his pale skin. “You... met a lot of people?”

Jayce only shrugged, grinning as if enjoying Viktor’s reaction. “I wasn’t staying in one place too long. That time of my life was exciting. And...” he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping lower, “...the sex was really good.”

Viktor shifted, averting his gaze for a moment, though he didn’t move away. “You met quite a few people then?”

“Mm. A few.” Jayce shrugged like it was nothing, but his smile softened as he looked at Viktor. “None of it ever lasted. You can’t build anything real when you’re never in one place long enough. But for what it was—short, sweet... rough, sometimes—it was damn fun.” 

Viktor’s throat worked as he swallowed, eyes flicking briefly to Jayce’s before darting away again. “You are... very shameless in your reminiscing.”

Jayce chuckled and leaned a bit closer, close enough that Viktor could feel the heat of him. “Would you rather I kept all the details to myself? Or do you like hearing about it?” His smirk widened at the flush deepening across Viktor’s cheekbones.

Viktor tilted his head, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth despite the warmth creeping over his cheeks. His voice was quiet, almost cautious, but there was unmistakable curiosity in it.

 “Go on.”

“Some of it was... wild,” he admitted. “Like in Shurima, I met a dancer who wanted to take me apart piece by piece. She pressed me against silk cushions, traced every inch of me with her mouth—until I was begging for her to stop teasing.” His lips quirked, eyes glinting. “She didn’t. Not until I was shaking.”

Viktor swallowed hard, eyes flicking away before forcing themselves back to Jayce.

 “And... others?” he asked, the words almost too soft.

Jayce chuckled under his breath. “There was a man in Shurima. Strong. Stubborn. He kissed me like he was trying to steal the air from my lungs. Pinned my wrists above my head and I saw stars... probably because we were outside .”

Viktor’s face burned, his lips parting just slightly as though he meant to say something, but the words didn’t come. Jayce laughed quietly, tilting his head, savoring his reaction. “You wanted me to continue,” he teased. “I could keep going. Ixtal, Freljord, even Noxus... every place had someone unforgettable.” 

Viktor swallowed dryly. Turning away from Jayce’s gaze. He was not going to survive him.

Notes:

For anyone who’s read No Attachment, Arthur is an oc I made to be Jayce’s uncle. I loved building out Jayce’s family and decided to sneak at least one of them into this fic. Most of his family actually lives in Ixtal.

Also I love Jayce’s slut era 👅👅 Honestly wish he was still in it, because he absolutely would’ve jumped Viktor last night 😞

I keep looping “Someone New” by Hozier and, yeah, that’s definitely slut-era Jayce’s theme song. He was always fascinated by meeting new people but he was surprised every time someone invited him into bed. 😭😭

(Also sorry if my Spanish is bad)

Chapter 5: What Could Go Wrong?

Summary:

Viktor and Jayce can finally start working.

At last the lab was finished. And they could finally begin their work on Hextech. Jayce came straight over after school, excitement written all over him, where he found Heimerdinger and Viktor already waiting.

Heimerdinger launched into his usual briefing. “Two hours before school, no more. And you must leave by ten in the evening,” he reminded Jayce with a wag of his finger. “On Saturdays, however, you’ll have full access to the lab for the day. Sundays are similar, but the rule still stands: out by ten because you have school Monday.”

The yordle’s ears twitched as he glanced between them. “You’ll have until the Innovators’ Competition to prepare something truly remarkable—something that not only impresses me, but convinces the other judges your research deserves to continue.”

After laying out safety guidelines, Heimerdinger gave them both a brisk nod. “Now, I expect you to be careful, but also to enjoy yourselves. Innovation should be as much passion as it is discipline.” With that, he hopped off his stool and padded toward the door, leaving them alone.

The lab seemed a little bigger, a little quieter, once Heimerdinger was gone.

Jayce shifted his weight, eyes flicking to Viktor. The cane he’d made for him leaned easily against Viktor’s leg, the polished metal gleaming faintly in the lamplight. It suited him—practical, sharp, almost elegant.

“Well,” Jayce said with a grin, breaking the silence, “guess it’s just us now.”

Viktor adjusted his grip on the cane. “Yes,” he replied evenly, though there was the faintest tug of amusement in his voice. “Which means we should decide how we begin.”

---

The lab was technically divided into two sections. In theory, the arrangement was meant to give them space to work independently. In practice, that boundary had never truly existed. They were always crossing into each other’s territory, finding excuses to linger. Maybe Jayce needed a tool from Viktor’s bench, maybe Viktor wanted another pair of eyes on his equations, or maybe they just gravitated toward one another.

Over time, a rhythm had emerged between them, so natural it almost felt inevitable. Jayce had come to associate the soft tap of Viktor’s cane against the floor with the prelude to some dry remark. And just as often, Viktor would look up from his notes only to find Jayce drifting over.

Sometimes they didn’t even need words. The hum of machines, the scratch of pencils, the faint clink of metal filled the air between them comfortabley. Yet, eventually, words always found their way in.

“That won’t work,” Viktor would say.

Bent over a half-finished prototype, Jayce would groan, rolling his eyes though a grin tugged at his mouth. “You don’t even know what I’m building.”

“I don’t need to know,” Viktor replied, leaning back in his chair. “You’re tapping your pen against the table like it’s a drumstick. That means you’re stuck.”

Jayce blinked, before breaking into laughter and shaking his head. “Fine. You’re right.”

A flicker of satisfaction touched Viktor’s expression before he bent over his own work once more.

Their partnership thrived on that push and pull. Jayce was momentum and daring—leaping before he looked, chasing half-formed ideas as if they were already gold. Viktor was precision and patience—there to catch him, to anchor him. Yet it wasn’t one-sided.

When Viktor sank too deep into his calculations, his shoulders tense and his body hunched forward stubbornly, Jayce was the one to intervene.

“Hey,” he’d murmur, nudging Viktor’s arm. “You’ve been at this for hours. Take a break.”

“I’m fine,” Viktor would mutter, eyes fixed on the page.

“Nope. No arguments.” By then Jayce would already be dragging him away from the bench, pressing a warm cup of sweetmilk into his hands. Viktor always grumbled, but he never truly resisted.

Viktor liked sweetmilk—something mentioned in passing, almost absentminded. But Jayce had remembered.

That was the way of it: Jayce provided the spark, Viktor the direction. When one faltered, the other steadied him.

Being Jayce’s partner, Viktor realized, wasn’t such a bad thing.

In fact, it felt exactly right.

---

It hadn’t been very long since they became partners. Yet somehow, it already felt like a lifetime.

Four days.

 Technically, four and one-sixth of a day.

 One hundred hours.

But who was counting?

In that short time, Viktor had learned an astonishing amount about Jayce Talis.

He knew Jayce arrived at the lab promptly at seven every morning, only to leave two hours later for class. By four in the afternoon he returned, and together they worked until ten—because Heimerdinger had decreed it so. Not that Jayce always listened. Viktor, for one, couldn’t wait until the man finally graduated. Then, at last, there would be no more interruptions.

He knew Jayce had turned one of the storage cabinets into a “snack drawer,” which he insisted was an essential resource for when they inevitably forgot to eat. Viktor preferred sweets, Jayce preferred spice. Yet the drawer was overwhelmingly filled with confections and chocolates—an imbalance Jayce waved off with a grin and the excuse, “I just grabbed whatever looked good.”

He knew Jayce’s mind never stopped moving. It was a storm of ideas—concepts sparking into existence faster than he could pin them down. The sheer weight of his ambition could almost suffocate. But just as easily, he was distracted. His notebooks weren’t only equations and schematics; scattered among the formulas were sketches. A flower. The sky. Sometimes even Viktor himself, drawn in quick, loose strokes.

Jayce was a contradiction.

Looking at him, no one would guess his handwriting would be so... elegant. Viktor had always liked cursive, the way letters flowed seamlessly into one another. Jayce’s was unusually neat—graceful, even. It suited him in a way Viktor hadn’t expected.

And then there was his kindness—effortless, unconscious.

Jayce noticed things. He noticed when Viktor had been sitting too long, hunched over calculations, and insisted on dragging him to the balcony with some argument about the importance of sunlight and fresh air. He noticed when Viktor forgot to eat and quietly made sure food appeared in front of him, even if it was just something pulled from the overstocked snack drawer.

But the man had no concept of personal space.

He leaned over Viktor constantly, peering at his notes, his chest brushing against the back of Viktor’s head. When he stood beside him, it was only a matter of time before one of Jayce’s hands settled on his shoulder.

Not that Viktor minded.

---

Jayce had finished his last class nearly an hour ago.

Viktor glanced at the clock, noted the time, then bent back over the device in his hands. His grip tightened around the base as he carefully turned the final screw.

A knock at the door broke the silence. Viktor didn’t look up—Jayce was closer, he could handle it.

The door swung open, and Jayce’s voice lit up, bright with surprise. “Caitlyn!”

That name was enough to make Viktor turn.

A young woman stepped into the lab, long blue hair falling over her shoulders. Too young to be one of Jayce’s classmates, but the familiarity between them was obvious. A sister? No—when Viktor had visited his home, there’d been no sign of a daughter. And Caitlyn looked nothing like the family he’d seen.

Jayce pulled her into a hug, grinning wide. She returned the smile easily before her gaze slid past him, sweeping over the cluttered lab until it landed on Viktor. There was curiosity in her eyes.

Jayce ruffled her hair. “What are you doing here?”

Caitlyn huffed, batting his hand away, though her tone was warm. “Don’t do that.” She smoothed her hair back into place.

Viktor leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the exchange with mild intrigue.

“My mother’s here for some meeting,” Caitlyn explained, still taming her hair. “She told me to go find you and ‘stay out of trouble’ until she’s done.” She rolled her eyes, then smirked. “So, you’re stuck with me for the next few hours.”

Jayce groaned theatrically. “Babysitting again?”

“I’m not that young,” Caitlyn shot back, elbowing him in the ribs.

At that, Viktor cleared his throat. Jayce turned, as if only just remembering he was there.

 “Oh—right! Cait, this is Viktor. My partner.”

Viktor inclined his head politely. “A pleasure.”

Caitlyn studied him for a moment before nodding. “Likewise.”

Jayce clapped his hands together. “And Viktor, this is Caitlyn.”

“Does your mother often leave you here?” Viktor asked.

Caitlyn smirked. “My parents basically sponsore Jayce’s entire education. Technically, he owes us.”

Viktor’s lips curved faintly. “Ah. So that is why you are here. An academic debt to be repaid.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Jayce groaned.

“Too late,” Caitlyn replied, grinning.

Viktor’s smirk deepened as he gestured to the mess around them. “Well, if you are to be stuck here, I hope you are not easily bored.”

Caitlyn folded her arms, surveying the scattered blueprints, tools, and prototypes. “Depends. Are you two going to blow something up?”

Jayce opened his mouth, then paused. “...Not intentionally.”

“Statistically speaking, yes,” Viktor corrected dryly.

Jayce shot him a look. “Not helping.”

Caitlyn laughed softly. She wandered deeper into the lab, picking up a small component and rolling it between her fingers. “So what do you two actually do in here?”

“Revolutionary work,” Jayce declared. “Hextech—the future of Piltover, the foundation of progress—”

“Mostly arguing,” Viktor interjected smoothly.

Caitlyn glanced between them, amused. “So, what are you doing right now?”

“I was just about to suggest food,” Jayce said, arms crossing.

Viktor gave him a pointed look. “Were you?”

“I thought about it,” Jayce admitted.

Caitlyn grinned. “Perfect. I’m starving.”

Viktor sighed, setting down his tools. “It seems I am outnumbered.”

Jayce slung an arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, Viktor. Think of it as a study in human socialization.”

“Fine,” Viktor muttered, pushing himself up and reaching for his cane. “But you are paying.”

Caitlyn smirked. “Oh, definitely. He owes me, remember?”

Jayce groaned.

They stepped out into the hallway, Jayce still shaking his head. Viktor, walking at his side, allowed himself the smallest smirk. “I rather like her,” he said.

“See?” Caitlyn beamed. “Viktor has good taste.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jayce muttered. “Let’s just get food before I change my mind.”

---

The lab was quieter than usual, save for the low hum of machinery and the occasional clang of metal against metal. Golden lamplight flickered across the walls, stretching shadows long and thin. Outside the tall windows, Piltover slept—the streets black, still, and empty.

Jayce leaned against a cluttered workbench, arms crossed, eyes fixed on his partner. Viktor was bent over a half-finished contraption, its gears and wires exposed like the ribs of some fragile creature. His hand trembled faintly as he tightened a screw, though his movements stayed steady.

“Viktor.”

No answer. Only a low mutter under his breath, golden eyes locked on the device.

Jayce frowned, pushing off the bench. “Viktor.”

“What?” Viktor snapped, irritation laced sharp through the word—though he still didn’t look up.

Jayce came to stand beside him, gaze falling on the untouched mug of sweet milk set near the edge of the table. Cold again. His jaw tightened. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed, fingers still moving. “We have discussed this. I do not need you to—how do you put it?—parent me.”

“That’s not an answer,” Jayce shot back flatly. He tapped the mug. “This has gone cold. Again. How long have you been at it?”

“Not long,” Viktor replied breezily, though the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed him. His voice softened: “I am close. I have been close for hours—”

“Exactly. Hours,” Jayce cut in, and before Viktor could react, he plucked the screwdriver straight from his hand.

Viktor jerked upright, eyes flashing. “Jayce!” His voice cracked sharp with anger as he reached for it.

Jayce held it easily out of reach. “Break. Now.”

“You are being absurd,” Viktor huffed, sinking back into his chair, his glare quick to fade.

“And you’re working yourself into the ground.” Jayce tossed the screwdriver onto the far end of the table—out of Viktor’s reach—then picked up the cold mug, grimacing at it. “I’ll make you another. While you sit there. Doing nothing.”

“Jayce—”

“Nope.” He was already striding toward the kettle in the corner. “If I hear so much as one tool pick up, I’ll lock them all away.”

Viktor muttered something sharp under his breath. Jayce ignored it, filling the kettle and setting it to heat, listening to the quiet tick of metal warming.

A smile tugged at his mouth. “I know you’re cursing me over there.”

From across the lab, Viktor exhaled, head tipping back against his chair.

Jayce’s voice softened. “But someone has to keep you alive, you stubborn ass.”

That earned a low chuckle. “Why? Clearly, I am invincible. You cannot kill what does not sleep.”

Jayce snorted. “Invincible? Please. You’re one skipped meal away from collapsing.”

“I have survived worse,” Viktor murmured.

Jayce didn’t answer immediately. He poured the steaming milk into the cup, its sweet scent curling warm through the air, then carried it carefully back across the lab. He set it down in front of Viktor.

Viktor blinked up at him.

Jayce’s voice gentled further. “I know you have. But you don’t have to anymore.”

For a moment, Viktor hesitated. His fingers curled around the handle, his eyes flickering with the beginnings of an argument he already seemed too tired to win. Finally, he sighed and lifted the mug, taking a slow sip.

“Fine,” he muttered, gaze fixed on the cup. “But only to end your incessant whining.”

Jayce grinned, relief lighting his face. “Deal.”

Viktor smirked faintly, shaking his head. “You are worse than an Enforcer.”

“And you’re worse than a toddler,” Jayce shot back easily, leaning against the table, watching satisifed as Viktor took another sip. 

---

The lab hummed with its usual mechanical rhythm, a low, steady thrum that filled every corner. The air smelled faintly of oil and metal, tinged with the burnt sweetness of a half-forgotten candle flickering near the wall. Golden lamplight cast long shadows over cluttered tables, their glow paling against the dark windows.

Viktor glanced toward the far wall, squinting at the calendar pinned beside a scatter of blueprints.

Fifteen days.

Fifteen days since he met Jayce Talis and stopped him from walking over the ledge—and somehow, it felt longer. Late nights, endless discussion, the quiet ease of shared work... they’d already fallen into a rhythm, as though this had been years instead of weeks.

A sigh broke the stillness.

“Viktor. It’s late.”

Jayce’s voice carried across the room, firm but worn. He straightened from where he’d been leaning, bracing his hands on the edge of the workbench, watching Viktor with that familiar look of concern.

“Really late,” he added. “We should head out.”

Viktor waved him off, his attention still fixed on the delicate mechanism before him. “I am nearly finished. You go ahead.”

Jayce didn’t move. Instead, he crossed his arms, raising a brow. “Nice try. I’m not leaving you here to collapse over your desk.”

“I have survived worse,” Viktor muttered, adjusting a gear.

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Jayce countered. “And every night you look like one strong breeze would knock you flat.”

Viktor finally glanced up, unimpressed. “Your way with words never ceases to amaze me.”

Jayce grinned. “Come on. I’m walking you home.”

That earned a blink, a flicker of surprise across Viktor’s tired face. “You do not have to—”

“I know I don’t,” Jayce cut in, holding up a hand. “But I want to. What kind of friend would I be if I let you stumble across campus half-asleep?”

Something unreadable flickered in Viktor’s expression at that word—friend—but he didn’t press it. With a resigned sigh, he pushed his chair back. “Fine. But I do not need you to hold my hand.”

“Noted,” Jayce smirked, reaching for his coat. “Still making sure you don’t sneak back in the second I turn my back.”

Viktor scoffed lightly, rising to his feet and steadying himself with his cane. “Your faith in me is inspiring.”

Jayce held the door open. “After you.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but stepped past him, tugging his coat close.

The night air struck cool and sharp after the warmth of the Academy. Streetlamps spilled pale light over the courtyard, their footsteps echoing faintly against the cobblestones.

For a while, neither spoke.

“You know,” Jayce said at last, voice softer, “you don’t have to push yourself this hard.”

Viktor kept his eyes ahead. “Perhaps. But there is still much to be done.”

“Sure,” Jayce said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But at least tonight you’ll sleep. That’s progress.”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. At last, he murmured, “Thank you.”

Jayce tilted his head. “For what?”

“For being insufferably persistent,” Viktor said dryly, though his lips quirked faintly.

Jayce laughed, the sound carrying down the empty walkway. “Anytime.”

They passed under another lamp, light spilling gold over the path. Viktor pulled his coat tighter with one hand. “It is colder than I expected.”

“That’s because you never leave the lab,” Jayce replied. “Pretty sure you missed the whole season changing.”

“Work is a fine distraction,” Viktor admitted, watching his breath curl white into the air.

Jayce gave him a sideways glance. “It’s going to distract you straight into an early grave if you’re not careful.”

Viktor’s laugh came low and dry. “What a concern. I managed well enough before you.”

“Yeah, you managed,” Jayce said, eyes narrowing. “Not lived. There’s a difference.”

Viktor arched a brow. “You are sounding philosophical. Should I be worried?”

Jayce grinned. “Nah. Just think you’d like life better outside your workbench every now and then.”

“Enjoy what?” Viktor asked, voice dry. “The empty streets? The cold wind?”

Jayce chuckled. “You’re impossible.”

Viktor smirked but didn’t reply, the rhythmic tap of his cane filling the pause.

A moment later, Jayce’s tone softened again. “I’m serious. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Viktor slowed slightly. “I have been alone in this for a long time, Jayce. It becomes... habit.”

“Well,” Jayce said gently, “habits can change. I’m here now. We’re in this together.”

For a moment, Viktor studied him in the lamplight, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly: “you are a strange man, Jayce Talis.”

Jayce bumped his shoulder lightly against Viktor’s. “And you’re lucky to have me.”

“Debatable,” Viktor replied, though his faint smile betrayed him.

The dormitories loomed ahead, the tall windows glowing faintly against the night.

“Almost there?” Jayce asked.

“Yes,” Viktor gestured with his cane. “That building there.”

Jayce slowed, glancing at him. “Just so you know—walking you home isn’t a one-time offer. If you need anything—anything at all—ask.”

Viktor stopped at the foot of the steps, turning toward him. The lamp overhead lit his face, softening the sharp lines. “You make it sound as though I need saving.”

Jayce shook his head, smiling. “Just company.”

For a moment, Viktor held his gaze. Then he inclined his head, the smallest of nods. “I will consider it.”

“Good.” Jayce rocked back on his heels. “Alright, get some rest.”

Viktor smirked faintly, pushing the door open. “Goodnight, Jayce.”

Jayce lingered as Viktor disappeared inside, the door shutting quietly behind him. For a long moment, he stood there under the lamplight, before finally turning back toward the darkened path.

Notes:

I know this chapter was on the boring side, but I promise things will pick up soon! Chapters 6–10 will cover some bigger things: Jayce meeting Silco, his graduation, and the Innovators competition. I won’t necessarily go into detail for every single event, but those chapters will span the rest of his school year.

For clarity: Chapter 10 will officially be Jayce’s graduation. After that, we’ll jump into the seven-year timeskip I mentioned before. Each year will be condensed into one long chapter (instead of splitting them into 1–3 per year).

Right now, I’m estimating the fic will land around 35 chapters total—but since I can’t say for certain, I’ll give a safe range of 35–40.

Chapter 6: Welcome to the Playground

Summary:

Viktor takes Jayce down to Zaun.

Every time Viktor returned home, Silco made the same demand: bring Jayce Talis with him—or else Silco would come find the boy himself. Viktor wasn’t sure which one he dreaded more. 

And then there was Violet, who had been asking after Jayce too. She wanted to meet the man who had saved her from Stillwater, to thank him properly.

Viktor had put it off as long as he could, but he decided to finally get it over. One way or another, the introductions would have to be made. And he'd rather be there so Jayce won't say anything wrong.

As they walked the lower streets, Viktor’s cane tapped softly against the cobblestones, his pace steady though his mind was racing. He’d been dreading this day for weeks, and now that it had come, he wasn’t about to let Jayce walk in blind.

“You should know who you’ll be meeting,” he began. “Vander is rough on the surface, but everything he does, he does for the people down here. Show him respect, and he’ll give it back to you.”

He paused briefly, then added, “Powder is the youngest. Curious, excitable. She may ask you a thousand questions before you sit down. Just... humor her. She means no harm.”

“Claggor and Mylo,” Viktor continued with a faint shake of his head, “they are loud, and get into a lot of trouble all the time when it's just them. There might be a chance you won't ever meet them until five years from now.”

A heavier breath left him before he went on. “And Violet. She has asked to speak with you directly. She wants to thank you for sparing her the fate from Stillwater. Be patient with her—she has her guard up, but she means what she says.”

His brow knit slightly as he shifted his grip on the cane. “Ekko and Benzo may be around as well. Benzo is... energetic, outspoken, a lot to handle at once. Do not let him overwhelm you. Sevika, though—whether she appears or not depends on her mood. She does not take kindly to strangers.”

Finally, Viktor slowed his steps, his voice dropping lower, his eyes flicking briefly toward Jayce. “And... Silco. He has been insisting on meeting you. He is not like the others. Do not be fooled by calm words or polite gestures—he sees everything, weighs everything. He will want to know what sort of man you are, and he is not easy to impress. If you give him a reason to doubt you, he will not forget it.”

He tightened his jaw. “In truth, I do not know which is worse—that he meets you today, or that he comes looking for you himself later. So... best we get it over with.”

Jayce’s hand brushed Viktor’s as they walked, an unconscious gesture of reassurance. “You’ve really thought this through,” he murmured. “I’ll be fine, Viktor. They’re your family—I’d never want to give them reason to doubt you.”

Viktor’s lips tugged faintly at the corner, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is not you I worry about. They can be... Protective.” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think the only thing more dangerous than enemies are friends who think they are defending you.”

Jayce gave a soft laugh. “So I should expect a trial by fire?”

“Something like that.” Viktor glanced at him sidelong. “But you are clever, and stubborn. That will help.”

They reached the steps leading up to the Last Drop. The tavern loomed above them, iron and wood carved into the familiar shapes of Viktor’s childhood, though tonight it felt suddenly foreign, hostile. The sound of laughter and voices rumbled from inside, muffled but strong.

His hand hovered near the handle, but he didn’t move further. For a moment, he simply stood, his shoulders tense, his gaze distant.

Jayce noticed. He reached out, lightly touching Viktor’s shoulder. “Hey. I’m with you. No matter how this goes.”

Viktor looked at him then, searching his face, and in the dim light a flicker of warmth reached him. “Then let us hope that is enough.”

He drew a breath, tightened his grip on the cane, and finally pushed the door open. The smell of smoke and liquor rushed out to meet them, mingling with voices that dropped just slightly as the two men entered.

A few heads turned when the door opened, curious glances flicking their way before slipping back to half-finished mugs and quiet conversations. The Last Drop wasn’t nearly as busy as it could be—Viktor had hoped for empty tables and only the company of his family, but this would do.

The air smelled of stale smoke, sweat and booze. The sound of a card game at one table carried over the low hum of chatter. Viktor’s steps slowed, but Jayce matched his pace easily.

They walked further in, toward the bar. From the corner, a blur of motion darted past—a flash of blue hair. Ekko and Powder tore around the room in a chase, too caught up to notice at first. Then Powder skidded to a halt, eyes wide as she caught sight of Viktor.

“Viktor!” she squealed, tugging on Ekko’s arm before bolting across the floor.

In an instant, she was on him, tugging his sleeve, peering up at Jayce, back to Viktor, words tumbling over one another like marbles spilling free of a bag.

“Where were you? You’re late! Who’s this? He’s tall—why’s he tall? Is he your friend? You're Jayce right? Did you eat yet? Did you bring anything? Can he fight? Does he fight you? Did you win?”

Jayce blinked, a little overwhelmed, though he let out a short laugh. “She’s got a lot of questions, huh?”

“Always,” Viktor said dryly, but there was no hiding the fondness in his voice. He let her tug him toward the bar, Ekko following with a curious, more measured gaze at Jayce.

By the time they reached Vander’s counter, Powder was still mid-barrage. Vander, polishing a glass, cast a look over the rim at the two newcomers and the excited girl between them. His expression softened.

“Alright, you two. Scurry off. Let the grown-ups talk.”

Powder groaned but obeyed, grabbing Ekko’s wrist as she darted away, her laugh trailing behind them as they vanished into the back corner again.

Vander set down the glass, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes settling on Viktor first—and then Jayce.

“Jayce,” Viktor said, tone careful, like he was introducing someone to a loaded weapon. “...my partner.”

Jayce nodded politely, shoulders squared though his fingers curled slightly around the edge of the table, as if grounding himself.

Vander’s lips twitched—maybe a smirk, maybe just a shadow of one. He poured a drink and nudged it across the counter toward Jayce. “Partner, huh? You’re the one building those fancy things topside? Hextech? Exciting.”

Jayce glanced at Viktor, then back to Vander. “We are, yeah.”

At that, Viktor gave a soft, dismissive snort and brought his own glass to his lips. “Mm. If you think so,” he muttered into the rim before taking a slow sip.

Jayce’s eyes slid sideways to him. “It will be,” he said confidently, a quiet warmth threading his voice. “Just give it time.”

That earned him the faintest curve of Viktor’s mouth. He lifted his glass again, letting it clink softly against Jayce’s before taking another drink.

Vander watched the exchange, his hand braced against the bar. It was good, he thought. That Viktor had someone.

Vander’s mouth had just opened when a scrape of wood cut him off. A chair pulled up beside Jayce, and Violet dropped into it.

Jayce blinked at her sudden presence, his glass still halfway to his lips. He turned slightly, meeting her unblinking stare.

“Violet,” he said after a moment, careful, like he almost didn't believe it.

Her jaw worked as she studied him, arms folded across the table. “You remember me.”

“I do,” Jayce replied.

That seemed to draw the smallest flicker across her face, some emotion she quickly buried under steel. “And I know yours. Jayce Talis. Viktor won’t stop talking about you.”

Viktor shifted at her words, sitting up straighter. “That is not—”

But Violet cut him off, her gaze locked on Jayce. “Why’d you do it?”

Jayce frowned slightly, setting his glass down. “Do what?”

“Save me,” she said flatly. “You should’ve let them throw me in a cell. You should hate me.”

Jayce leaned back, considering her words. “Why not?” he asked simply.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not? My siblings and I broke into your dorm. You lost everything because of us.”

“But I got it all back,” Jayce poined out. “At least the things that matter. Would you rather I hate you? Because if I did, you’d be rotting in Stillwater right now.”

That gave Violet pause. Her mouth opened, then shut, her expression caught between suspicion and something far more fragile.

Viktor’s hand twitched near his glass, like he wanted to interject but wasn’t sure if he should. Vander, meanwhile, stayed silent, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he watched the exchange unfold.

Violet’s lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned forward on her elbows, eyes still fixed on him, like she was trying to see through his skin.

“You’re saying that like you’re doing me a favor,” she muttered.

Jayce shook his head. “No. I’m saying it because it’s the truth.” He let the silence hang for a second before adding, “I don’t hate you, Violet.”

Her brows pulled together, a flash of confusion breaking through her guard. “Then what? You pity me?”

Jayce’s tone stayed calm, measured. “No. I don’t pity you either. I just... I saw someone who needed help.”

Violet scoffed, sitting back in her chair with folded arms. “Help,” she repeated, bitter. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Maybe not,” Jayce allowed. “But I know what I saw. A girl protecting her family. And I know that the Enforcers wouldn’t have cared about why you broke in. They’d have only seen a criminal.”

Her jaw tightened. The words hit something raw, and she fought not to let it show. “And you? What do you see?”

Jayce held her stare. “I see someone who deserves a chance.”

Violet was quiet for a long moment, her gaze slipping to the table. Her fingers drummed restlessly against the wood, betraying the storm under her skin. Finally, she muttered, “uou’re either stupid, or you’re lying.”

Jayce allowed a faint smile. “Maybe stupid. But I’m not lying. I meant what I said.”

Her head tilted, studying him again—like she couldn’t quite reconcile the man in front of her with the man she created in her mind.

Viktor shifted beside him, his cane nudging the floor. “He has always been stubborn like this,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Violet’s eyes flicked between them, then landed back on Jayce. “...You really don’t hate me?”

Jayce shook his head once. “No. I don’t.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and she quickly looked away, hiding whatever expression tried to surface.

The sound of a door opening above drew Viktor’s attention upward. Silco emerged from his office on the second floor. His eyes swept across the room until they found them.

Viktor’s chest tightened, nerves prickling sharp and restless. He straightened instinctively, as though he could brace himself.

Silco descended the steps with measured calm, his gaze steady, unreadable. When he reached them, he inclined his head to Jayce. “Silco.”

Jayce cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Jayce Talis. Though I’m guessing you already knew that.” His mouth curved into a crooked grin as he glanced at Viktor. “Apparently Viktor likes to talk about me.”

Viktor’s face flushed hot, the words lodging in his throat. “Quit teasing me,” he muttered, ears burning.

A flicker of amusement—barely there—crossed Silco’s features, though his tone remained even. “I wished to thank you,” he said, taking Jayce’s hand. “For helping Violet out of Stillwater.”

Jayce shook his head almost immediately. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Perhaps not to you,” Silco replied, his voice edged with something heavier. “But for us... Zaunites rarely get second chances. For saving my daughter, I owed you a debt. Sending Viktor to aid you in freeing yourself from your conservatorship—that was payment.”

Jayce frowned, stubbornness flaring. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe so.” Silco tilted his head, studying him. “But without that, Viktor would never have begun his work on Hextech. Opportunities like this don’t often reach Zaun. And Hextech could change lives down here.”

Jayce’s expression softened, though determination lingered in his voice. “It will. It might take time but in a couple years, hopefully, we can begin to make a real difference.”

Silco regarded him for a long moment, then exhaled a low chuckle. “Then it seems I owe you yet another debt.”

Before Jayce could reply his sleeve was tugged insistently, Powder’s little hands clinging to him while Ekko grabbed his other arm, both children looking up at him with bright, expectant eyes.

“Come on, come on! You said you’d play with us!” Powder chirped, already bouncing on her toes.

“I never said—” Jayce tried, but Ekko cut him off with a wide grin.

“You made eye contact!” Ekko insisted, pulling harder.

Jayce’s protest faltered when he caught Viktor’s smirk. His partner leaned back in his chair, cane resting across his knees as though he’d been expecting this outcome all along.

“Good luck,” Viktor wished him.

Jayce shot him a glare but there was no heat in it—if anything, it softened almost instantly into something fond. He sighed, glancing once more at Silco. “Looks like I don’t have a choice.”

Before Silco could reply, the children tugged again, and Jayce let himself be dragged away.

A tall woman in a sharp coat and sharper expression brushed past Jayce on her way to the bar. She exhaled a slow drag of smoke, the curl of it trailing behind her like a warning.

“Sevika,” Vander greeted, leaning forward against the counter. “The usual?”

She gave him a sideways glance, lips quirking. “Why do you even ask?”

She slid into the spot Jayce had just vacated, her prosthetic arm resting heavily against the table. Pulling the cigarillo from her mouth, she held it between two fingers.

“You’ve got interesting company tonight,” Sevika remarked, the smoke curling lazily from her hand.

“Indeed.” Silco agreed. His good eye tracking the scene unfolding across the room. Powder and Ekko tugged at his sleeves, pulled at his wrists, demanding his attention in that frantic, unyielding way only children could. And to Silco’s faint amusement, Jayce gave himself over to it with hardly a protest.

They climbed him, shoved him, treated him like a jungle gym, and while he allowed them to be rough, every move he returned was careful. Silco noticed it instantly: the way his hand steadied Powder at the shoulder so she didn’t topple, the way he let Ekko’s shove spin him in a half-circle but slowed his own momentum so the boy wouldn’t stumble. There was restraint in every motion—gentleness, a discipline Silco had rarely seen.

“Curious man,” Silco murmured. “Built like a beast, but plays like glass in his hands.”

Viktor shifted at his side, uncertain of what to say, though his gaze too had drifted to Jayce. Sevika, leaning back against the bar with her arms folded, snorted softly, flicking ash from the end of her smoke. “Or maybe he’s just soft,” she said, though there wasn’t much bite behind it.

Silco tilted his head, studying Jayce as the children cackled, tugging him toward the floor. “Softness,” he echoed, half to himself. “Or maybe discipline. A difference most people miss.”

Behind them, Vander’s voice rose above the din, calling orders as more patrons pressed through the doors. The man was too busy to linger—he shoved a tray into Vi’s hands with a sharp look that brooked no argument. She scowled, but got to work, weaving through tables.

In the far corner, Mylo and Claggor were up to something, slipping in and out of shadows, their hushed giggles carrying just enough to betray mischief.

But Silco barely noticed. His gaze lingered on Jayce, cataloguing the way the man bent down to Powder’s level, the way his patience held fast even as Ekko tugged on his arm again. The Undercity had never been kind to men like that. Silco wondered if Piltover had.

They shoved at him, tugged his sleeves, demanded he chase them down or be “it.” And though their small hands were rough, their laughter sharp and cutting, Jayce never once snapped at them. His laughter joined theirs, warmer, steadier. He let them climb his arms like he was a ladder, stumble into him without protest, even fall back against the floor with a mock groan that made Powder squeal in victory.

Silco’s jaw tightened slightly, not out of disdain. His gaze lingered on Jayce the way a blade hovers over a whetstone, measuring. Gentleness. It was there in everything he did, the way his hand steadied Powder when she nearly toppled over, the way he offered Ekko a proud grin when the boy darted just out of his reach. For most, gentleness was weakness. A softness the Undercity devoured. But this man—this Jayce—carried it differently. He wielded it with a kind of stubbornness, as though he believed it could carve its place even here.

Silco leaned closer, his voice low, meant for Viktor alone. “Your friend,” he said, eyes narrowing as Jayce laughed again, “is soft. But perhaps not in a way that harms him.” A beat of silence followed. “That kind of gentleness might suit you well, Viktor. I cannot always look after you. But he...” Silco tilted his head, studying the boy’s tall frame, his open face. “He looks like the sort who cannot help but tend to those around him.”

Viktor followed Silco’s line of sight. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Yes. He is.”

Silco’s gaze flicked back to him. “And if this Hextech he speaks of truly has potential... it may yet do some good. For Zaun. For you.”

The faintest smile curled at Viktor’s mouth. “That is as close to approval as I have ever heard you give.”

Silco’s lips twitched at that, almost a smirk. But he said nothing, only letting his gaze drift back toward Jayce, where the boy had let himself be tackled to the floor in a heap of childish laughter.

Notes:

Sorry for going quiet the past couple of days! I actually posted a fic for a different fandom. Not sure if any of you have played Dragon Age, but if you have (or even if you haven’t), I’d love if you checked out my new fic! . I’m working on a four-part series that will cover Origins, Two, Inquisition, and eventually Veilguard.

Anyway, back to Arcane!

Silco approves!!!

I know in a lot of “Viktor raised by Silco” fics, Silco tends to disapprove of Jayce — but honestly, me and my friend were talking, and the idea of him actually liking Jayce is hilarious to me.

Think about it: Jayce got Vi out of Stillwater, made Viktor his partner in hextech, wants that tech to actually help Zaun, and he’s great with kids. That’s basically everything Silco could want for his family.

(Jayce give him grandbabies.)

Chapter 7: The Dean's Assistant

Summary:

Viktor has come to realize, that he is a very lonely man.

Viktor leaned back against the headboard, long fingers drumming absently on the edge of one of Jayce’s neatly stacked papers. His eyes traced the bolded titles across the top—rent prices, locations, apartment amenities. He blinked, puzzled, then leaned forward, gathering them into his lap.

Apartments. Near the Academy.

Jayce was actually considering moving out?

The thought caught Viktor off guard. Jayce loved his home, didn’t he? He was always talking about his mother’s cooking, about how she fussed over him, about the warmth of his family life. For Viktor, that kind of closeness had always felt like something just out of reach, but he assumed Jayce would cling to it as long as possible.

Why wouldn’t he want to stay in that comfort?

Viktor tilted his head, lips pursing in thought. Was it the long commute? The stress of balancing home and work? Or maybe... he wanted independence. That, Viktor could understand. Still, Jayce in his own apartment felt strange to imagine. He’d be closer, technically—it meant that Viktor could perhaps see him more often. 

He smiled faintly and shuffled the pages back into a neat stack just as the door clicked open.

“Vik?” Jayce’s voice carried into the room, surprised. “What are you doing here this late?”

Viktor leaned his head back against the wall, eyes tracing over Jayce where he moved about the room. “I wanted to see you.”

Jayce paused, he brushed his palms against his thighs and cleared the space on the bed before lowering himself onto the edge of it. The mattress dipped, bringing him closer.

Viktor tilted his head. “Why are you moving?”

Jayce gave a small shrug, as though it were simple. “I just want a place of my own.”

Viktor’s gaze narrowed. “What about Ximena?”

Jayce’s mouth softened at the mention of his mother. “I love her,” he said earnestly. “I really do. But moving back in... it felt like going backwards. Like I was undoing everything I worked for.”

Viktor hummed, fingers idly picking at a seam in the blanket. “Why not request a dorm, then?”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you forget about the explosion? I’m still a little infamous for that. And besides, I’m graduating in a few months. It’d just be more moving for nothing—back into a dorm, back out again, back with my mom, then finally an apartment. Too many steps. I’d rather just... cut to the part where I have my own place.”

Viktor’s lips curved faintly. “I like my dorm. Everything is close. I am exactly where I work.”

Jayce gave him a look, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah, but that’s the problem. There has to be more to life than just work, Viktor.”

Viktor blinked at him, head cocked as if trying to understand. “Hextech is what you live for. Is it not?”

Jayce’s expression softened. “It is,” he admitted. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. But if all I ever do is work—if I never leave the lab, never do anything else—then one day I’ll burn out. There’s more to life than the work, Viktor. There has to be.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed, his hands clasping together in his lap. He sat in silence for a long moment, Jayce’s words echoing uncomfortably in his head. More than work.

Finally, he said, almost stiffly, “But... why should there be? Work is reliable. It has results. You put in effort, and you see change. You can measure it, improve it, perfect it. People...” He trailed off, his mouth twisting faintly as he stared down at his hands. “People are unpredictable. Uncontrollable. They leave, they disappoint. Work does not.”

Jayce leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. He searched Viktor’s face, trying to catch his gaze. “Vik, you’re not wrong. But... don’t you ever want something more? Something for yourself that isn’t just equations and prototypes?”

Viktor’s eyes flicked up. “What is wrong with equations and prototypes?” His accent thickened, betraying the edge in his voice. “They are what I can build with my own two hands. They do not vanish if I am not strong enough. They do not...” He stopped himself again, jaw tightening.

Jayce reached out, his hand brushing over Viktor’s wrist. “They don’t love you either,” he said gently. “Not the way people can.”

Viktor’s chest tightened. He wanted to scoff, to argue, to remind Jayce that love had never built him crutches when he needed them, never kept him fed when times were lean, never guaranteed his safety in Zaun. Work had. His inventions had. He had.

But the warmth of Jayce’s hand against his skin made the words stick in his throat.

“I do not... see what is wrong with devoting oneself to work,” Viktor said at last, softer now, though still stubborn. “My research. That is enough.”

Jayce shook his head firmly, leaning forward a little as if to anchor his words. “It’s not enough, Viktor. You deserve more than ‘just enough.’ You deserve joy. Hobbies. Friends. A life outside of equations and blueprints.”

Viktor hesitated, his mouth opening and closing once before he found the words. His tone dropped, softer, vulnerable. “It has always been... difficult. For me. To make friends. To be close with others. I am—” he let out a thin breath, eyes dropping to the blanket. “—a very lonely person.”

Without thinking, Jayce reached forward and took Viktor’s hands into his own. “You have me.”

Viktor looked down at their joined hands, his chest tightening in a way he couldn’t name. Slowly, a small smile crept to his lips—hesitant, but real. He leaned in, letting the top of his head rest gently against Jayce’s chest, the rhythm of his friend’s heartbeat steady in his ear.

“And you have me,” he murmured, almost like a promise.

Jayce arms went around Viktor. The warmth of the embrace settled quickly between them, more grounding than either had expected. Viktor let out a slow breath, his lashes lowering as he leaned further into Jayce’s chest, cheek pressed against him.

For a long moment, Viktor simply listened to the steady rhythm of Jayce’s heart. It was strong, certain, so unlike the chaos that often whirled in his own mind. 

Jayce’s chin hovered just above Viktor’s hair. “See?” Jayce murmured, voice low, almost tentative. “You’re not alone.”

Viktor’s lips curved faintly at the words. “I suppose I am not.”

---

The river was quiet, the only sound the low rush of water over stone and the splash of Rio darting back and forth beneath the surface. Her sleek form slipped between ripples with ease, a creature born to belong to water, though Viktor couldn’t help but remember when she hadn’t been free.

Sky sat cross-legged on the bank, her boots kicked off beside her, idly tossing pebbles that barely made a splash before sinking. “You’re quiet today,” she said, squinting at him. “Even for you.”

Viktor didn’t answer at once. His gaze lingered on Rio, her pale fins catching the weak Zaun light like glass. It had been years since he and Sky had crept through Singed’s lab, but the memory still pressed on him with unnerving clarity.

He could still smell the sharp sting of chemicals, the tang of rusted metal in the air. Could still see her tank with tubes snaking into her like veins to draw out her blood. She was nothing more than an experiment to Singed. 

He remembers how Sky had pried the panel open, and Viktor had scrambled to disconnect the tubes. Rio’s weak thrashing had nearly given them away, water spilling onto the floor. Viktor ws surprised that Singed never caught them.

He exhaled slowly, dragging himself back to the present. Rio let out a chirring trill, ducking beneath the water before popping her head above the surface again, droplets catching in the air around her. Sky watched her with a grin, though she glanced back at Viktor when she noticed the tension in his jaw.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

Viktor’s fingers tapped idly against his knee. “It is difficult not to.” His voice was low, clipped, but there was an edge of weariness beneath it. “Even after all this time, I can still... see it. How little he regarded her. As if she were... replaceable.”

Sky leaned back on her palms, letting out a breath. “Yeah. I see it too, sometimes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

For a while, the only sound was Rio splashing. Viktor’s gaze softened as he watched her circle, free in a way she never could have been in that lab. The thought steadied him, if only a little.

“She is alive because of us,” he murmured, more to himself than to Sky. “That must mean something.”

Sky gave him a sideways look, her voice lighter now. “It means we did the right thing. And it means you’re not as heartless as you try to look, Vik.”

His lips curved faintly, the closest to a smile he’d given all day. His fingers drummed against the head of his cane. His gaze stayed on the water, but his voice was low when he finally spoke.

 “Do you think I am a lonely person?”

Sky blinked, caught off guard. “That’s a heavy question.” She shifted, tucking one leg beneath her and turning to face him. “What makes you ask that?”

Viktor’s jaw flexed as though he were weighing how much to share. At last, he exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the river where Rio darted between reeds. “The other night I was with Jayce. He said I deserve more than work. That I should... want a life outside of them. Friends. Joy.”

Sky studied him carefully.

Viktor’s lips pressed thin, his gaze falling to the ground between his boots. “I told him I have always found such things difficult. I said I was a very lonely person. And he...” His voice trailed for a moment before he added, softer, “...he said I am not. Because I have him.”

Something unsteady flickered across his face—uncertainty, maybe even guilt. “But if he is all I have...” Viktor’s fingers tightened on his cane. “That is not fair. Not to him. And not to me.”

Sky let out a quiet breath, leaning back on her hands as she tilted her head at him. For a while, only Rio’s chirring trills filled the silence. Then Sky said, gently but firmly, “Vik, you are a lonely person. I think you’ve always been. But you’re not alone.”

His gaze lifted, cautious, searching hers.

“You’ve got Jayce,” she went on, shrugging one shoulder, “and you’ve got me. Even if we don’t hang out all the time, I’m still here. You’re not someone I forget about the second you walk away. And you don’t have to carry everything by yourself, no matter how much you try.”

Viktor was quiet for a long moment, her words pressing against the stubborn walls he built around himself. 

“...Perhaps I do not have to,” he murmured.

Sky bumped his shoulder with hers, grinning. “There’s the spirit. Now stop brooding and enjoy the fact that we actually get to sit by a river that doesn’t reek of chem-waste for once.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched upward, a small and fleeting smile—but genuine.

“I am glad I have you, Sky,” he admitted.

She blinked at him, then smiled. “I’m glad to have you too.”

The words settled between them like the river’s current—gentle, steady. Sky reached down, brushing her fingers through the cold water. Rio swam close, bumping her hand with a curious trill before darting off again.

Sky hesitated, chewing her lip in thought, before asking, “Vik... can I ask you something?”

He tilted his head toward her, curious.

“What’s it like?” She met his gaze. “Working with Hextech. Being part of something that big... something important.”

Viktor’s fingers tapped lightly against his cane’s head. For a moment he didn’t answer, eyes tracing the patterns of light rippling across the water. 

“It is... exhilarating,” he admitted. “To see an idea become more than ink on paper. To shape it with your hands, and then... watch it change lives. To know your work might last longer than you do.” His lips curved faintly, though there was a shadow behind the expression. “But it is also... heavy. Every failure, every mistake—it means someone may suffer for it.”

He glanced sideways at her, his eyes. “It is not only opportunity, Sky. It is responsibility.”

Sky leaned back, letting his words sink in. Her smile softened, tinged with something wistful. “Responsibility or not, it sounds like exactly the kind of thing we used to dream about.”

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he nodded faintly. “Yes. It does.”

Rio splashed again, breaking the heaviness of their words, and Sky laughed, tossing another pebble into the water.

---

The lab was unusually quiet without Viktor. His steady voice, his precise tapping of tools, the soft shuffle of papers arranged in perfectly neat stacks. Jayce leaned back in his chair, stretching out sore shoulders after hours of equations and cross-checks. He had promised himself he wouldn’t touch any of the big projects without Viktor—just keep the numbers straight, make sure the foundations were solid.

He was halfway through correcting a miscalculation when a voice cut through the silence.

“Strange.”

Jayce froze, pen hovering over the page. Slowly, he turned in his chair—eyes narrowing when they landed on the figure in the doorway.

Silco.

The man’s sharp gaze swept the lab, taking in the tables, the scattered notes, the glowing crystal cores resting in their containment units. He stepped forward, a measured grace to his movements, though Jayce caught a flicker of... uncertainty? No, not uncertainty. Confusion.

“Where is Viktor?” Silco asked at last.

Jayce blinked, still processing the surreal sight of him standing in their lab. “He... took the day off.”

That seemed to catch Silco off guard. His eyes narrowed, his frown deepening as he moved farther inside, boots clicking faintly against the floor. “Took the day off?” He repeated the words as though testing them for cracks. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

Jayce straightened in his chair. “Yeah, I know. Surprised me too. But even Viktor needs a break now and then.”

Silco didn’t reply immediately. He prowled a slow circle near the center of the room, his one good eye lingering on blueprints, on half-assembled devices, on the careful order Viktor always maintained. Jayce watched him carefully, unease prickling at the back of his neck.

Finally, Silco looked back at him. “If he isn’t here, where is he?”

“I don’t know.a’

Silco’s footsteps echoed softly as he moved deeper into the lab. Jayce straightened unconsciously as the man approached. When Silco came to a stop, he leaned slightly over the desk, his eye fixed on the notes scattered beneath Jayce’s hand.

“And what are you working on?” Silco asked.

Jayce cleared his throat, glancing down at the scribbled equations. “Just... going over some math. Making sure Viktor’s numbers check out.” He shrugged. “Nothing groundbreaking without him here.”

Silco’s gaze lingered on the pages before drifting back up to Jayce’s face. “Hextech,” he murmured, tasting the word as though weighing its worth. “

Jayce frowned faintly at. “We’re making progress,” he admitted. “Slow, but steady. Viktor’s... brilliant. Honestly, I’d be lost without him half the time.”

Silco hummed in acknowledgment, pacing a slow circle around the desk. “And yet you still take classes on top of this. You’re a student, not only an inventor.” His eye sharpened. “How do you balance it?”

Jayce leaned back in his chair, relaxing just a fraction under the guise of conversation. “I manage. Classes are going well, actually.” He gave a crooked grin, as though talking to an ordinary visitor instead of Zaun’s most dangerous man. “And it’s not all books and labs. I’m on the swim team too. We’ve got a competition coming up soon.”

At that, Silco tilted his head. “Swimming.” He let the word hang, as if turning it over in his mind. “Not the pursuit I would expect from someone building the future.”

Jayce chuckled lightly, though unease still prickled at the back of his neck. “What can I say? I like it. Gives me something outside the lab. A chance to clear my head.”

Silco’s lips twitched into the faintest shadow of a smile, though it never reached his eye. He studied Jayce for a long moment. “You sound very certain of yourself.”

Jayce met his gaze even as his pulse quickened. “Why are you here, exactly?”

“I wanted to see Viktor. And his work.”

The honesty of it caught Jayce off guard. He blinked, then huffed out a quiet laugh. “Well, you missed him. Like I said, he took the day off.” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head toward the empty stool across from him. “But if you want, pull up a chair. Can’t promise much. But if you’ve got questions, I can answer what I can.”

For a moment, Silco only studied him, as if weighing whether the offer was a trap or a genuine gesture. He decided to draw the stool out and sat, folding his hands on his knee.

Jayce turned back toward his notes, the scratch of pencil against paper filling the silence before he glanced back up. “So. You wanted to see Viktor’s work. Ask away.”

Silco’s eye drifted to the neat stacks of diagrams and equations. “This is what occupies him? Numbers. Theories. Endless sketches.”

Jayce gave a faint grin. “That’s the foundation, yeah. Doesn’t look like much now, but it’s what makes the real thing possible.” He tapped his pencil against a column of figures. “And Viktor—he sees things in these numbers that most people never would. That’s what makes him brilliant.”

Silco tilted his head, expression unreadable. “And you?”

Jayce hesitated, then chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me? I try to keep up. Do my part. I’m good with the big ideas, the pushing forward. Viktor’s the one who keeps it from falling apart at the seams.”

Silco considered that, silent, his gaze never wavering.

Jayce found himself fidgeting with his pencil, breaking the stillness. “Like I said—pretty boring without him. But you’re welcome to stick around and see for yourself.”

Notes:

I have always seen Viktor as a lonely person. In the show, who does he have besides Jayce? Jayce, at the very least, has his mom, Mel, and Caitlyn and not just Viktor.

Viktor doesn't have anyone. Maybe he had Sky but a majority of her screen time was after she died and was being used by the hexcore.

In my fics, I always make Sky his friend, to at least give him someone other than Jayce. She will help them work on hextech like in the show. But that will happen a little later. For the first year, I just want it to be them two.

I have Sky/Steb as a tag because I, obviously, plan on making them a couple. I really like making them and Viktor a trio. I think Viktor deserves a couple of friends.

Chapter 8: We’re All Searching For A Home

Summary:

Jayce is moving out of Ximenas.

Vi tossed the crystal into the air, watching it spin once before snatching it back into her palm.

“Vi!” Jayce practically shot out of his chair, his hands outstretched like he could catch it if she slipped. His voice cracked with panic. “Careful with that!”

Vi raised a brow, lips twitching in amusement. “Relax. I’ve got good reflexes.”

She let him snatch it away anyway, her smirk only widening as Jayce clutched the crystal close to his chest like it was a wounded bird.

“Reflexes won’t save us if you drop it,” Jayce muttered, still fussing over it.

From his worktable, Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, looking very much like he regretted letting his siblings anywhere near the lab. “Vi, please,” he said sharply, his eyes flicking from her to the crystal. “Do not antagonize him. This is serious work, not one of your games.”

Vi leaned back against the workbench, arms folded. “What, so now I can’t even touch things? You’re sounding more and more like Silco every day.”

The way she said his name—spat it, really—was enough for Viktor to pause mid-scribble. His pencil stilled on the parchment, his jaw tightening. “You argued with him again?”

“Yeah,” Vi muttered, pushing off the workbench and pacing a few steps. “And instead of sticking around to hear another lecture, I came up here. Mylo wanted to tag along.”

Mylo, who had been hovering awkwardly by one of the shelves, flinched at being mentioned. He was doing his best to look busy inspecting the equipment, but his gaze kept darting toward Jayce—almost nervous. He stepped closer now, pointing at the glass jar of pale-blue liquid. “Uh... what’s this stuff?”

Jayce glanced over. “Coolant fluid. Helps regulate the crystal’s temperature.”

“Oh.” Mylo leaned closer, eyes wide. “That’s... awesome.” His voice cracked a little, and he quickly coughed into his fist, cheeks coloring. “I mean—it’s really smart. You’re, uh, really smart.”

Jayce blinked at him, caught off guard. “Thanks.”

Viktor’s lips twitched faintly at the exchange, though he kept his focus on his blueprints. He could see it plain as day—Mylo practically buzzing whenever Jayce so much as glanced his way. But Jayce didn’t even notice.

“Do not let him distract you,” Viktor said dryly without looking up. “He has a habit of touching what he shouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t!” Mylo protested, though his hands were already twitching toward the scattered tools. He stuffed them in his pockets instead, rocking on his heels. His gaze still flickered toward Jayce every few seconds, like a moth circling a flame.

Jayce sighed and returned to the workbench, setting the crystal carefully into its stabilizer. He glanced at Vi, who was still bristling, her jaw tight. “So... what happened?”

Vi shrugged, crossing her arms again. “Same old. He thinks I don’t listen. I think he doesn’t trust me. It got heated, and I needed out.” She jerked her chin toward Viktor. “Figured I’d come see you two instead.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, finally setting his pencil down. “Running away from an argument does not solve it, Vi.”

“Yeah, well, staying there would’ve just made me say something I couldn’t take back,” she shot back. “So, I came here.”

Jayce, sensing the rising tension, leaned against the bench beside her. His voice softened. “You’ve got people who care about you, Vi. Even Silco.”

Vi huffed, though her expression flickered. “You sound like Vander.”

“Good,” Jayce said with a faint smile. “Means I’m on the right track.”

Vi smirked despite herself, shaking her head. She glanced at Viktor, then back to Jayce. “You ever think about coming down? To Zaun, I mean. For another visit?”

Jayce froze, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. “You want me to—”

“Yeah,” Vi interrupted quickly, her arms crossing again. “I mean, why not? You’d be welcome.” She tilted her head. “Wouldn’t he?”

Her eyes flicked to Viktor, who studied Jayce for a long moment before nodding once. “Yes,” he said simply. “He would.”

Jayce swallowed, glancing between them, and nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ll come down. Soon.” He met Vi’s eyes, serious. “Promise.”

Vi’s grin softened into something more genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The door to the lab swung open, Caitlyn stepping inside with a soft click of her heels. Her eyes immediately found Jayce, but before she could greet him, her attention snagged on the unfamiliar faces scattered across the room.

Vi leaned casually against the workbench, arms crossed and a smirk playing at her lips as she caught Caitlyn’s curious look. “And who’re you supposed to be?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn’s brows lifted ever so slightly. She glanced at Jayce, then back at Vi, before answering, “Caitlyn. And you are?”

“Vi,” she replied smoothly, pushing herself upright with a lazy grin. “Nice to meet you.”

Caitlyn gave a small nod. “Likewise.”

Behind them, Mylo had drifted closer to Jayce, hovering awkwardly at his elbow as though trying not to be obvious. His eyes lingered a little too long on Jayce’s face, darting away whenever Jayce moved, cheeks flushed pink. 

Caitlyn turned back to Jayce. “My mother asked me to find you,” she said, stepping closer. “She wants me to stay here until her meeting is finished.”

Jayce blinked, glancing between her and Vi. He wasn’t surprised anymore by the way his day seemed to fill itself with people. “Well... alright.”

 “Looks like you’re stuck with me.” Caitlyn said with a small smile.

Jayce sighed but smiled back. “When am I not?” He motioned toward the lab. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Vi leaned against the workbench again, smirking. “Don’t worry, Caitlyn. I’ll make sure Jayce doesn’t get too distracted.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved faintly. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Jayce groaned softly and shook his head, earning a quiet laugh from Viktor.

---

Vi and Mylo had left nearly an hour ago, slipping out while there was still sunlight left. Silco would be furious if they stayed out after dark. Caitlyn had followed not long after, her mother arriving to collect her. Before leaving, Cassandra had asked about Hextech progress.

They hadn’t had much to show. Mostly theories, half-formed concepts, nothing solid. Nothing that would impress the council enough to secure their work. They needed a breakthrough, and soon.

The lab was quiet now, except for Jayce moving about with a trash bag in hand. The teenagers had left the place a mess, and he’d taken it upon himself to clean. Viktor remained seated, his chin resting against his palm as he watched Jayce gather crumpled papers, scoop up stray bits of wire, and bend to collect debris off the floor.

Viktor sighed and rose, cane in hand, making his way toward the counter. He retrieved the half-empty carton of milk from the small refrigerator, then rummaged in their drawer until his fingers brushed over a packet of sugar. He tore it open, poured it into a kettle with the milk, and set it to heat.

When he turned back around a few minutes later, warm cup in hand, his gaze landed—unfortunately—on Jayce, bent forward to snag another scrap of paper. His shirt had ridden up, stretching tight across broad shoulders, trousers tugging in a way that made Viktor’s face go hot.

He jerked his eyes away immediately, bringing the cup to his lips for cover. The too-large sip scalded his tongue, but at least it distracted him from the ridiculous direction of his thoughts. Absolutely not. He was not going to ogle Jayce like some fool in the middle of their lab.

And then, as if the universe were testing him, Jayce stood and stretched with a soft sigh, arms arching high over his head. Viktor pressed his lips against the rim of his cup and stared very, very intently at the far wall.

Jayce, oblivious, glanced over his shoulder. “Y’know, the Innovator’s Competition is only a few months away.” He dropped the last of the trash into the bag and tied it off. “We need something that’ll blow the judges away.”

That got Viktor’s attention. He set his cup down on the nearest table and straightened. “A mere display of power won’t be enough,” he said. “They’ll want proof of application. Something that shows Hextech can change lives.”

Jayce nodded, coming to stand beside him, notebook in hand. “So what’s Piltover missing? What do people actually need?”

Viktor’s gaze grew distant, thoughtful. “Not just Piltover. Think of Zaun—the workers, the ones who build this place with their hands and get nothing in return. Hextech could ease their burdens. Reduce strain. Give opportunity to those who’ve been denied it.”

Jayce frowned slightly, intrigued. “You mean like tools? Equipment?”

“Or,” Viktor said, tapping his cane against the floor, “assistance for those with injuries or limitations. A prosthetic. Or perhaps an exoskeleton—something that restores mobility.”

Jayce’s brows shot up, and then a grin spread across his face. “That’s brilliant. It's something people could use every day.” He flipped to a fresh page and began sketching. “It would have to be stable, adjustable, affordable—”

“—and functional above all else,” Viktor finished, the spark of focus lighting his own eyes.

---

The lab was chaos. Papers littered every surface, sketches and equations piled on top of each other until it was impossible to tell which ideas belonged to which day. In the middle of it all, Jayce sat hunched forward at the workbench, sleeves rolled up, pencil clenched between his teeth as he adjusted the first real draft of their design.

Viktor leaned over his shoulder, arms crossed. “This joint is too rigid,” he said, tapping a finger against the drawing. “If the user cannot move naturally, the entire device will be pointless.”

Jayce groaned, dragging his hand through his hair. “Right, okay. What if we—” He scratched through half the sketch and redrew the frame with a looser hinge system.

Viktor studied it for a beat before nodding. “Better. But now we need materials that won’t snap under repeated stress.”

Jayce tossed his pencil down with a laugh. “So, the impossible part.”

“Of course,” Viktor replied dryly, though there was the faintest curve to his lips.

---

Sparks flared across the table as Jayce welded another piece of metal into place, sweat clinging to his brow. The skeleton of their exosuit was beginning to take shape, even if most of it was still an unstable mess of screws and scrap.

“You are going to blind yourself,” Viktor muttered, seated nearby with his own notes.

“I have goggles,” Jayce shot back, blinking through the haze.

Viktor gestured pointedly toward where the goggles sat unused on the far end of the bench.

Jayce sighed dramatically, grabbed them, and shoved them onto his face. “Happy now?”

Viktor smirked. “Immensely.”

Later that night, they took turns stress-testing smaller joints—bending and twisting until the metal squealed. Most snapped under the pressure. Jayce cursed. Viktor marked the failures in his notebook.

“You act like this is normal,” Jayce muttered.

“It is normal,” Viktor said. “Failure is inevitable. Progress is optional.”

Jayce laughed, shaking his head. “You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

---

The failures piled up faster than the successes. Three different prototypes collapsed under their own weight. Another overheated and nearly set fire to the bench. Jayce was so tired he’d fallen asleep at the worktable, cheek pressed to an unfinished schematic.

Viktor stood over him for a long moment before sighing and draping his own jacket across Jayce’s shoulders. Then he returned to the gears, working in silence until Jayce stirred.

“You didn’t wake me?” Jayce mumbled groggily.

“You needed rest,” Viktor said simply, not looking up. “Your brain will not solve problems if your body collapses first.”

Jayce chuckled softly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You sound like my mom.”

“That is hopefully a compliment.”

---

Momentum finally began to shift. They had working joints that flexed without breaking. Power channels that could regulate the arcane energy without overheating. For the first time, the exosuit stood upright on its own.

Jayce stood back, arms crossed, grinning like a child. “Look at it. It actually looks like something now.”

Viktor circled the frame slowly, cane tapping against the floor. “Do not celebrate yet. It still has balance issues, and the weight distribution is uneven.”

Jayce leaned down and tightened a bolt. “Yeah, yeah, but come on—it’s progress. Admit it, you’re impressed.”

Viktor’s lips twitched. “Mildly.”

---

Tensions rose as deadlines crept closer. Jayce grew frustrated when the power core sputtered mid-test; Viktor snapped when Jayce tried to rush adjustments without recording results.

One night, after hours of arguing, silence fell heavy in the lab. The exosuit slumped against its frame like a wounded soldier.

Jayce sank into his chair with a groan. “Maybe this is impossible.”

Viktor, still scowling over his notes, answered quietly. “If it were impossible we would not still be here.”

Jayce blinked, startled. Their eyes met for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then Jayce let out a low chuckle. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

---

By now, the lab felt more like a home than a workshop. Empty mugs cluttered the corners, stacks of failed prototypes gathered dust, and yet, in the center, their creation finally stood tall. Strong. Whole.

Jayce flexed his fingers over the controls, nerves buzzing. “Alright,” he muttered, glancing at Viktor. “Moment of truth.”

Viktor nodded, standing close beside him. “Do it.”

Jayce powered it on. The exosuit hummed, gears engaging, joints shifting smoothly. The frame responded—slowly, awkwardly, but it moved.

For a moment, neither of them breathed. Then Viktor exhaled. “It works.”

Jayce laughed, breathless. “It works.”

---

The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving Piltover awash in the glow of streetlamps and the neon haze from storefronts below. From the balcony, the city sounded alive—horns in the distance, muffled voices, the steady hum of industry—but inside Jayce’s new apartment, the noise felt muted, softened by the four walls that were slowly beginning to feel like home.

For hours, he and Viktor had worked side by side, moving boxes, unstacking and reorganizing, filling shelves, testing the wobbly legs of furniture, and rearranging the couch three separate times before they finally agreed it looked right. The place smelled faintly of cardboard and dust, with scattered piles of crumpled packing paper still waiting to be tossed.

Now the last box sat empty in the corner, and Jayce leaned against the doorframe with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair sticking against sweaty skin. He let out a long exhale, surveying their progress.

“Well,” he said, glancing at Viktor, “that’s everything.”

Viktor was standing near the couch, leaning against his cane with both hands. “It seems... livable.” His tone was dry, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Although you’ll need to keep it clean. I am not returning to help every week.”

Jayce chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll manage.” His eyes drifted toward the glass balcony door, the faint hum of traffic bleeding through. “You coming out?”

Viktor raised a brow, then gave a small nod. “Why not?”

Jayce slid the door open, letting in a rush of cool evening air. He stepped out first, Viktor following behind. From the balcony, Piltover stretched endlessly before them: glowing towers, the moving grid of headlights, neon signs flickering against the twilight sky.

Jayce leaned forward on the railing, resting his weight on his arms. For a few minutes, neither spoke.

“It’s different up here,” Jayce said at last, his voice softer than usual. “Not bad. Just... different.”

Viktor studied him, then the skyline. “You’re not used to it?”

Jayce shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon. “I’ve never had a view like this.”

“I have a balcony at my dorm,” Viktor said, his gaze steady on Jayce. “But the view is not as good.”

Jayce smiled faintly, but his thoughts were already drifting. The coming months pressed down on him, heavy as the air before a storm. The city looked endless, but his world felt suddenly small, narrowing to a single point on the calendar.

“I can’t believe graduation’s in a month,” he murmured. “Feels like I've been working toward it forever... and now it’s happening too fast.”

Viktor tilted his head. “And how do you feel about it? Ready?”

Jayce let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever really ready. Feels like I’m about to step into something bigger, and I don’t know if I’m prepared for it. The real world’s not like the classroom.”

Viktor considered it, then nodded. “Perhaps not. But you’ve been preparing for years, whether you realize it or not.”

Jayce hummed, not entirely convinced, eyes fixed on the glittering sprawl below.

The silence stretched, comfortable again—until Viktor’s voice cut through, softer this time. “Do you want me to attend it? The ceremony?”

Jayce blinked, caught off guard. His chest tightened at the thought, but the answer came quickly. “Yeah,” he said, his tone more earnest than he meant. “I’d like that. I’d like you there.”

For a moment, Viktor only studied him. “I will go, then.”

Relief and something warmer bloomed in Jayce’s chest. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Thanks, Viktor.”

Viktor turned back to the skyline, the city’s light reflecting in his eyes. “I’ll be there,” he said quietly. “For you.”

Jayce leaned a little more into the railing, his own gaze pulled back to the horizon. 

Notes:

I was stupid and instead of writing Jayce and Viktor working on hextech throughout the earlier chapters I waited until THIS ONE and had to write a whole bunch of shorter scenes spanning weeks.

Sorry guys, dont be mad at me.

But anyway, at least they finally started working on it.

Next chapter will be the innovators competition, then Jayce’s graduation. I’ll probably take a day or two break to figure out what I want to write for the seven year time-skip in the show. A few ideas are the hexgates, hexcore, and Sky joining them. I do have more ideas, and I will go into more detail about them in chapter ten and ask what you guys like or not. If you guys do have ideas I'd love to hear them but would prefer if you all save them for then.

But on a happy note Jayce has an apartment!

Chapter 9: The Innovator’s Competition

Summary:

They finally get to show their invention.

The chatter of the crowd echoed across the pool, parents and students filling the stands. Viktor sat stiffly on the bleachers, cane resting against his leg. Beside him, Ximena smoothed out her dress with one hand, the other cradling a bouquet wrapped in bright yellow paper.

Viktor glanced at it, then back to her. “The flowers,” he said quietly. “They are for Jayce?”

Ximena’s lips curved, her eyes warm. “Mm-hm. He loves flowers. When he was little, he’d pick them for me from the neighbor’s yard. Half the time they were weeds, but he’d be so proud, holding them out like they were treasure.”

A small, surprised smile tugged at Viktor’s mouth. His gaze dropped to the bouquet again, softer now, and for a moment he pictured Jayce when he was a little girl kneeling in the dirt with his hands full of daisies.

He huffed a laugh, almost under his breath. “That sounds like him.”

She leaned a little closer, conspiratorial. “He’s going to be over the moon that you’re here, you know.”

Viktor ducked his head, embarrassed. “I am only here to support.”

But Ximena’s smile only widened as she held the flowers tighter. “Mhm. That is the only reason?”

“Viktor?”

Viktor stiffened as he heard his name. His face dropped, and he turned his head sharply.

“...Silco?” Viktor’s voice was flat, laced with disbelief.

The man in question eased into view. Silco sat down in the empty seat right beside him, folding his hands in his lap.

Viktor’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“Jayce invited me,” Silco replied simply. His gaze flicked toward the pool as the last of the swimmers warmed up. “He thought I should see him compete.”

Viktor’s squint deepened, lips parting in disbelief. “Why?” 

“I visited your lab,” Silco said with a shrug, “but you weren’t there. We spoke. He mentioned he had a competition today and asked me to come. So—here I am.”

Viktor stared at him for a long moment, his grip tightening around his cane. Before he could gather a reply, a gentle voice interjected.

Ximena leaned forward from Viktor’s other side, peering curiously past him toward Silco. She extended her hand, her smile soft. “Hello—you must be a friend? I’m Ximena. Jayce’s mom.”

Silco’s face softened immediately. He turned to her, taking her hand with surprising grace, and gave it a light shake. “It’s a pleasure, truly. I’m Silco—family of Viktor’s.” His single eye flicked sideways, almost amused, at the way Viktor stiffened at the phrasing.

Ximena’s smile brightened. “Oh! That’s wonderful. I’ve heard so much about Viktor—Jayce talks about him all the time. They’re practically joined at the hip.”

Viktor groaned softly under his breath, a hand covering his face. 

Silco chuckled low, clearly enjoying the sight of Viktor squirming. “I can say the same about Jayce,” he added. “For all his determination and stubbornness, he has quite the heart. I can see why Viktor...” his smile widened just slightly, “keeps him close.”

Ximena laughed warmly, nodding in agreement. “He does have a good heart. And I’m glad he and Viktor found each other.”

Viktor muttered something incoherent, sinking lower in his seat as the announcer’s voice boomed across the pool.

The crowd began to clap and cheer, but Viktor’s breath caught before he could join in.

There was Jayce.

Skin still damp from warm-ups, shoulders gleaming under the bright pool lights. The high-top swim top clung tight against his chest, and those swim trunks—Viktor quickly pressed his lips together, trying to hide the way his face flushed. His gaze lingered anyway, tracing the long lines of muscle in Jayce’s legs, the broad strength of his arms.

He should have looked away. He didn’t.

Jayce adjusted his goggles, unaware—or maybe blissfully unaware—of the way Viktor’s eyes followed every movement.

Beside him, Ximena clapped cheerfully, bouquet bouncing in her hands. Viktor leaned back slightly, trying to force the warmth from his cheeks. It didn’t work.

Silco noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, Viktor caught the faintest twitch of a smirk tugging at his guardian’s lips.

---

The whistle blew, announcing the end of the meet. Jayce’s team was jumping and shouting, clapping each other on the back as the scoreboards confirmed their win. Viktor pushed himself up slowly, cane in hand, cheeks still warm from earlier when he caught himself staring far too long. He tried not to linger on the sight of Jayce’s flushed, triumphant face, the way the wet strands of hair clung to his forehead.

Ximena rose proudly, bouquet in hand, and Silco followed behind. Together, they made their way down to the edge of the pool where Jayce stood drying himself off with a towel, his broad grin faltering for a split second when he spotted who stood beside Viktor.

“Má,” Jayce said, his eyes crinkling as she pressed the flowers into his hands. He ducked his head, suddenly bashful despite the roar of his teammates still in the background. “You didn’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Ximena said, patting his arm. “Of course I did. My son deserves to be celebrated.”

Jayce chuckled, a little overwhelmed, but then his gaze snagged on Silco. “Silco?” he asked, brows lifting. “You came?”

“I said I would support you,” Silco replied with a smile. “Your mother was kind enough to introduce herself.”

Viktor, standing slightly behind them, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t mention you invited him.”

Jayce looked between them, caught off guard. “Well, I didn't think he'd actually show up. I mean—” he looked back at Silco. “Not that I'm upset about it.”

Jayce shifted the flowers in his hands, suddenly nervous under the way both Viktor and Silco were staring at him. To fill the silence, he blurted, “Well—you’ll definitely get to see us in action at the Innovators Competition, so—”

“Jayce,” Viktor hissed sharply, cane tapping once against the tile in warning.

Jayce blinked, glancing back. “What?”

But it was too late. Silco’s gaze had already sharpened, his smile cooling just slightly. “Innovators Competition?” he echoed, turning his full attention to Viktor. “And what would that be?”

Viktor froze, his mouth pressing into a thin line. For a moment, he didn’t answer, but Jayce’s guilty frown and Silco’s piercing stare made retreat impossible.

“It is... a demonstration,” Viktor admitted finally, reluctant. “A chance for young scientists to present their work before Piltover’s council and investors.”

“Ah.” Silco’s tone was deceptively mild. “A rather significant event, then. And yet, I hear of it only now—” his eyes flicked to Jayce before resting back on Viktor, “—from someone who is not you.”

Viktor’s throat worked. He glanced away, muttering, “I did not think you would care to attend.”

Silco’s brow arched, almost imperceptibly. “You assumed wrong.”

Jayce glanced between them nervously, shifting his weight. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

“It is fine,” Viktor cut in, but his voice was tight. He turned toward Silco at last, straightening despite the heat rising in his cheeks. “Then... if it matters so much—I am asking now. Will you come?”

Silco studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable, before the faintest curve of a smile touched his lips. “Since you ask so directly... yes. I will come.”

Viktor exhaled, shoulders sagging. He won't be hearing the end of this for a long time.

---

The lab was quiet, save for the hum of the generators and the faint tick of cooling metal. At the center of the room stood the exoskeleton. Months of failures and revisions had finally forged it into something worthy of standing. Now came the true test.

Jayce rolled his shoulders, forcing a steady breath. “Alright,” he said, voice low but determined. “Final run before the competition.” He glanced at Viktor. “You ready?”

Viktor sat perched on a stool, notebook balanced on his knee. He arched a brow. “The real question, Jayce, is if you are.”

Jayce gave a crooked smile. “Guess we’re about to find out.” He stepped to the frame and let his hands brush the cold metal. With care, he slid into the suit, the mechanisms shifting to accommodate his form. The hxtech crystal embedded in its spine pulsed to life, and the joints gave a low, steady hum.

He flexed his fingers. The gauntlets moved with perfect synchronicity.

Viktor leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Try walking.”

Jayce took one step, then another. The suit moved fluidly, almost weightless. He bent his knee, rotated his shoulder—every motion smooth, every joint responsive. “It’s—” He broke into a grin. “It’s working.”

Viktor exhaled softly, though his lips twitched into the barest smile. “Good. Now test its strength.”

Jayce’s gaze landed on a nearby crate stuffed with spare metal scraps. He crossed the lab, crouched, and wrapped his hands around its edges. Then, with almost no effort, he lifted it. The weight rose like it was nothing.

A laugh burst out of him, bright and disbelieving. “Viktor—it’s really working!”

Viktor’s smirk lingered, but his eyes carried pride. “I never doubted it.”

Jayce set the crate down with care and turned back. “Endurance next, yeah?”

Viktor tapped his chin. “Yes. Push it—running, lifting, balance. We must know its limits.”

Jayce nodded and began moving, each test more demanding than the last—long strides, sudden stops, full turns, jumps that shook the floor. Minutes bled into an hour. Still, the exoskeleton held steady: no stutters, no overheating, no signs of strain.

Finally, Jayce slowed, chest heaving, a grin plastered across his face. “It’s solid. We actually did it.”

Viktor finished jotting down his notes, then looked up at him. “Then it is ready.”

Jayce stepped free of the frame, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Now it just needs to survive the competition.”

Viktor smirked faintly, closing his notebook. “Do us both a favor and try not to break it before then.”

Jayce laughed. “No promises.”

---

Jayce made it a habit to visit Zaun at least twice a month after Vi asked him to visit. 

It was strange, having someone other than Caitlyn want to spend time with him—someone who actually wanted him around just for the sake of it. But it wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, he kind of liked it.  

Today, they were sitting on the edge of a building overlooking the city, legs dangling over the side. The hum of the city was ever-present below them—voices, machinery, music drifting from open windows. Vi was tossing a small metal nut into the air and catching it absentmindedly, her other arm braced behind her.  

“So,” Jayce started, nudging her with his shoulder. “You should come up to Piltover next week.”  

Vi caught the nut, turning to look at him. “For what?”  

“The Inventors’ Competition,” Jayce said. “It’d be nice to have you around. You could crash at my place for the night.”  

Vi raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously inviting me to some fancy Piltie science fair?” 

“Hey, it’s not just some science fair,” Jayce defended, pointing at her. “It’s a big deal. And I want you to be there.”  

Vi smirked, tossing the nut up again. “Flattered.”  

“So you’ll come?”  

Vi caught the nut, rolling it between her fingers as she thought. “I’d have to ask Silco first,” she admitted. “He’s still pissed about me and Mylo sneaking up there last time.”  

Jayce winced. “Right. Yeah, I can see how that might be a problem.”  

Vi chuckled. “Might be?” She shook her head. “But I’ll talk to him. No promises, though.”  

Jayce grinned. “That’s all I ask.”  

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching the city below. Jayce knew there was a chance Vi wouldn’t be able to come—but still, maybe. And for now, maybe was enough.

---

 

Notes:

Jayce being on the swim team is mostly a call back to my first fic, No Attachment.

While I am glad to have finished it(that meant I could work on this fic) a part of me still misses it lol.

I have really been enjoying Jayce and Silco’s relationship. The closest thing he's gonna have to a father-figure 😭😭 if I forget to add Arthur.

Idk I might have him go off to explore a different country after Jayce's graduation lol.

Anyway, so cute. They got to dance together. Bet Silco and Ximena were placing bets on how long it takes for them to get together.

Also caitvi 🥺

Chapter 10: Moving Forward

Summary:

Jayce is graduating.

Viktor and Jayce have spent the past month refining their work—countless late nights bent over blueprints, fingers stained with ink, eyes bleary with exhaustion but alight with ambition. 

Jayce talks more now—about his dreams, his doubts, his frustrations with the council's slow-moving bureaucracy. Viktor listens, offering encouragement, observations, and sometimes a lingering hand on Jayce’s shoulder when frustration sets in. In return, Jayce learns to read the subtle shifts in Viktor’s expressions, the way he leans in slightly when intrigued, the quiet pride in his voice when their work yields results.  

Now, summer settles over the city and today marks a milestone.  

Jayce is graduating.  

Viktor smooths out the lapels of his jacket, frowning slightly at his reflection in the small mirror of his dorm. He isn’t accustomed to wearing suits—his usual attire is far more practical, fit for workshops rather than ceremonies—but today is important. He wants to look presentable for Jayce.  

He buttons the coat slowly, adjusting the fit. The fabric is stiff, unfamiliar, but he imagines the moment Jayce sees him—maybe there will be that bright grin, the warm clap on the back, the inevitable teasing about how “fancy” he looks. The thought is... oddly pleasant.  

He fastens the last button of his suit jacket, then adjusts the cuffs. 

He glances at the clock. Jayce will be on stage in a couple hours, shaking hands with professors, accepting his diploma, standing before a crowd that adores him. Viktor can picture it—the way Jayce beams under the applause, confident and radiant, stepping fully into his future.  

Crowds have never suited him, nor has the empty pomp of formalities. But for Jayce, he could endure it for the night.

He runs a hand through his hair, sighs, then reaches for his cane. It is time to go.  

---

The bell above the door chimes softly as Viktor steps into the flower shop. The scent of fresh blooms is overwhelming at first. Floral and earthy, a stark contrast to the oil and metal that usually surrounds him.  

He hesitates just past the entrance, glancing around at the neatly arranged displays. There are roses in deep reds and soft pinks, delicate lilies, bright sunflowers, and dozens of other flowers he can’t even begin to name. He has no idea where to start.  

This was, perhaps, a foolish idea.  

Still, he lingers, his fingers tapping absently against the head of his cane as he scans the shop. Gifting flowers is a gesture he understands in theory—he’s read about it, seen it done—but he’s never done it himself.  

"Can I help you find something?"  

A voice pulls him from his thoughts. A young woman stands behind the counter, offering a polite smile.  

Viktor exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes. I believe I require assistance.”  

The worker nods, stepping around a display of violets. "Is it for a special occasion?"  

He hesitates, then admits, “my friend is graduating today. I wish to congratulate him.”  

There. He’s said it.  

The florist hums thoughtfully, glancing over the arrangements. “That’s a wonderful idea. Do you know what kind of flowers he likes?”  

Viktor frowns. “No, we have never discussed it.”  

“Well, what’s he like?” she prompts. “Bright? Bold? More reserved?”  

The question gives him pause. How does one summarize Jayce Talis in a handful of words?  

“He is... brilliant,” Viktor says slowly, his fingers tightening around his cane. “Loud. Warm. Determined.” His lips quirk slightly. “Far too stubborn for his own good.”  

The florist chuckles. “Sounds like someone who needs something vibrant.” She moves toward a nearby display and gestures to a bouquet of deep orange and gold-hued flowers. “How about marigolds? They symbolize passion, success, and warmth. Very fitting for someone ambitious.”  

Viktor studies the flowers. Their colors are striking, bright like the sparks that fly in the workshop, like the glow of Hextech in Jayce’s hands. Like Jayce himself.

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “That will do.”  

As the florist wraps the bouquet, he feels... satisfied. Perhaps a bit nervous. But he can picture Jayce’s reaction—how his face will light up, how he’ll smile and maybe laugh, teasing Viktor for the sentimentality.  

But Viktor wouldn't mind.  

---

Viktor stepped through the entrance of the Academy, his cane tapping against the polished floor, a neat bouquet of marigolds tucked under one arm. Golden light spilled from chandeliers, glinting off the windows that overlooked the city.

In his hand, he turned over the cardstock ticket bearing Jayce’s name and a bold number—Seat 245. Despite all his years working in the Academy’s labs, he was still no professor. Without this small card, he wouldn’t have been permitted beyond the threshold. 

The thought lingered as he handed his ticket to the usher, who barely glanced at it before nodding him through. Viktor clutched the marigolds a little closer to his chest and entered the grand auditorium.

Rows of neat seats stretched across the vast chamber, all focused toward a stage dressed in Piltover’s blue and gold. Banners shimmered in the chandelier glow, and the low roar of families and friends swelled excitement.

Viktor climbed the steps toward the third row, he scanned the numbers until he found 245—and beside it, 246 was already taken.

Ximena sat there, back straight, eyes bright, her hands folded neatly over her lap. 

And seated just on her other side was Arthur.

As Viktor approached, Ximena turned and brightened immediately. “Viktor!” she exclaimed, rising at once.

Viktor smiled faintly at her enthusiasm. He adjusted his grip on the flowers. “Good afternoon, Ximena.” He opened his free arm, anticipating what came next—after dealing with Jayce for so many months, he beleive he has figured out where his affocnate side has come from. 

She laughed, pulling him into a firm hug. “So good to see you!” She gave him a quick squeeze before letting go.

Her gaze flicked to the bouquet, and her mouth curled knowingly. “Are those for Jayce?”

Heat crept up Viktor’s neck. He cleared his throat and shifted the flowers slightly. “Yes. Do you think he will like them?”

“Oh, he’ll love them,” Ximena assured.

Arthur chuckled beside Ximena, drawing Viktor’s attention. “I’d say you’ve already won him over with those,” he said, his voice carrying a deep, teasing lilt.

Ximena touched the man’s arm. “Viktor, this is Arthur—Jayce’s uncle, his fathers brother.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Arthur looked up at him with a smirk. “They took over my shop to fix his cane.”

Viktor ducked his head, faint color rising in his cheeks as he eased into his seat. “He exaggerates.”

Ximena gave a knowing smile. “Not by much.”

Before Viktor could respond, movement in the row behind them caught his eye—the Kirammans approaching, Caitlyn leading her parents through the crowd.

“Viktor!” Caitlyn called, eyes lighting up.

He rose slightly, cane steady, to greet her. “It is good to see you again, Caitlyn.”

She bounced into her seat behind him, grinning. “I didn’t know you’d be here! Jayce will be so happy.”

Arthur chuckled under his breath, watching the easy way Viktor fit into the family circle. Viktor, shifting the bouquet across his lap, exhaled softly. He only hoped Jayce really would be happy when he saw.

In the corner of his eye Viktor saw Silco waking toward him. Viktor’s expression immediately soured, his shoulders drawing in.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low and clipped, the faintest drop of his accent sharpening the words.

Silco only tilted his head, faint amusement touching his lips as he gestured to the row beside Viktor. “Jayce invited me.” Without waiting for permission, he eased himself into the seat, stretching an arm across the backrest.

Viktor’s frown deepened, eyes narrowing. “And why would he do that?”

“Because,” Silco replied evenly, “Jayce is a nice boy. Why would I not want to support him?”

Ximena turned in her seat, offering Silco a warm smile, and Cassandra—though cautious—nodded politely. Silco returned both greetings with a genteel bow of his head. “It’s nice to see you again, Ximena. And Cassandra.” His gaze flicked toward the men seated nearby. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure...”

“Tobias,” one of them said, extending his hand.

“Arthur,” the other followed.

Silco shook both hands offering his name in turn. “Silco. Family of Viktor, you might say.”

Viktor’s lips tightened into a line. He looked away, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

As the lights dim, the low murmur of conversation fades as the professors ascend the stage, their robes flowing behind them as they take their places. 

At the center of the stage, a microphone stands ready. Heimerdinger steps forward. His fur catches the warm glow of the overhead chandeliers, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and excitement.  

He clears his throat, the microphone amplifying the sound across the grand hall. Then, with enthusiasm he begins.  

“Esteemed faculty, honored guests, proud families, and—most importantly—our brilliant graduates... welcome!”  

A polite round of applause ripples through the room before Heimerdinger continues, his voice carrying a warmth that makes the vast auditorium feel almost intimate.  

“Today is a momentous occasion. Each of you has dedicated yourselves to the pursuit of knowledge, to the refinement of your skills, and to the relentless curiosity that defines our great city of Piltover. And today, you stand on the precipice of something truly exciting—the next great chapter of your lives.”  

He pauses, letting the words settle. His ears twitch slightly as he gazes across the sea of graduates, his expression full of admiration.  

“As you leave these halls and step into the world beyond, you will face challenges—challenges that will test not only your intellect, but your resolve. There will be failures, as there always are in the pursuit of progress. But remember this: true innovation is not born from perfection, but from perseverance. It is the ability to stand up after failure, to look at a problem from a new angle, to ask why when others simply accept.”  

A few murmurs of agreement pass through the crowd. Heimerdinger smiles, pleased to see the graduates listening.  

“I have spent centuries watching brilliant minds shape the world,” he continues. “And if there is one thing I have learned, it is this—knowledge alone is not enough. True greatness comes from the heart. From the courage to push boundaries, the humility to learn from others, and the wisdom to wield your gifts not just for yourself, but for the betterment of all.”  

A silence falls over the room, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Then, his expression softens, his voice taking on a more gentle tone.  

“To each and every one of you, I say this: the future is yours to build. Dream boldly. Work tirelessly. And never, never stop asking questions.”  

As the cheers settle, Heimerdinger clears his throat once more, then yells out:

“Mr. Adam Abbott!”  

A young man in dark robes strides up the stage, his expression a mix of pride and nervousness. The crowd cheers as he shakes hands with each professor in turn before reaching Heimerdinger, who clasps his hand firmly before presenting him with his diploma. Abbott gives a short bow before stepping aside, making way for the next name.  

“Miss Eleanor Allen!”  

The applause continues as a woman with tightly braided hair ascends the stage, her steps confident. She exchanges warm handshakes with the professors, nods respectfully to Heimerdinger, and accepts her diploma with a proud smile.  

One by one, the names are called, each graduate stepping forward to claim the culmination of their years at the academy.  

“Mr. Callum Birchwood!”  

“Miss Sophia Lin!”  

“Mr. Edgar Wren!”  

The ceremony moves steadily forward, applause swelling and ebbing like waves as each student takes their moment in the light. Viktor watches quietly, his fingers resting lightly on the bouquet in his lap. His mind is elsewhere, his anticipation growing with each passing name.  

And then, finally—  

“Mr. Jayce Talis!”  

The reaction is immediate. Loud applause, a wave of cheers rolling through the auditorium. Viktor watches as Jayce rises from his seat and walks toward the stage. His dark blue robes flow behind him, the golden trim catching the light. He smiles—a bright, effortless expression that seems to belong on stage.  

Beside Viktor, Ximena’s reaction is nothing short of radiant. Her hands clasp together, her eyes shining with pride as she watches her son ascend the steps. She exhales a quiet, trembling breath, blinking rapidly as she held back tears.  

From his other side, Caitlyn lets out an excited cheer, clapping enthusiastically. “That’s our Jayce!” she exclaims, nudging Viktor lightly with her hand. Tobias joins in with claps of his own, his pride evident in the way his chest swells slightly. Even Cassandra allows a small but noticeable smile to grace her features as she claps along with the rest of the crowd.  

Viktor’s hands tighten slightly around the bouquet as he watches Jayce step forward, shaking hands with each professor in turn. When he reaches Heimerdinger, the professor beams up at him, shaking his hand firmly before presenting him with the diploma. Jayce bows his head slightly in gratitude before turning toward the audience, his eyes sweeping over the crowd.  

For the briefest moment, his gaze finds Viktor’s.  

Viktor doesn’t wave or call out, but he inclines his head ever so slightly, a small smile on his lips.  

And in that moment, he knows—Jayce is exactly where he’s meant to be. That stopping him from going over that ledge was destiny. And Viktor is proud.

The final student, Miss Lillian Zhou, steps forward to receive her diploma. As she shakes hands with Heimerdinger, the applause swells one last time, the celebration reaching its peak. She bows her head respectfully before stepping off the stage to join her fellow graduates.  

Heimerdinger steps back up to the microphone, his small hands resting on the podium as he looks out at the sea of eager, bright-eyed graduates. He waits a moment, letting the cheers settle before speaking.  

“And with that,” he begins, his voice carrying across the vast auditorium, “I offer my heartfelt congratulations to the Piltover Academy graduating class! You have worked tirelessly to stand here today, and I have no doubt that each and every one of you will go on to accomplish extraordinary things.”  

A murmur of excitement ripples through the students. Heimerdinger’s eyes twinkle.  

“Remember—your journey does not end here. Learning is a lifelong pursuit, and innovation is never truly finished. The world is vast, full of challenges and opportunities alike. May you face them with courage, with curiosity, and with the unwavering determination that brought you to this very moment.”  

He pauses, then spreads his arms wide.  

“And now, dear graduates—celebrate!"  

The room erupts into applause and cheers as the graduates let out triumphant shouts. Hats fly into the air in a flurry of blue, filling the auditorium with a dazzling display of soaring fabric. Laughter and cheers echo through the grand hall as students embrace one another, shaking hands, exchanging smiles, and reveling in their achievement.

---

 Jayce stepped out into the hall, his eyes scanning the sea of people until he caught Caitlyn waving him over, her smile bright and insistent. Relief and excitement surged through him, and he quickened his pace, weaving through the crowd.

“Jayce! Over here!” Caitlyn called.

As he drew closer, his gaze swept over the group—his mother standing proudly beside Arthur; Cassandra and Tobias; Caitlyn practically bouncing in place; and Viktor standing a little further back. To Jayce’s surprise, Silco had actually came.

But Jayce’s heart snagged on Viktor first. Viktor’s smile was small but warm, and Jayce’s chest tightened in that way it always did when he saw him.

“You made it,” Jayce said, his voice bubbling with joy as he stopped in front of him.

Viktor’s smile widened a fraction as he extended the bouquet of marigolds he carried. “For you,” he said softly.

Jayce’s hands closed around the flowers, and warmth spread through him at the gesture. “They’re beautiful, Viktor.” His smile was wide, his chest light as he met Viktor’s gaze again.

“I thought they might brighten your day,” Viktor replied, a faint shrug betraying the softness in his eyes.

Before Jayce could respond, Ximena stepped forward with Arthur at her side. “We’re heading home for dinner,” she announced. “The Kirammans are joining us.” Arthur nodded in agreement, his arm loosely folded across his chest as he watched his nephew with a proud smile.

Jayce’s brows rose, but his attention returned to Viktor quickly. He shifted the bouquet in his hands, suddenly nervous. “Viktor... would you like to come with me? For dinner, I mean. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind.” He glanced toward Ximena, who immediately nodded in approval.

Before Viktor could answer, Silco’s smooth voice cut in. “It sounds like quite the gathering,” he remarked, leaning forward slightly. “I imagine Jayce would want all of us there to celebrate.”

Jayce flushed. “Well—yeah,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I’d like that. Everyone together.”

Viktor hesitated, glancing between Silco, Arthur, and the rest, but when his eyes returned to Jayce’s, the tension softened. “Alright,” he said at last, voice low and steady. “I’d like that.”

Jayce beamed, the relief in his chest almost dizzying. As the group moved toward the exit, Jayce’s hand brushed against Viktor’s, the touch lingering just long enough to make his heart skip.

---

The scent of roasted meat and warm spices drifted in from the kitchen, filling Ximena's home. She and Tobias worked in tandem, the sounds of chopping vegetables and the occasional burst of laughter mixing with the low hum of conversation from the living room. Even Silco was helping them cook.

Viktor found himself sitting on the plush couch, his hands resting over the head of his cane as he glanced around the well-furnished space. It was strange—odd, even—to be seated beside Cassandra Kiramman.

He kept his posture polite, composed, though he could feel her presence beside him like a looming, quiet force. Cassandra was not an unkind woman, nor was she particularly intimidating in demeanor, but there was a certain weight to sitting so close to someone of her standing.  

The couch was soft, the warmth of the fireplace casting a golden glow across the room. Across from them, on the floor, Jayce sat cross-legged, his graduation robes now draped casually over one of the chairs. In front of him him, Caitlyn leaned in eagerly, watching as he shuffled a deck of cards between his fingers.  

"Alright, sprout, prepare to be amazed," Jayce announced.

Caitlyn smirked. "I highly doubt it, but go on."  

Jayce grinned as he spread the cards out in front of her. "Pick a card, any card."  

She rolled her eyes but plucked one from the stack, glancing at it before pressing it against her chest so he couldn’t see. "Alright, what now?"  

"Memorize it," Jayce instructed, waving a hand. "And don’t you dare tell Viktor. He’ll see through my trick before I even get a chance to impress you."  

Viktor raised an eyebrow. "Bold assumption, Jayce."  

Jayce shot him a knowing look. "You’re too smart for parlor tricks, and I won’t give you the satisfaction of ruining my performance."  

Caitlyn snorted, shaking her head. "Sounds like you’re just scared he will figure it out."  

Jayce ignored her, dramatically waving his hands over the deck as if weaving some unseen force into the cards. He then snapped his fingers and reached for Caitlyn’s hand.  

"Place it back in the deck," he said, and she did so, her curiosity mildly piqued despite.  

Viktor leaned back slightly, glancing at Cassandra from the corner of his eye. She had been watching the exchange with amusement, her hands folded neatly in her lap.  

"Does he do this often?" Viktor asked, his voice low enough that only she would hear.  

Cassandra exhaled softly—a quiet chuckle, more of an exasperated sigh than anything. "More than I can count," she murmured, though there was an undeniable fondness in her tone. "It never quite worked on Caitlyn when they were children, but he never gave up trying."  

Viktor hummed, a small smile touching his lips as he turned his attention back to Jayce.  

With a flourish, Jayce shuffled the deck again and then fanned the cards out in front of Caitlyn. "Now, be honest. Is this your card?" He pulled one from the stack and held it up.  

Caitlyn blinked.  

Jayce grinned triumphantly.  

Caitlyn frowned, then snatched the card from his fingers. "How—"  

"Magic," Jayce said smugly.  

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes but couldn’t quite hide the reluctant amusement on her face. "I swear I would’ve noticed if you pulled it out of the deck."  

Jayce winked. "Guess I’m just that good."  

Caitlyn groaned, shoving his shoulder. "That was luck at best, Jayce."  

"Say what you want, but that’s the face of someone who was amazed," Jayce shot back.  

Viktor shook his head, watching the exchange with amusement. 

The soft clink of utensils and the low murmur of conversation filled the room as Ximena and Tobias made their way into the living room, calling cheerfully to everyone.  

"Dinner’s ready!" Ximena’s voice rang out. Her smile was just as bright as it had been when Jayce had received his diploma.  

"Come on, everyone, the food won’t eat itself!" Tobias added with a laugh.

The group rose from their seats, making their way into the dining room. The table was set with polished silverware, glasses that caught in the light, and a large, hearty meal spread across the center. There was roasted meat, buttered vegetables, warm bread, and a rich, savory sauce that filled the air with an irresistible aroma.  

Jayce had taken his place at the long dining table, his smile wide as he carefully set the bouquet of marigolds Viktor had gifted him into a vase at the center. The flowers glowed against the polished wood, their golden and orange petals casting a cheerful warmth over the spread of food.

Viktor slid into the seat beside Ximena, who greeted him with a kind smile before turning her attention back to her son. Arthur, seated at her other side, poured himself a glass of wine, his proud gaze drifting toward Jayce.

“Jayce, we’re so proud of you,” Ximena said, her voice soft but brimming with pride. She reached across the table to touch his arm gently before serving herself a cut of the roasted meat.

Jayce gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, ma. It still feels surreal. But I’m happy it’s finally here.”

Arthur chuckled, raising his glass slightly. “You’ve worked hard for this moment. You’ve earned it.”

Across the table, Tobias leaned forward with a raised brow. “So, now that you’ve officially graduated, what’s next? What are your plans for the future?”

Jayce took a thoughtful bite, then dabbed his mouth with a napkin. His eyes flickered briefly to Viktor, and warmth rose in his chest.

“I’m sticking with the academy,” he said. “There’s still so much I want to do with Hextech. Viktor and I—well, we’ve got a lot more to work on.”

Viktor’s lips curved faintly, pride welling quietly in him at the recognition.

“You two have quite the partnership,” Cassandra remarked. “What exactly are you working on?”

Jayce leaned forward, enthusiasm in his voice. “Hextech’s evolving faster than I ever thought possible. Viktor’s been pushing the limits, and we’ve been exploring ways to make it more efficient, more integrated into Piltover’s infrastructure. Applications in energy, medicine—there’s still so much to refine, but the possibilities are endless.”

Silco, who had been cutting his food quietly, spoke up then. “Ambitious. Piltover thrives on minds like yours,” he said smoothly, lifting his gaze toward Jayce. “But ambition also demands balance. Don’t let it consume you.”

Jayce blinked, a little startled by the directness, but nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tobias folded his hands. “Impressive work. But surely it can’t all be long nights and research. Have you thought about what else you might want to do now that the weight of school is off your shoulders?”

Jayce grinned, shrugging lightly. “For now, Hextech is what excites me most. But... maybe I’ll allow myself the occasional break.”

Caitlyn smirked. “So you’re not a complete workaholic then?.”

Arthur chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t let him fool you, Caitlyn. Jayce has always had a tendency to throw himself in too deep. He’ll need someone to drag him out of the lab now and then.”

Silco’s lips twitched in faint amusement. “From what I’ve seen, he has people around him willing to do just that.” His eyes flicked briefly to Viktor before lowering back to his plate.

Ximena, watching the exchange, passed the bread across the table with a soft laugh. “As long as he makes time to eat and spend time with family, I think we can forgive the late nights.”

Conversation picked up again as plates were passed and glasses refilled. Viktor found himself more at ease than he expected, even with Cassandra sitting across from him and Silco only a seat away. His gaze drifted toward the marigolds at the center of the table—their petals a vivid splash of gold among the spread of food. 

---

After dinner, they all drifted back into the living room, the warmth of the fireplace casting soft, flickering light across the space. Laughter and conversation filled the air, but despite the comfort of the evening, Viktor still felt like an outsider. The Kirammans were polite, welcoming even, but he wasn’t one of them. Their world of wealth and status wasn’t his.

Still, he had managed to end up next to Jayce for the rest of the night, which helped. They sat close, their shoulders nearly touching, Jayce occasionally leaning in to make some quiet, amused comment about Caitlyn’s stories or his mother’s fussing. Viktor would reply with a dry remark of his own, their quiet conversation woven into the larger hum of the room.  

Two hours passed before Viktor knew, and though he would have liked to linger just a little longer, it was time to go. When he shifted forward, reaching for his cane, he felt Jayce’s gaze flick toward him, his expression briefly falling. Viktor could tell Jayce was disappointed, but he didn’t mention it. Instead, as Viktor pushed himself up to stand, Jayce did the same.  

“I’ll walk you out,” Jayce said, stepping ahead before Viktor could refuse.  

Viktor didn’t argue.  

They made their way to the front door, stepping out into the warm night. 

Jayce stood in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming over, Viktor.”  

Viktor tilted his head slightly, watching him. “You asked me to come.”  

“I know that,” Jayce said, shifting his weight between his feet. “But you didn’t have to.”  

But you wanted me to,” Viktor pointed out, his tone matter-of-fact. “And today was your day. I couldn’t make you upset.”  

Jayce let out a short chuckle, letting his arms fall “Will this work on my birthday as well?”  

Viktor arched an eyebrow. “That is also your day. But only if you do whatever I want on mine.”  

Jayce’s smile widened. “Deal.”  

Viktor allowed himself a small smile in return. “Goodnight Jayce.” He stepped back, turning on his heel, his cane tapping softly against the stone as he walked away.  

As he moved down the street, he heard the sound of the door shutting behind him. A barrier between them, but only for now.  

Tomorrow, they will see each other again. 

Notes:

I won’t be posting on the weekend because I need to figure out the plot for the seven year timeskip. I have decided that 1 year = 1 chapter. So they will be pretty long. Which also means posting might be pushed off to every other day.

If you guys have any ideas you’d love to see added in the years, I’d love to hear them!

The main things that will be happening are:

Creating the Hexcore, Hexgates and helping Zaun.

I do plan on giving more characters screentime and I will also be writing the romances. Besides Jayvik. Sorry guys, they are a slow burn.

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I know not everyone (escipally Vi) weren’t at Jayce’s graduation. But he isn’t really close to anyone, well, besides Vi. But I have been loving Silco and Jayce.

And also the flowers :( Viktor is so romantic omg. I bet everyone realizes they’re into each other.

I will (hopefully) see you guys either Monday or Tuesday!

Chapter 11: You Were Mine, But You Were Awful Every Time

Summary:

Jayce and Viktor begin work in Zaun.

Notes:

Tw for panic attacks

The snow drifted down in delicate, swirling flakes, catching the fading light of the sun before settling on the cobblestone road. Viktor and Jayce trudged through the thickening snow, the chill biting at their faces as they made their way from Piltover toward Zaun. The streets were quiet, windows shuttered against the cold. Lanterns flickered dimly above doorways, the only warmth in the white-streaked dusk.

Jayce shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, casting a curious glance at the man beside him. “What exactly are we doing out here, Viktor?” His tone was light. Usually, he was the one convincing Viktor to leave the lab, not the other way around.

Viktor only gave a small smile, his breath fogging the air. “It’s something I want to show you.”

They walked until the outline of a wrought-iron gate emerged ahead, half-buried in drifting snow. Jayce slowed as recognition crept in—a graveyard. The place was small, quiet, its boundary walls dusted with ice.

Viktor reached the gate first, pushing it open with a creak that carried through the stillness. He stepped insid, cane crunching against the frozen ground. Jayce hesitated before following, his gaze fixed on Viktor’s back.

They passed rows of crooked, weathered stones, some names lost to frost and time. The snow lay thick and undisturbed, muffling their footsteps as if the world itself wanted to keep its silence. Finally, Viktor stopped before two headstones side by side, their surfaces nearly hidden beneath a pale shroud.

He crouched carefully, brushing away the snow with his gloved hand. Beneath, the words came into view—worn but still legible:

Andrea
Beloved Wife, Devoted Mother
“Her laughter was the hearth that kept us warm.”

Marek
Husband, Father, Miner
“He bore the weight of the world with quiet strength.”

Jayce’s chest tightened as he read. 

“My parents,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft, almost carried away by the wind. His fingers lingered on the stone, tracing the grooves of the names. “They were kind. They worked hard. And they were taken too soon.”

Jayce swallowed, hesitant. “Do you... want to talk about them?”

For a long moment Viktor said nothing, his golden eyes fixed on the stones as snow clung to his lashes. Finally, he spoke. “They were from Freljord. They came here with nothing but hope and calloused hands. They tried to enter Piltover, but without coin... they were sent below, into Zaun.”

His hand curled slightly, knuckles brushing the carved words. “They worked in the mines. The air was poison, the hours endless. But they endured. My mother—she made the small home we had into something bright. My father—he gave every scrap of strength to keep food on our table. They did not complain.”

Jayce shifted closer, listening.

“They could not speak Piltovian when they arrived,” Viktor continued. “Silco taught them. He taught me too, when I was small. My parents... they wanted me to have a chance they were never given.” He looked away, tilting his face skyward so no tears could fall. “But fate was cruel. The mines take what they wish.”

Jayce’s voice was gentle. “Have you ever been to Freljord?”

Viktor gave a short, almost bitter laugh. “No. I have only the fragments my parents carried. Words, stories, traditions, the food my mother cooked. They tried to keep me connected, but... the truth is, I am more of Zaun than Freljord.” He glanced sideways. “You have been there, no?”

Jayce nodded, his breath misting in the cold. “I have. It was... harsh. Endless snow, bitter winds. But the people—” he paused, searching for the right words, “—they were as strong as the land itself. Fierce, proud. They live with the cold, not against it.”

Viktor hummed faintly, his eyes flickering back to the stones. “Perhaps it was good my parents left, then. Had they stayed, they might not have survived the winters.” His voice softened. “But that does not mean they lost their home. They carried it with them—in the songs they hummed, the fire in their words. And they gave it to me.”

Snow swirled between them, the world hushed. For a long time, neither spoke.

At last, Viktor’s voice broke the silence. “I wanted you to meet them,” he said, his words low, almost hesitant. His gloved fingers brushed the last clinging snow from the stone. “Ximena took me in with open arms, and I am grateful. But my parents...” His throat worked as he glanced at Jayce. “They would have done the same for you. Had they met you.”

Jayce’s chest swelled, too full for words. Instead, he lowered himself into the snow beside Viktor, the cold seeping into him but unheeded. “Thank you,” he said quietly, sincerely. “For letting me meet them.”

Viktor’s breath left him in a long, visible sigh, curling into the air. He leaned gently against Jayce’s shoulder, eyes falling closed.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

---

Ximena’s home was warm, a balm against the bitter cold they had left behind. The air was rich with comfort—the faint spice of simmering tea, the sweetness of bread just pulled from the oven, and a trace of citrus zest that brightened the room.

Handmade decorations adorned the small living space: garlands of dried flowers and twine hung carefully along the shelves, while a modest pine tree stood in the corner. Its branches bore scraps of ribbon, bits of polished metal, and tiny glass baubles that glimmered softly in the candlelight. It wasn’t grand like Piltover’s glittering displays, but it was honest, each piece crafted by hand, imbued with care.

Viktor lingered by the hearth, holding his hands toward the fire, the glow softening his features. Jayce glanced around the room with a faint smile, his chest loosening. He could almost feel the weight of the snow outside melt from his shoulders.

Ximena bustled in with a tray, setting steaming cups on the worn table. “You two were gone long enough,” she teased lightly. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d frozen stiff out there.”

Jayce chuckled as he shrugged off his coat. “Not quite, but close,” he admitted, rubbing his arms. He glanced at Viktor, who had yet to speak, but the way he leaned more comfortably against the hearth told Jayce this visit had been worth the trek.

Viktor finally joined him at the table, settling into his chair with a quiet hum. “The cold was worth it,” he murmured.

Ximena’s smile softened. She nudged a cup toward him before offering one to Jayce. “Then drink. Warm yourselves. And don’t think of leaving before supper.”

Jayce grinned, raising the cup gratefully. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Steam curled upward as he drank, the spiced tea warming him from the inside.Beside hom, Viktor sat with his fingers curled loosely around his cup, the flicker of light reflecting in his golden eyes. For once, the sharpness in them seemed softened—lighter, almost. Jayce said nothing, only nudged his knee gently under the table.

Viktor huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching.

After a while, Ximena rose, brushing her hands on her apron. “Wait here,” she said with a small smile before disappearing into the next room.

Jayce arched a brow toward Viktor. “Any idea?”

Viktor smirked faintly, shaking his head. “She enjoys her surprises.”

When she returned, her arms carried two small packages wrapped neatly in plain cloth and tied with twine. She set them in front of the young men with a warmth that filled her whole face. “Merry Christmas, mis niños.”

Jayce chuckled as he pulled his parcel closer. “Thank you, ma.”

Viktor untied his carefully, peeling back the cloth to reveal a pair of finely sewn gloves—sturdy leather lined with soft wool. He traced the seams with his finger, noticing the precision in every stitch.

“Piltover winters are cruel,” Ximena said matter-of-factly, watching him. “This way, you keep your hands—and your work.”

For a moment Viktor looked almost startled. Then he inclined his head, his voice barely above a murmur. “Thank you.”

Beside him, Jayce was thumbing through his own gift—a leather-bound notebook, its cover simple but elegant, the paper thick and crisp beneath his fingers.

“I thought you might need somewhere proper to put all those ideas,” Ximena said with a little shrug. “Better than scribbles on napkins and scrap paper, hm?”

Jayce laughed, closing the book reverently. “You’re not wrong.” He glanced up, eyes bright. “I love it, mama. Really.”

She clicked her tongue and wagged her finger at him. “Mijo, your head is too full to keep it all in. Use it.”

He lifted the book with a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her fond eye-roll was almost lost as she turned toward the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon, and I expect you both to eat properly.”

Viktor kept turning the gloves over in his hands, the corner of his mouth softening into something quiet, almost vulnerable. The glow of the fire, the smell of food, the candlelight against the garlands—it wrapped around him like a blanket.

For the first time that night, he allowed himself to truly enjoy Christmas.

---

The evening air was cool as they made their way up the steps to Jayce’s apartment. Dinner with Ximena had lingered pleasantly on Viktor’s mind, the warmth of familiar conversation sitting alongside the exhaustion of the day. Once inside, Jayce slipped into his easy routine—shoes off, jacket tossed aside—while Viktor, slower, leaned his cane against the wall and sank into the couch with a muted sigh.

From the kitchen came the sound of water heating, mugs clinking together. Jayce’s voice followed. “Are you sure you don’t want to go down to Zaun tonight?”

Viktor tilted his head back against the couch, eyelids lowering. “And what would be the point now? It is nearly nightfall.”

Jayce peeked around the corner, raising a brow. “We were already there a few hours ago.”

A groan slipped out of Viktor as he rubbed his face with one hand, muffling his reply. “Today has been... a lot.”

Jayce let the subject rest. A few minutes later, he emerged with two steaming cups, the rich, sweet scent of milk curling through the room. He pressed the mug into Viktor’s hands before sitting down beside him with his own tea.

“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Jayce admitted, blowing gently at the surface of his drink. “It has been a lot.” He glanced sidelong at Viktor, gauging his expression. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Viktor sat back, hands curling carefully around the warm cup Jayce handed him. He blew on the steam once, then let it sit untouched in his lap, staring down into the faint ripples. His shoulders sagged as though the weight of the evening had finally caught up with him.

“The holidays...” he began slowly, his accent heavier when he was tired, “they have always been... stressful. Too many expectations, too many faces I could not please. And now—without my parents...” He trailed off, his jaw tightening before he shook his head. “It is stupid. I should not feel this way. I am grown, I have work, I have you, I have Zaun. What purpose does this... sentiment serve?”

Jayce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes soft on him. “Hey. Don’t call it stupid.”

Viktor gave a quiet, incredulous huff but didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s not stupid to miss them,” Jayce saidt. “It’s not stupid to feel like something’s missing this time of year. You loved them, and that doesn’t just... go away because you’re older or because life’s busier now.”

Viktor’s lips pressed thin, as if holding back words.

Jayce reached over, his hand brushing Viktor’s knee lightly before resting there, grounding. “I know the holidays are messy. I know they’ve been heavy for you. But you don’t have to carry that alone anymore. You’ve got people who care. Me, Silco—hell, even my mom sends enough cookies for three households.” His smile tilted gently, coaxing. “It’s okay to let yourself feel it. It doesn’t make you weak. It just makes you human.”

“It feels foolish to even say aloud, but I feel... guilty. As though enjoying anything without them is some betrayal.”

Jayce set his cup down, his brow knitting as he leaned closer. “That’s not stupid, Vik. I get it.” His hand found Viktor’s arm and held it. “I felt the same way after my dad died. Like if I let myself be happy, even for a moment, I was dishonoring him somehow.”

Viktor lifted his eyes at that, the guilt plain in his expression. Jayce gave him a small, earnest smile.

“But the truth is they wouldn’t want us to be miserable forever. They’d want us to live, to keep moving forward, to find joy where we can. That’s how we honor them—not by drowning in the weight of their absence, but by carrying the love they gave us into whatever comes next.”

Viktor finally looked at him then, eyes shadowed but glimmering in the dim light. His throat worked as if to argue, but no words came. He only let out a tired sigh and nodded once.

Jayce gave his knee a reassuring squeeze, his voice low. “We’ll make our own traditions. Ones that don’t feel like pressure. Just... us. However you want them to be.”

Viktor’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “That does not sound so terrible.”

Jayce chuckled, finally lifting his tea. “Then it’s settled.”

---

The New Year had come and gone, leaving only the faint warmth of memories behind. Viktor could still recall the weight of Jayce’s arms around him at midnight, the way the Kirammans toasted, and Ximena’s firm embrace that followed not long after Jayce’s. But now, the celebrations were over, and they were back where they belonged—in the lab, surrounded by their work.  

Viktor sat hunched over their latest invention, tightening a delicate mechanism. Jayce sat beside him, watching closely but not interfering, his chin resting in his hand.  

“You’re staring,” Viktor muttered without looking up.  

Jayce smirked. “I’m observing.”  

Viktor rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He twisted the wrench one final time, and then—  

A sharp, sudden boom filled the air.  

Jayce reacted instantly, his instincts kicking in before thought. He threw his arm across Viktor’s face, shielding his eyes from the blast. At the same time, Viktor jerked back, raising his hands to protect himself. The explosion wasn’t large, more of a volatile pop, but it was enough to send sparks flying, heat licking at his skin before dissipating.  

The lab fell into stunned silence, smoke curling in the air. Jayce pulled back, coughing, then looked down—Viktor’s hands were red, the skin raw from the heat of the blast.  

Jayce’s stomach dropped. “Damn it, Viktor.”  

Viktor, for his part, was inspecting his hands with mild disinterest, flexing his fingers. “That could have gone worse.”  

Jayce exhaled sharply through his nose and stood. “Stay there.” He walked over to the supply cabinet, yanking it open with more force than necessary, rummaging for bandages. When he returned, Viktor was still sitting calmly.

Jayce grabbed Viktor’s wrist, pulling his hands closer with an irritated huff. “You still refuse to wear safety goggles, you don’t use heat-resistant gloves, and now look at you—your hands are burnt! Again !”  

Viktor blinked at him. “It is only mild irritation—”  

“Mild irritation my ass,” Jayce grumbled, already wrapping the bandages around Viktor’s fingers. His movements were firm but careful. “You act like you’re invincible, but you’re not.”  

Viktor sighed, amused despite himself. “You worry too much.”  

Jayce shot him a glare. “And you don’t worry enough! You could have actually hurt yourself bad this time.” He tied off the bandage with a final tug. “One of these days, I swear, you’re going to—”  

Viktor placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him mid-rant. “And yet, I have you to bandage me up each time,” he teased.  

Jayce groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s not the point.”  

Viktor chuckled, flexing his freshly wrapped fingers. “Perhaps not. But I appreciate it nonetheless.”  

Jayce let out a sigh but didn’t argue. He just shook his head, muttering under his breath as he packed away the leftover bandages.  

“Next time,” Jayce said, pointing a finger at Viktor as he stood, “goggles."  

Viktor hummed noncommittally, and Jayce narrowed his eyes.  

He didn’t believe it for a second.

Jayce went back over to his desk, flipping through drawers as though searching for a tool. Viktor sat quietly, rubbing his bandaged hands, his golden eyes flicking toward him with suspicion.

“You know,” Jayce began, voice casual, “you told me you didn’t want to do anything for your birthday.”

Viktor froze, his back stiffening. He turned just enough to glare over his shoulder. “Jayce... no.”

Jayce ignored him. With a triumphant little hum, he straightened, holding a small box wrapped in simple brown paper, tied with twine. His grin was boyish, warm, the kind Viktor had long since learned to dread when it came to surprises.

“Happy twenty-seventh,” Jayce said softly.

Any protest Viktor had died instantly. His mouth opened, then closed again. The words simply refused to come. Instead, he stared at the package in Jayce’s hand, the stubborn fight in his chest unraveling.

Jayce stepped closer, the gift balanced carefully in his large hands. He crouched slightly so they were eye level. “Come on. Just... humor me, alright?”

Viktor swallowed, the corners of his lips twitching as though caught between scolding him and smiling. At last, he exhaled and reached out with one bandaged hand, taking the little gift from him.

He eased the paper away, his movements careful, almost reverent. Nestled inside the box was a slim brass pocket watch, polished to a warm glow. The case was engraved with a pattern of intertwining gears, subtle enough to catch the light without being ostentatious.

When he pressed the side, the lid popped open with a quiet click. The face inside wasn’t ordinary—it was etched with tiny constellations instead of numbers, stars inlaid with silver that shimmered faintly when tilted beneath the light.

For a moment Viktor just stared, his breath caught, then his fingers brushed lightly over the delicate surface. “Jayce...” His voice was softer now, almost unsteady. “It is beautiful. You are... too sweet.”

Jayce tilted his head with a half-smile. “I was hoping you’d like it. Figured you deserved something that wasn’t just tools or notes for once.”

Viktor closed the watch with a quiet snap, still holding it carefully in both hands like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

---

The lab was quiet except for the faint scratch of chalk against slate. The board before them was cluttered with half-scribbled diagrams, words crossed out and rewritten in Viktor’s neat hand. Jayce sat perched on the edge of a worktable, arms folded, listening as Viktor paced slowly in front of the board.

“The air is unbreathable,” Viktor said, tapping the chalk hard against the surface where he’d written ventilation. “Children choke on soot before they can walk. The elderly die with lungs blackened. And still, factories grow.” He underlined the word twice, forceful.

Jayce frowned, his gaze sliding down the board. “And the water?” he asked quietly.

“The water is poison,” Viktor replied, writing clean water beneath the first heading. “Wells are tainted, cisterns cracked, pipes rusted. Those who cannot afford imported water drink filth.” His hand hesitated, then added a third line: sewage.

“Because the sewage goes straight into it,” Jayce said, straightening from the desk. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the problem spelled out before them. “It’s all connected. We can’t just pick one without thinking about the others.”

Viktor’s expression tightened. “And yet we must. We cannot solve all Zaun’s ills at once.”

Jayce stepped closer to the board, pointing between the first two items. “Then sewage and water go together. Fixing one without the other won’t mean much. But ventilation...” he trailed off, thoughtful.

Viktor finished the thought for him. “Ventilation is the most immediate, the most visible.”

Jayce sighed. “Problem is, the last system didn’t work. Cassandra pulled strings to get it approved—spent a fortune on pipes and ducts that barely made a difference. None of them even stepped foot down there. They never saw what it was really like.”

Viktor’s grip on the chalk tightened until it snapped in his hand. “Because they do not care to.”

Jayce leaned on the desk again, this time more firmly. “Then we make them care. If we get Heimerdinger on our side, if we take him down there, show him what people are breathing every day—maybe the rest of the council will listen too.”

Viktor tilted his head, eyes narrowing with calculation. “A gamble. But perhaps our only chance.”

Jayce gave a small, wry smile. “Then it’s worth the bet.”

---

“Professor!” Jayce’s voice rang through the hall as he spotted Heimerdinger’s tufted ears rounding the corner. He hurried forward, nearly skidding on the polished floor before catching up to him. “I’ve been trying to find you all week.”

“Ah, Jayce,” Heimerdinger blinked up at him. “You always seem to have some new contraption or idea simmering, don’t you?” 

Jayce caught his breath and fell into step beside him. “It’s not... it’s not another prototype. It’s about Zaun.”

Heimerdinger’s brows rose. “Zaun, you say? That’s a rather sudden subject. What about it?”

Jayce hesitated for only a moment before the words tumbled out. “The ventilation system. You know—the one Lady Cassandra commissioned decades ago? It was meant to help clear out the smog, funnel clean air through the streets.” His voice dropped, urgent now. “It’s falling apart, professor. Half of it doesn’t even work anymore.”

The yordle’s ears twitched, his pace slowing as though he were weighing the claim. “Those tunnels were a marvel in their time. I remember the designs. A bold undertaking for Piltover’s resources. Lady Kiramman was nothing if not ambitious.” His tone grew measured, almost cautious. “But Jayce, you must understand—Zaun has always wrestled with its environment. That’s... the way of things, unfortunately. Piltover cannot simply solve every—”

“But we should try,” Jayce cut in, his voice urgent. “It’s not just smoke, it’s disease. Kids coughing themselves raw, families crammed into houses where they can barely breathe. They’re dying down there, professor. And Piltover looks the other way because it’s easier.”

Heimerdinger’s ears drooped slightly at the intensity in Jayce’s tone. Still, he shook his head. “A city’s problems are rarely so simple as you make them sound. And meddling, without understanding the balance, can cause greater harm than good. Do not forget, Jayce, well-intended innovations have toppled empires before.”

Jayce clenched his fists, forcing himself not to snap. He could hear Viktor’s words echoing in his head—patience, reason. “Then come see for yourself. Please.” He stepped in front of Heimerdinger, stopping him in the hall. “Walk the streets with us. Breathe the air. Look at what’s left of the system Cassandra built. If I’m wrong, if I’m exaggerating, then fine—tell me to drop it. But if I’m not...” His voice softened, pleading now. “If I’m not, then maybe you’ll see there’s something we can do. Something we have to do.”

The hallway quieted, the only sound the ticking of a distant clock and the faint squeak of Heimerdinger’s boots as he shifted. He studied Jayce for a long moment, ears twitching thoughtfully.

“Hmm,” he murmured at last. “You are earnest, as always. Very well... I will consider this... expedition of yours. But mind you, Jayce—observation is not the same as intervention.”

Jayce let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shoulders sagging in relief. “That’s all I’m asking, professor. Just... come see.”

---

The descent into Zaun was not how Heimerdinger had envisioned spending his rare free afternoon. Still, Jayce had been insistent—persistent in that way the young man often was when he believed something mattered. Perhaps, he thought, it would be... educational.

The three of them descended through one of the older access shafts, a forgotten iron stairwell that rattled with every step. The air shifted gradually with each turn down, from the fresh bite of Piltover’s winds to a thick, humid heaviness that clung to his fur. It smelled of rust, soot, and something acrid that caught in his throat. He tried not to cough, but the weight of it settled in his lungs like a stone.

“Professor,” Viktor’s voice carried behind him, careful and measured despite his obvious strain with the stairs. “This is one of the cleaner routes. Most access ways are... less stable.”

“Indeed...” Heimerdinger muttered, peering through the bars of the stairwell at the widening cityscape below. Zaun sprawled beneath Piltover’s foundation like a hidden scar—layers upon layers of metalwork and jury-rigged structures rising in impossible tangles. Bridges swayed on rotting ropes, lamps flickered on fumes, and half the streets were shrouded in permanent shadow where sunlight never reached.

Jayce gestured broadly as they stepped onto a landing that overlooked the districts below. “This is what I wanted you to see, professor. It’s not just smoke and machinery down here. It’s people—families. They’re living in this.”

Heimerdinger’s ears folded back against the din. The sounds were overwhelming: hissing pipes, shouted bargains in markets, children crying somewhere beyond the maze of steel.

Himerdinger notced the enormous shafts and fans meant to draw in clean air from above, meant to ensure Zaun’s lifeblood would not be suffocated under Piltover’s expansion. Yet as he looked closer, his stomach knotted. Filters clogged with soot. Fans barely spinning, whining against rusted gears. Whole ducts blocked entirely, their metal warped and patched with scrap. The system wheezed like a dying beast.

“It was supposed to be better than this...” Heimerdinger whispered, almost to himself.

“It was,” Viktor answered quietly. His thin hand rested on the railing, his voice steady but edged with something sharp. “At first. But time passed, and no one maintained it. The city above grew, and the city below was forgotten. Piltover takes the air, the resources, the wealth—and Zaun is left with what remains.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. He looked at Heimerdinger, then out at the haze clinging to the city. “Cassandra tried. But one person, one project—it wasn’t enough. And since then? No one else in Piltover has even looked back.”

They began to walk deeper into the city, Viktor leading them along a narrow street where buildings leaned so close together their windows nearly touched. The light was dim, filtered through layers of steel grating overhead. A woman coughed violently as they passed, clutching a cloth to her mouth. Children darted barefoot through puddles that stank of chemical runoff. Heimerdinger’s small frame stiffened as one of them ran by—thin, wide-eyed, their skin marred by burns that looked half-healed at best.

He tried to tell himself it was an isolated case. That every city had misfortune. But as they went further, the pattern became undeniable: too many gaunt faces, too many shadows under young eyes, too much illness in the air itself.

“Do you see?” Viktor’s voice cut through the professor’s growing unease. He gestured to the failing ducts above, to the grime that coated every surface. “This is not neglect from within. Zaun innovates, adapts, survives—but it cannot breathe without Piltover’s machines. And Piltover does not care.”

Heimerdinger slowed his steps, ears drooping. He wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that the council had always acted for the betterment of progress, that they had not intended harm. But the words died on his tongue when he saw a boy dragging a cart of scrap twice his weight, his small body bent under the effort, while above him a fan meant to carry clean air groaned and sputtered uselessly.

“It... it was not supposed to be this way,” Heimerdinger murmured, guilt creeping into his chest like a leaden fog. His paws trembled as he gripped the strap of his satchel. “When Cassandra proposed the system, it was to ensure Zaun would thrive. We believed—no, I believed—it would stand the test of time. That it would protect you all.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, softly but with undeniable conviction, “it failed. And so did you.”

The words cut deeper than Heimerdinger expected. He looked out over the city again, at the maze of lives struggling beneath the weight of Piltover’s brilliance. His mind reeled with every invention he had praised, every blueprint he had endorsed, every proud speech about progress—and how little of it had reached here.

He had thought himself a steward of knowledge, a guide for future generations. But in this place, in this moment, he saw the truth: he had overlooked them. Entirely.

“I...” Heimerdinger’s voice wavered as he struggled to speak. “I have failed this city.”

Neither Jayce nor Viktor answered immediately. The silence was broken only by the mechanical grind of a distant gear and the hollow cough of someone unseen. At last, Jayce rested a hand gently on the professor’s shoulder.

“That’s why we brought you here. So you’d see. So maybe... we can start fixing it.”

Heimerdinger looked up at him, then at Viktor whose eyes burned with conviction.

For the first time in a very long while, Heimerdinger felt the weight of his centuries pressing down on him—not in pride of his knowledge, but in the shame of his blindness. And in that heaviness, a quiet resolve began to form.

“This will be... exceedingly difficult,” he muttered, the words tumbling out. “The council—ah, the council is ever cautious, you see, cautious and calculating. Progress must be tempered, guided, lest it run rampant and spiral out of control. And Cassandra—she has already pushed so stridently, her efforts cannot appear fruitless, no, no, that would be disastrous for unity. And then the costs! Infrastructure, sanitation, allocation of Piltover’s resources, balancing tariffs, shipping lanes—it would be a nightmare, a fiscal quagmire! The bureaucracy alone would—”

He cut himself short when he realized he was speaking too quickly, his body trembling. Yet the thoughts refused to stop, spilling one over the other, an avalanche of worries. The politics. The risk of offending. The endless sums. Progress required restraint, always restraint.

It was then Jayce’s voice cut through him, sharp as a hammer striking steel.

“Enough.”

Heimerdinger blinked, startled. Jayce gestured around them, the sweep of his arm encompassing the sagging shanties, the thin children clustered in alleys, the workers coughing into their sleeves as they trudged past.

“Look around you,” Jayce demanded. “Really look. How long have you sat on the council, Professor? How many years? Was it not you who helped found Piltover? Was it not you who gave the council the freedom to build this city however they pleased, no matter who it hurt?” His voice rose, the words ringing against the rusted walls. “You turned a blind eye, and while Piltover thrived, Zaun was left to rot. And that’s on you.”

The words struck harder than any blow. Heimerdinger’s mouth opened and closed, no answer forming.

Jayce’s voice softened—not with pity, but conviction. “But it doesn’t have to stay this way. You can make it better. We can. Viktor and I have ideas, plans, ways to start changing things. But we can’t do it alone. Not without you. Not without your influence, your guidance. You can right this, professor. You can help bring progress to everyone. ”

Heimerdinger’s heart thudded heavily, his ears flat against his head. His mind wanted to flee into logistics, into arguments of cost and policy—but his eyes, traitorous eyes, could not look away from the truth around him. The soot-stained faces. The hopeless stares. The stench of chemicals where children played.

Was this truly the city he had helped build? The “City of Progress”?

And was Jayce right? Had he allowed himself to become so blinded by procedure and careful politics that he had failed an entire people?

Heimerdinger swallowed, his throat dry. His gaze drifted to Viktor—silent, steady, watching him with that quiet intensity. No condemnation. Just a plea. A chance.

His paws trembled against his sides. For the first time in centuries, Heimerdinger wondered if perhaps he had been wrong.

“I will... I will get you that meeting. My boys.”

---

The council chamber was cool and sterile, its polished marble floors gleaming beneath the pale light. Heimerdinger sat small but steady at one end of the table, his gaze moved from one councilor to the next. He had already voiced his support for the project, though the others remained hesitant. Cassandra’s lips were pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. The failure of the original ventilation system was not something she liked to acknowledge, but the evidence spoke for itself.

At Jayce’s side stood Silco. He had been asked here for one reason: he lived Zaun, breathed it, ruled it in his own way. His presence was sharp, unsettling, but purposeful.

Jayce clasped his hands before him. “We’re not asking for a city-wide overhaul. We start with one section—near the Last Drop. It’s central, heavily populated, and if it works, people will see the results. Then, we expand from there.”

Cassandra exhaled sharply. “You’re asking us to pour resources into replacing something barely a decade old.”

“With respect, councilor,” Viktor said evenly, “that system never worked. It was designed for Piltover’s standards, not the Undercity’s conditions. We propose something suited to Zaun.”

Silco’s voice slid in. “Your last attempt was a patch on a festering wound. Ask anyone down there—it never made a difference. The air still chokes, still kills. All you accomplished was wasting coin on a system no one trusted.”

Salo leaned forward, skeptical. “And you’re certain this new design will succeed? You’re asking for considerable resources. What guarantee do we have that it won’t fail again?”

Bolbok crossed his arms. “Piltover has already poured money into the Undercity’s infrastructure. How many times must we repeat the same mistake?”

Heimerdinger pushed his paws against the table, ears twitching as he finally spoke. “Councilors, with all due respect—you are misremembering. The original system failed because we failed to listen. We approved a plan designed without proper consultation. Without understanding. That was not Zaun’s mistake, but ours.” His voice firmed, though it trembled at the edges. “If we are to be the stewards of progress, then progress must be offered to all. Otherwise, what are we but hypocrites?”

Cassandra shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Still, to overturn the system would risk—”

Jayce cut in. “Risk offending your pride? We’re talking about lives, not egos.” He gestured broadly toward Silco. “He lives there. Ask him if Zaun can survive another decade without change.”

Silco’s single eye narrowed as he regarded the councilors. “You sit up here in your ivory halls, far removed from the air that poisons children before they’ve grown their first teeth. You talk of costs and pride while Zaun buries the ones who can’t breathe long enough to work your factories. This isn’t charity. This is survival. And if you refuse to see it, then you’ve already damned yourselves.”

A tense silence hung in the chamber.

Hoskel finally spoke, his voice stiff. “If we approve this, where does it end? Do we become responsible for every one of your problems?”

It was then that Mel finally moved. She had been silent throughout, her hands folded gracefully before her. Now she tilted her head, her gaze sliding toward Hoskel.

“Tell me,” she said smoothly, “how much do you believe Piltover’s prosperity depends on the Undercity?”

Hoskel frowned. “What does that—”

“Nearly everything we produce,” Mel continued, her voice cutting cleanly across the chamber, “is built upon their labor. Their factories. Their raw materials. Piltover profits because Zaun suffers.” Her eyes swept across the table. “But here is the truth you all seem so determined to ignore—suffering festers. It breeds resentment. And resentment, unchecked, becomes revolt.”

Her words hung in the air, silk-wrapped steel.

Mel leaned forward, her voice low but razor-sharp. “If we refuse to act, we don’t just risk another failed project. We risk Zaun itself turning against us. And when that happens?” She let the pause stretch, her eyes hardening. “Not all the wealth in Piltover will shield you from the storm you’ve sown.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

Salo shifted in his chair, unease written across his face. Bolbok exhaled slowly, rubbing his chin.

Finally, Cassandra spoke. “A trial phase. One section. If it works, then we will talk about expanding.”

One by one, the councilors gave their assent. Reluctantly, but definitively.

Jayce let out the breath he’d been holding. Viktor’s expression softened with relief.

Silco, for his part, merely smirked. “I'm glad we could come to an agreement.”

Mel leaned back in her chair, calm and poised, though her eyes glittered with something sharper. Jayce shot her a grateful look—he’d have to thank her later.

---

The heavy doors of the council chamber shut behind them with a resonant thud, muting the chatter of the councilors left inside. For a moment, there was only the echo of their footsteps in the high-ceilinged hall, the polished marble stark against the weight of what had just transpired.

Jayce exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “That could’ve gone worse,” he muttered, though there was little satisfaction in his voice.

Beside him, Viktor kept his silentt as he steadied himself on the cane. His sharp gaze drifted briefly to the third figure with them.

Silco looked utterly unbothered by the politics they had just endured—only tired. Not the fleeting kind of weariness that sleep might cure, but the deep, old kind that came from years of carrying a burden no one else wanted to bear.

Jayce turned to him, the stiffness in his shoulders softening. “Thank you. For coming up here. For speaking to them. It... meant something.”

Viktor inclined his head as well, his voice quiet but sincere. “Yes. Without your testimony, they would not have listened as long as they did. They may still resist, but... you gave the truth weight.”

For a beat, Silco said nothing. His jaw worked as he looked past them, through the tall windows where Piltover’s clean skyline stretched, gleaming and self-satisfied. Then, slowly, he drew in a breath and met their eyes.

“I am tired,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Tired of watching my home suffer. Tired of seeing children grow up choking on fumes, tired of burying men and women who never had a chance to begin with.” His gaze sharpened, a glimmer of restrained fury beneath the weariness. “I have been tired for a long time.”

The words hung there, heavy as iron. Jayce swallowed hard, unable to find an easy reply. Even Viktor, so often quick to speak of vision and possibility, only nodded, the smallest motion of solidarity.

---

The lab looked less like a workshop and more like a storm had blown through—papers scattered, blueprints half-sketched, crystal samples glowing faintly on every flat surface. The chalkboard was covered in half-finished diagrams of vents, ducts, turbines, and sigils, with Jayce’s handwriting layered over Viktor’s neat, angular script.

Jayce dragged the chalk hard against the board, sketching another airflow model. “If we reroute the pressure through here—” he jabbed at the side of a half-drawn pipe system, “—then we can create a circulation strong enough to keep toxins from settling in the low districts.” He stepped back, frowning, muttering mostly to himself. “No, no, but then we’d risk overload when the pressure spikes...”

Viktor sat at the desk behind him, several papers spread like a fan, pen moving swiftly as he noted calculations. “The crystals can handle bursts of energy,” he said, “but not if the output is constant. We need modulation. A rhythm to the release.” He turned the page, sketching something more like a diagram of lungs, air passing in and out. “A system that breathes, like people do. Intake, pause, release.”

Jayce turned, chalk still in hand, staring at the crude drawing. His brow softened, lips tugging into a smile. “Like lungs,” he echoed. “Of course. It’s not just pipes—it has to live with them.” He spun back to the board, drawing over his earlier design, changing straight lines into flowing ones, Hextech sigils embedded like valves.

For a moment, the only sounds were chalk squeaking, pages rustling, and the faint hum of crystals resonating on the workbench. 

Finally, Jayce dropped the chalk with a clatter onto the ledge of the board and stepped back, exhaling. “It’s not perfect yet, but it’s a start,” he said, looking over their sketches. His hand rested briefly on the edge of the chalkboard, knuckles dusted white. “If we can pull this off... it’ll change everything down there.”

Viktor glanced up from his papers, golden eye glinting in the lamplight. His voice was quieter, but steady. “It must.”

Jayce met his gaze, nodding firmly, almost like he was promising both Viktor and himself. “Then we don’t stop until it works.”

---

The lab looked more like a storm had blown through than a workshop. Chalk dust clouded the air, the board covered edge to edge in diagrams—flow patterns, equations, crystal matrices scrawled over half-erased mistakes. Papers littered the tables, some crumpled in frustration, others pinned beneath brass weights beside half-assembled tubing.

Jayce leaned over the board, smudging chalk across his sleeve as he drew yet another cross-section. “What if the crystals regulate pressure directly?” he suggested, circling the chamber in the sketch. “A focused charge at the intake, pulsing in intervals—it would pull air in and push it through the ducts like a heartbeat.”

Viktor tapped his cane against the floor in thought. “An elegant metaphor. But crystals destabilize when stressed rhythmically. They require constancy, not fluctuations. Unless...” His fingers flicked through scattered schematics. “Unless we stabilize the lattice with a secondary conduit. A buffer.”

That night, they soldered together their first prototype: a squat, brass-framed intake chamber lined with small shards of Hextech crystal set into sockets. When activated, the crystals pulsed erratically, coughing out bursts of air like a wheezing lung. A faint acrid smell filled the room. Jayce cursed, yanking the lever down.

“Back to the board,” Viktor murmured.

---

Weeks later, the second prototype stood taller, built like a miniature tower with spiral vanes that spun as the crystals hummed. This time, the air flow was steady—powerful—but the temperature spiked rapidly. Within minutes the metal glowed faintly, and the wooden housing blackened. Jayce yanked the power source free before the whole contraption caught flame.

“Too much energy loss,” Viktor muttered, already sketching adjustments. “The heat is wasted. We must channel it elsewhere, perhaps into—”

“Into pressure release vents,” Jayce interrupted, catching on. “We could route the excess as exhaust instead of letting it burn the chamber.”

---

Months wore on. The prototypes evolved—some whined like dying animals, others rattled until bolts snapped loose. One collapsed altogether, sending shards of crystal skittering across the stone floor. But each failure gave them insight. Viktor charted efficiency curves in his precise handwriting; Jayce redrew ducting plans in broad strokes, daring to push wider, bolder designs.

Through it all, they quarreled and compromised.
“Too ambitious, Jayce. Zaun cannot afford delicate machinery that breaks within a week.”
“And what’s the point if it only blows a breeze through one street? We need reach, scale—something that lasts.”

---

At last, they stood before the latest model. Taller than Jayce, a column of reinforced alloy ribbed with cooling fins, its core chamber lined with refined Hextech crystals mounted in suspension rings. Instead of pulsing raw force, the lattice glowed with a low, steady thrum.

Jayce flipped the switch. The machine awakened with a deep, resonant hum—steady, smooth. A current of cool, clean air spilled from the vents, strong enough to flutter every sheet of paper in the room. The temperature held stable. No rattling, no smoke.

Viktor stepped closer, palm out, feeling the air stream. His face softened with relief. “This... will work.”

Jayce grinned, leaning his chalk-dusted hands on his knees. “It only took us months.”

They exchanged a glance, wordless but certain: this was the one.

---

The work shifted into a new stage—one even more monumental than the sketches and prototypes. If their plans were to become real, Zaun would need a vast network of veins: vents that ran through the Undercity like lifelines, carrying clean, purified air. And for every few streets, a towering column—one of the Hextech constructs—would rise, drawing in the smog, breaking it down, and releasing it back as air no longer tainted by the toxins of industry.

The lab became a storm of activity. Sheets of designs covered every wall, chalkboards lined with calculations, and crude models stacked in corners. Viktor drafted the blueprint for the vent system with meticulous precision, mapping routes that would cut through Zaun’s crowded districts. He knew the alleys, the tunnels, the chokepoints where the smog thickened worst.

“These smaller conduits must connect back into the primary intake,” Viktor explained, tapping his charcoal stick against a drawing. “If we allow the air to stagnate at any point, the system fails. It must flow constantly.”

Jayce leaned against the edge of the workbench, arms folded, frowning thoughtfully. “And we’ll need reinforcement. You’ve seen the state of Zaun’s infrastructure—half those walls won’t stand if we start tunneling for vents. We’d need to line them.”

“Stone, metal, whatever is available,” Viktor said without looking up. “Zaunites will adapt what they can. The structure is less important than the flow.”

The Hextech crystal cores were the heart of it all. Jayce turned them over in his hands, each one glowing faintly, their light refracted across the mess of papers. The crystals would act as both purifier and engine—drawing in smog, breaking it down at a molecular level, and forcing it through the system with a steady, thrumming pulse of power. Months of tests had refined this to something that finally felt viable. Early models burned out too quickly, overheated, or fractured under pressure. They had spent sleepless nights hunched over shattered cores, their frustration thick as the air they were trying to cure.

The final design was sturdier, cleaner. Each column housed a stabilized crystal, its glow channeled through runic plates that filtered and dispersed the energy. At the top of the column, great vents opened like petals of a steel flower, releasing air that Viktor swore he could already imagine breathing—lighter, easier, without the acrid sting of metal and chemicals.

“I still can’t believe it’s working,” Jayce murmured one evening, standing over a working prototype. The machine thrummed steadily, pulling in the smoke from a controlled furnace on the far side of the lab, and venting it back out as clear air. He passed his hand through the stream, blinking in wonder.

Viktor’s lips curved faintly, though exhaustion shadowed his eyes. “Belief is not necessary. Only persistence.”

They tested again, and again, refining the angle of the vents, the calibration of the runic plates, the strength of the crystals. They argued over details, laughed when fatigue broke through, and sometimes fell into silence that stretched for hours as their minds worked in tandem. Months bled together until one evening, when the prototype ran without error for a full day and night, Viktor set down his tools.

“This one,” he said simply, tapping the column’s side. “This is the one.”

Jayce exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing at last. He grinned, clapping Viktor’s back. “Let’s give Zaun some air.”

And for the first time, the air around them seemed to hold a promise—something new, something clean.

---

The construction site was alive with movement, the hum of machinery blending with the voices of workers shouting instructions over the din. The old ventilation system was being dismantled, rusted pipes and worn metal pulled from the walls and floor, revealing the decay beneath. It was slow, tedious work—Zaun's infrastructure was layered like the city itself, built on top of old mistakes, patched up with temporary solutions that never truly lasted.  

Jayce stood off to the side, arms crossed as he watched the workers install the first of the new Hextech-powered ventilation units. Unlike the old system, which relied on outdated designs and weak airflow, this one was efficient. The hex-crystals embedded in the core pulsed with soft blue light, drawing in polluted air and filtering it before cycling clean air back into the Undercity.

He exhaled, glancing around. Vander had given them permission to start construction by The Last Drop—so the people could see the change happening firsthand. If this worked, the council would let him and Viktor expand it further.

“Y’know, for someone who gets fancy council approval, you really don’t have much security.” 

Jayce groaned before even turning around. “Vi.”  

She grinned up at him, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “What? You look surprised?”  

“You snuck past the guards?” Jayce asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

Vi shrugged. “Wouldn’t call it sneaking. They just weren’t paying attention.” She rocked back on her heels, eyeing the construction with interest. “So. This is the big project, huh?”  

Jayce sighed, resigning himself to her presence. “Yes. This is the big project.”  

She let out a low whistle, watching as a worker secured one of the ventilation units into place. “Not bad. Actually looks like it might work.”  

Jayce shot her a flat look. “It will work.”  

Vi smirked. “I dunno. Pilties don’t exactly have the best track record down here.”  

Jayce crossed his arms. “That’s exactly why we’re here. To fix that.”  

Vi studied him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I guess you’re actually trying.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You’re not completely useless.”  

Jayce rolled his eyes. “High praise.”  

Vi chuckled, then tilted her head toward the glowing Hextech device. “So, Viktor’s just letting you babysit all this?”  

“He’s in the lab making sure the rest of the units are ready,” Jayce said. “Unlike some people, he actually follows protocol and doesn’t sneak into restricted areas.”  

Vi grinned, unbothered. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.” She gestured toward the workers. “So, when’s the big moment? When do we find out if this thing actually makes a difference?”  

Jayce glanced toward the unit, where the last pieces were being secured. “Soon,” he said, feeling the weight of it settle in his chest. “Real soon.”

---

The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows of the lab, casting a golden glow over the worktables cluttered with blueprints, tools, and pieces of piping for the ventilation system. Jayce pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, exhaling as he wiped a bit of grease from his hands. Viktor, seated beside him, was still fine-tuning a section of the piping, his focus unwavering.  

A knock echoed through the lab, followed by the smooth slide of the door opening.  

“Good evening, gentlemen.”  

Jayce turned, his tired expression shifting into a smile when he saw her. “Mel!”  

She stepped inside with her usual elegance, her gold jewelry catching the light as she surveyed the lab with mild amusement. “Still hard at work, I see.”  

Jayce chuckled, standing to greet her properly. “You know us—always something to fix.”  

Mel smiled, but there was something calculating in her gaze as she turned to him fully. “Which is exactly why I came. I have an invitation for you.”  

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “An invitation?”  

She nodded. “There’s an associate gathering happening tomorrow night—an event for some of Piltover’s most... influential investors.” She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on the back of one of the lab chairs. “You and Viktor will need funding to expand the ventilation project. The council’s approval only goes so far—if you want this to grow, you’ll need the right people backing it.”  

Jayce glanced at Viktor, who had momentarily paused in his work to listen. “She’s right,” Viktor said simply. “Funding will be necessary if we wish to move beyond the initial test phase.”  

Jayce turned back to Mel. “You want us to come?”  

Mel’s smile widened, pleased. “Yes.” She reached into a small purse and pulled out a slip of paper, placing it on the table. “This is the address to a tailor. They’ll provide you with a suit—free of charge.”  

Jayce blinked. “Wait, you already arranged that?”  

Mel gave him a knowing look. “Jayce, I know you. If I left you to your own devices, you’d show up in something functional but hardly fitting for the occasion.”  

Jayce sighed. “Fair point.”  

Mel turned, pausing at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Don’t be late.”  

With that, she was gone, leaving Jayce staring at the slip of paper in his hands. He let out a breath before looking over at Viktor.  

“You want to come?”  

Viktor smirked, already returning to his work. “I think I will leave the socializing to you.”  

Jayce huffed. “Figures.”  

---

The tailor was nothing short of an expert. When Jayce arrived at the shop, he had immediately taken his measurements and begun work on a suit designed specifically for him.  

The fabric was deep navy, almost black in certain lighting, with a subtle sheen that caught the glow of the lanterns overhead. The jacket was tailored to fit—no excess fabric, no room for error. It hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, tapering down his torso in a way that was both flattering and unmistakably intentional. The sleeves were just the right length, the cuffs adorned with discreet gold buttons that matched the delicate embroidery along the lapels. 

The shirt beneath was silk, a shade lighter than the jacket, designed with an open-cut neckline meant to show just enough of his chest to be alluring without crossing into improper. It was elegant, daring—too daring, in Jayce’s opinion. He hesitated in front of the mirror, his fingers hovering over the buttons. He could hear Mel’s voice in his head: It’s supposed to look like that, Jayce.

Absolutely not.  

He buttoned it all the way up, securing the collar. There. Still stylish—but significantly less nerve-wracking.  

The pants, much like the jacket, were snug, fitted close but expertly cut to allow movement. The entire ensemble was undeniably high-class, meant to make an impression.  

Jayce let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he adjusted the cuffs. He looked good. He knew that. But the idea of walking into a room full of Piltover’s most powerful figures in an outfit meant to emphasize his... "assets"? That was something else entirely.  

Well. Too late to back out now. 

---

The mansion was opulent in a way that only true Piltover wealth could achieve. It loomed over the street, its grand marble steps leading up to massive, gilded doors, flanked by intricately carved columns. The entrance alone was a declaration of power—polished brass, stained glass windows depicting scenes of Piltover’s history, and golden lanterns casting a warm glow over the stone.  

Jayce adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, exhaling as he climbed the steps. Even from outside, he could hear muffled conversation, the clink of glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing somewhere within.  

The doorman, dressed in crisp navy and gold livery, gave him a polite nod before pushing the heavy doors open.  

Inside, the wealth of Piltover was on full display. The floors were polished marble, veined with gold, reflecting the warm glow of the massive crystal chandeliers overhead. The walls were adorned with towering oil paintings of long-dead industrialists, framed by intricate crown molding. Along the hallway, servers in pristine uniforms moved seamlessly through the crowd, carrying silver trays of champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres.  

Jayce walked through, catching snippets of conversation—politics, trade negotiations, discussions of art and science.

He recognized some of the guests—council members, wealthy merchants, influential patrons of Piltover’s elite circles. Many of them were dressed in the height of fashion: silk gowns embroidered with delicate gold thread, tailored coats with high collars and brass embellishments, jewelry that glittered with gemstones likely imported from across the continent.  

As he moved deeper into the mansion, he passed tall windows draped in deep blue velvet, the night sky visible beyond them, and golden sconces lining the hall, illuminating his path.  

Then, he reached the ballroom. 

The doors were wide open, revealing a grand space bathed in the warm glow of countless chandeliers. The ceiling was impossibly high, decorated with a massive fresco depicting Piltover’s greatest achievements—skilled artisans, grand airships. The floor was polished to perfection, gleaming beneath the feet of elegantly dressed guests who moved through the room in slow circles of conversation.  

At the far end of the room, musicians played from an elevated platform, their instruments filling the space with a smooth, refined melody.  

Jayce took a breath, adjusting his collar before stepping inside.  

Somewhere in this sea of wealth and power, Mel was waiting for him.

The music swelled, graceful and enchanting, a symphony that seemed to float through the air like spun gold. The chandeliers glittered above, refracting light into soft halos that danced across polished marble. Laughter and conversation ebbed and flowed like tides, a hundred voices weaving together into a tapestry of sound that filled every corner of the grand space.

For a fleeting moment, it was magical.

Jayce let himself look—at the glittering gowns that swirled across the floor, at the jewels catching the light, at the sheer grandeur of it all. Piltover at its most opulent, at its most self-assured. He should have felt proud, stepping into this place not just as another guest, but as Jayce Talis, co-creator of Hextech. Someone who had made a name for himself among these very people.

But then—

“Jayce Talis!” A merchant with a flushed face and broad smile intercepted him, clapping him on the shoulder. “You must tell me, what’s next for Hextech? We hear whispers of endless possibilities!”

Before he could even answer, a woman in a shimmering silver gown slipped to his other side, her hand brushing his arm. “You must save a dance for me tonight, Mr. Talis. Unless, of course, your crystals have stolen your attention completely.” Her voice was playful, her smile sharp.

Jayce forced a polite laugh, but already he felt the walls of sound closing in.

Another voice joined in—someone asking about exports, about patents, about his projections for the next year. Words piled on words, questions he couldn’t focus on. Every face seemed closer, every voice louder. The music that had once seemed beautiful now pressed down on him like a weight, the steady rhythm of the quartet clashing with the racing of his pulse.

He tried to smile, to answer, to deflect, but his throat felt tight. His collar strangling. He tugged at it with a hand that felt clumsy, heavy.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, not sure to whom, not waiting for a response.

He moved quickly, shouldering past clusters of people with murmured apologies, heading for the tall open doors at the far end of the hall. The air inside was too thick, the noise too loud, his vision swimming with the flicker of candlelight and gold. His breath came shallow, unsteady.

The moment he stepped onto the balcony, the night met him like a rush of salvation.

Cold air swept against his skin, sharp and clean, pulling at his hair, cooling the sweat that had gathered at his temples. He stumbled forward, gripping the ornate iron railing with both hands, his knuckles whitening with the force of it.

The city stretched below, lights glowing like scattered stars, the winding streets of Piltover bathed in moonlight. Above, the sky opened wide and endless—the stars burning bright, the moon casting a pale silver glow across the rooftops.

Jayce inhaled, deep and ragged, trying to match the rhythm of his breath to the calm vastness of the night. In, out. Again. Again. His chest still heaved, his pulse still thundered, but the suffocating weight of the ballroom was gone, replaced by the infinite quiet of the heavens above him.

Inside, the wealthy laughed and spoke over one another, each voice echoing in his ears until it was nothing but a ringing pressure. He leaned against the railing, fingers clenched so tightly on the stone they hurt, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

he heard the clink of heels behind him. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. Mel’s presence carried with it a certain steadiness—warm, composed, unhurried. The faint rustle of her gown as she crossed the balcony was quieter than the pounding in his ears.

“You slipped away,” she said gently, no judgment in her voice.

“I just—” Jayce tried, but his throat closed on the words. He exhaled hard, shaking his head. “It’s too much. I’m not like them, Mel. I can build things for them, but I can’t... be them.”

Mel didn’t answer right away. She moved to stand beside him, her hand brushing his arm before resting there. Her touch was light, as if reminding him he wasn’t alone without pressing too hard.

“I used to feel the same,” she said softly, her voice carrying the tone of confession. “My first galas when I moved here I was... terrified. Every smile I wore felt false, every word rehearsed. I thought they could all see through me.”

Jayce blinked, startled enough to turn to her. “You? Nervous?”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Of course. But then I realized most of them felt the same. Some were better at hiding it. Some weren’t. And once I understood that, I found my footing.”

The words sank in slowly. Jayce’s hand loosened on the stone, his breath not quite so shallow. Mel tilted her head slightly, watching him.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” she added after a beat. “You just have to be. The rest comes in time.”

Jayce looked down at the city lights glittering below, his thoughts quieter now, the storm of noise dulled by her presence. He drew a steadier breath and managed, almost sheepishly, “you make it sound simple.”

“It isn’t,” Mel said, her fingers giving his arm the faintest squeeze. “But you’re not alone in learning.”

Jayce let out a small laugh under his breath, the tension finally loosening from his shoulders. “Thanks, Mel.”

“of course,” she murmured.

Jayce leaned on the stone railing of the balcony, hands tight around the edge, his eyes fixed on the glittering Piltover skyline. “I don’t know how you do it,” he admitted quietly. “You walk in, and everyone’s already looking at you like you’ve won them over before you’ve even spoken. Meanwhile, I... I can barely breathe in there.”

Mel let a smile curve her lips. “The trick is simple, Jayce. People want to feel important. Make them feel seen, make them feel clever, make them believe what you want is what they want. They’ll adore you for it.”

Jayce let out a half-laugh, half-groan, shaking his head. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re... you.”

Mel tilted her head, studying him. “And you,” she said, her tone dipping into something more playful, “are a very attractive man. You underestimate how much that matters.”

That made Jayce blink, heat prickling at his ears. He turned to look at her and found her already watching him.

Slowly, her hands rose, fingertips brushing against his shirt. She began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, one by one. Her gaze never left his face, as if waiting for him to stop her.

When the fabric parted low enough to reveal the faint lines of his binder, her hands paused. She didn’t comment, only studied his expression for the briefest moment. Then, she fastened the next button back up.

Her hands lingered lightly against his chest, warmth seeping through the cloth. “You should use what you’ve been given, Jayce,” she murmured, softer now. “Not hide from it.”

Jayce let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “You make it sound so easy—just smile, flatter, and everyone bends to your will. I’m not sure I have that kind of charm.”

Mel tilted her head, eyes catching his with a sly warmth. “You underestimate yourself, Jayce. You’re tall, brilliant, and disarmingly earnest. People notice.”

That pulled another laugh from him, softer this time. “Earnest isn’t usually the word people use when they’re trying to flatter me.”

Her smile widened, almost teasing, though her voice lowered. “Would you prefer handsome? Irresistible? Maybe dangerously charming?”

Jayce shook his head, trying not to grin, though his cheeks betrayed him. “Dangerously charming might be stretching it.” He leaned in just slightly, as though the closeness might lend him some of her confidence. “But... I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

Mel chuckled, brushing a hand lightly over the front of his shirt as though testing his composure. “See? That wasn’t so hard. You can flirt when you want to.”

His heart thumped, his smile caught somewhere between shy and daring. “Only when someone makes it this easy.”

Mel's hand touched his back, and she led him back inside. 

“This way,” she murmured, glancing at him before leading him toward a small gathering near the far end of the ballroom.  

The man they approached stood with the confidence of someone who had never known discomfort. His suit was deep burgundy, embroidered with gold thread in delicate, swirling designs. He had sharp eyes, dark and keenly observant, and a smile that held just the right balance of charm.  

“Mr. Talis,” Mel said smoothly, placing a light hand on Jayce’s arm as she turned to the man, “allow me to introduce our generous host—Lord Darius Trovemont.”  

Jayce straightened slightly, extending a hand. “It’s an honor, Lord Trovemont. Your home is... incredible.”  

Darius took his hand in a firm grip, his smile widening just enough to be polite. “Please, call me Darius. And thank you. Though, I must say, your work has been far more impressive than mine.”  

Jayce raised a brow. “You know my work?”  

Darius let out a smooth chuckle, swirling the drink in his hand. “Oh, everyone in this room knows your work. Hextech is the future, after all.” He took a slow sip, then added, “B\but what interests me most... is your ventilation system in the Undercity.”  

Jayce blinked. “You’re interested in that?"  

Darius tilted his head. “Surprised?”  

Jayce hesitated before nodding. “Most people here barely acknowledge the Undercity exists unless it benefits them.”  

Darius's smile didn’t waver, but something unreadable flickered in his gaze. “That’s because most people here are shortsighted.” He gestured with his glass. “A thriving Undercity means a stronger Piltover. Your project isn’t just an act of goodwill—it’s strategy. And I can appreciate good strategy.”  

Jayce felt Mel’s gaze on him, watching the exchange. He cleared his throat. “Well... the project is still in its early stages. We’re monitoring the results before pushing for full expansion.”  

“Smart,” Darius said approvingly. He studied Jayce for a moment, then smirked. “I’d like to help fund it.”  

Jayce blinked. “You would?”  

Darius nodded. “With the right backing, you could accelerate the timeline—bring real change now, rather than waiting for Piltover’s bureaucracy to catch up.”  

Jayce glanced at Mel. She gave him the smallest nod—this was an opportunity.  

Finally, Jayce met Darius's gaze and extended his hand once more. “That would mean a lot. Thank you.”  

Darius clasped it firmly. “Then consider it done.”  

With that, the conversation shifted, but Jayce felt it—the first real step toward securing the future of the project.

---

The next day, the lab was a stark contrast to the lavish mansion Jayce had spent the night before in. No chandeliers, no polished marble floors—just the hum of machinery, the scent of oil and metal, and the familiar clutter of blueprints and half-assembled prototypes.

Jayce exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he leaned over the workbench, rubbing his tired eyes. He hadn't had nearly enough sleep, but that was nothing new. Across from him, Viktor was working, adjusting the framework for the next phase of the ventilation system.

Jayce cleared his throat. “So... last night was something.”

Viktor, without looking up, hummed. “I assume you survived.”

“Barely.” Jayce dragged a stool over and sat down, running a hand through his hair. “Mel introduced me to the owner of the mansion—Lord Darius Trovemont.”

That got Viktor’s attention. He glanced up, interest flickering in his golden eyes. “Trovemont? The shipping magnate?”

“The very same.” Jayce stretched out his arms, still shaking off the remnants of exhaustion. “Turns out, he’s interested in the ventilation system. Says he sees the strategy in it.”

Viktor’s brows lifted slightly. “Interesting.” He turned back to his work, tightening a bolt. “And? Do you trust him?”

Jayce sighed. “I don’t know yet. He seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t do anything unless it benefits him, but... if it means securing more funding, it might be worth it.”

Viktor was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Then tread carefully.” He tapped the wrench against the bench lightly. “But if he is truly willing to invest, that could accelerate our timeline significantly.”

“Exactly.” Jayce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Mel wants me to join her for dinner Friday. More people are interested in investing.”

Viktor smirked faintly. “More socializing. Your favorite.”

Jayce groaned, letting his head fall onto the table. “Kill me now.”

Viktor chuckled, returning to his work. “No, no. That would be a waste of your very expensive suit.”

Jayce muttered something unintelligible into the table.

---

It had taken months, but the first phase of the project was finally complete. The new ventilation system stood tall, its blue glow a stark contrast to the rusted, failing infrastructure surrounding it. Workers had finished the last of the installation just days ago, and already, the air around The Last Drop felt different. Cleaner. Lighter.

Jayce stood at the edge of the construction site, watching as a group of people gathered nearby. Some were skeptical, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Others were cautiously hopeful, lingering just close enough to see if the promised change was real. 

Vi leaned against the metal railing beside Jayce, arms folded as she took a deep breath. She stood beside Vander. “Huh,” she said, exhaling. “I mean... it’s better.”  

Jayce huffed. “That’s the goal.”  

Vi side-eyed him. “Yeah, but only right here. Walk twenty feet that way, and it’s back to the same shitty air we’ve always had.”  

She wasn’t wrong. The improvement was noticeable only near the new system. Beyond its reach, the old pipes still carried the same smog-choked air through the streets, making the difference feel almost frustratingly small. 

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck. “We expected this. One system isn’t enough to change the entire city overnight.”  

Jayce turned to Vander. “We’ll give it a month. Let the council see that it works. If everything holds up, we start back up again—expand further out.”  

Vander nodded, arms crossed. “That’s fair.” He glanced at the people nearby, the way they whispered to one another, the hesitant hope in their eyes. “They need to see that it works first. That this isn’t just another half-finished promise.”  

Jayce exhaled, looking back at the glowing ventilation unit. It wasn’t enough. But it was something.

---

Jayce wiped the sweat from his brow, his sleeves rolled up as he tightened a panel on one of the newly installed ventilation units. If he wanted the Undercity to trust him, he needed to be involved. So, he worked alongside the constructors, checking the structural integrity, ensuring the Hextech cores were functioning properly, making sure this wasn’t just another failed project as they started to expand further out.

The sound of hurried footsteps caught his attention.  

He turned just as a group of enforcers rushed toward him, their expressions tense, urgency in their every movement.  

“Mr. Talis!” one of them called, skidding to a stop. “There’s been an attack—explosives went off near one of the ventilation sites in the next district. Multiple injuries, some serious.”  

Jayce’s stomach dropped. 

“Take me there,” he said immediately, already unrolling his sleeves, wiping grime from his hands as he grabbed his coat.  

“Sir—” one of the enforcers hesitated. “It might not be safe.”  

Jayce shot him a sharp look. “Then we’d better move fast before it gets worse.”  

The enforcers didn’t argue further. They turned, leading him through the streets at a brisk pace, the air growing heavier as they approached the site of the attack. Jayce’s mind was racing—who would do this? Why? And how much damage had been done?

---

The scene was worse than Jayce had ever imagined. Smoke clung to the air, thick and stinging, carrying the acrid tang of burning metal and the sharp bite of blood. The remains of the ventilation unit lay in ruin, its Hextech core shattered, blue light sputtering weakly from fractured crystal. Debris was scattered across the ground, twisted steel and splintered stone mingling with broken bodies. Some lay motionless; others groaned as medics rushed to their aid.

Enforcers had already cordoned off the area, their lines holding back a restless crowd. Voices rose in anger, demanding answers, demanding justice.

At the barricade, Vander’s deep voice cut through the noise. “You need to let us through. Those are our people in there.”

Beside him, Sevika’s fists twitched, her expression one of dangerous impatience. Silco stood behind them, his eyes narrowed, watching the enforcer with cold disdain.

“Orders are orders,” the enforcer snapped, holding firm. “No unauthorized entry—”

“They’re with me,” Jayce said, walking up, his jaw tight. The enforcer faltered under his glare. Jayce gestured sharply toward the three. “Let them through.”

The line broke reluctantly, and the three slipped past, following Jayce into the wreckage.

“Hell of a mess,” Vander muttered, his voice gravelly as his gaze swept the destruction. His shoulders were rigid, anger barely restrained. “Looks deliberate.”

“Of course it’s deliberate,” Sevika snapped, glaring at the broken core. “These things don’t just blow themselves to pieces.”

Jayce’s hands curled into fists. “Then who—”

“Enough,” Silco cut in, his tone low but edged with steel. He crouched near the wreckage, his good eye scanning the shattered parts, the fractures in the crystal. For a long moment, he said nothing—then his lips pressed into a thin line. “I know who did this.”

Jayce turned sharply toward him. “Who?”

Silco stood slowly, smoothing his coat. “Someone who thought they’d profit from fear. Someone who’d rather see this city choke than see it change.” His gaze flicked to Jayce, cold and unreadable. “I’ll deal with it.”

Jayce stepped forward, frustration bleeding into his voice. “What does that mean? How—”

Silco’s expression never shifted. “Leave it, boy. Some things are handled outside the council chambers.” His tone was final, brooking no argument.

Jayce bristled, but Vander’s voice rose before the tension could snap. “Doesn’t matter how—it just matters it’s done. Right now, we’ve got people hurt, kids scared outta their minds.” He glanced at Jayce, his features hard. “You take Sevika and tell the council what happened.”

Jayce met his gaze, hesitating, then finally nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll stay here,” Vander said, scanning the crowd. “The people need someone they trust right now.”

Sevika shifted beside Jayce. “Someone’s gotta make sure these councilors don’t twist it into another excuse to do nothing.”

Silco said nothing more. He only adjusted his gloves, his eye glinting as he turned his gaze back to the wreckage.

Jayce glanced once more at the scene—the smoke, the wreckage, the grief—and then at Silco, who seemed already miles ahead, calculating. A shiver traced his spine, but he pushed it aside.

“Let’s go,” he muttered to Sevika.

And together, they left, the sound of the crowd rising behind them.

---

It was chaos.

The council chamber echoed with raised voices, overlapping arguments. They were furious. Of course they were. Piltover citizens had been caught in the blast—injured, killed. That was all they saw. The Undercity casualties? The people still bleeding and crying out for help? Barely worth mentioning.

Jayce could see it in their faces, hear it in their clipped words.
“This is exactly what we feared—”
“—We knew the project would cause instability—”
“—Security should have been tripled! Reckless!”
“Why sink resources into a war zone?”

Jayce’s fists clenched at his sides. The only reason they’d agreed to this project at all was because of Heimerdinger and Mel—not out of care for the Undercity, not because they believed in progress for all.
Profit. That was what moved them. Always.

“Mr. Talis!”

The sharp call of his name cut through the storm of accusations, dragging every eye to him. Jayce straightened, his chest tight as their voices bore down on him again.

A firm hand pressed against his shoulder. Sevika. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Her presence grounded him, kept him standing.

Jayce drew in a breath, steadying his voice. “Silco is already dealing with the ones who attacked.”

That brought the room to a sudden, uneasy stillness.

Mel’s golden eyes narrowed faintly. Cassandra leaned forward, her expression darkening. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Another councilor’s voice rang sharp. “What is he doing? Who is he speaking to?”

Jayce’s jaw worked. “No. I don’t.”

An immediate uproar followed. Councilors shouting over each other again—outrage, suspicion, warnings about leaving matters in the hands of a man from Zaun.

“Enough!” The chamber quieted, though the tension was palpable. Jayce exhaled, forcing his words to remain steady. “You don’t know Zaun. You don’t understand it. Silco does. He’s respected there. More than any of us ever will be. If anyone can stop this from escalating, it’s him.”

Murmurs broke out again—disbelief, dismissal, reluctance.

Cassandra’s lips pressed thin. “You’re placing an awful lot of faith in a man whose methods you can’t even name.”

Jayce met her gaze evenly. “Because I know results when I see them. And if we keep pushing, if we escalate, Zaun burns. And when it burns, Piltover burns with it.”

A heavy silence followed.

Some councilors shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. Others exchanged skeptical glances. But none could deny the truth in his words.

Finally, Mel leaned back in her chair, eyes never leaving Jayce. “Then let’s hope you’re right.”

Sevika’s arms folded across her chest, her voice cutting like a knife through the chamber. “He is. Whether you like Silco or not, he gets things done. More than can be said for this room.”

No one replied. The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting.

Jayce glanced at her, then back to the council.

This wasn’t victory. They would surely put more restrictions in the days to come.

 But at least they didn’t shut the whole thing down.

---

Jayce sighed as he collapsed onto the worn couch in the lab. The leather creaked beneath his weight, though it did little to ease the knot in his chest. The council meeting still echoed in his mind.

Sevika had left already, heading back down to Zaun. Jayce knew she’d report to Vander and Silco, knew she’d tell them what had been decided. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t enough. But it was something.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion pulling at him like gravity.

The steady sound of Viktor’s cane tapped against the floor, drawing closer. Jayce peeked through his fingers. Viktor’s steps were slower today, the limp heavier. He didn’t comment—he knew Viktor hated when he worried too much—but his chest tightened all the same.

Viktor didn’t say anything at first. He simply set the cane aside and lowered himself onto the couch, slipping in beside Jayce with an awkward sort of grace until their shoulders brushed. Then, after a brief pause, he leaned more fully into him, resting his weight against Jayce’s side.

Jayce exhaled and let his arm shift, curling instinctively around Viktor’s shoulders. Warmth spread between them, steady and reassuring.

For a moment, silence. Then Viktor spoke, voice quiet, thoughtful.  “The explosion... it was no accident.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened. “I know. Silco said he’d handle it.”

Viktor snorts. “Let’s hope that goes well.” 

Jayce hesitated, staring at the cracks in the ceiling above. “He doesn’t want his people suffering any more than they already are. And the council... they’ll never understand what Zaun needs. But maybe he can keep it from happening again.”

Viktor hummed, low in his throat, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He shifted slightly, his hand lifting almost absentmindedly. Long fingers brushed against Jayce’s hair, combing gently through the strands before drifting lower, trailing along his temple, then down to the line of his jaw.

Jayce froze. The touch was feather-light, intimate in a way that caught him off guard. Slowly, though, he felt his body relax into it, tension bleeding from his shoulders as Viktor’s fingertips traced idle patterns against his skin.

It was... soothing.

His thoughts began to wander—to Viktor’s hands. How long his fingers were, always careful, so soft, far softer than Jayce had ever expected of someone who worked with metal and gears every day.

What would those hands feel like inside—

Jayce’s face went crimson, heat flooding his cheeks before he even realized where his mind had gone. He jerked slightly, panic prickling under his skin. Gods, what the hell was he thinking?

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice cut through the haze, quiet but concerned. His hand paused against Jayce’s jaw. “What is wrong?”

Jayce swallowed hard, looking away quickly. “N–nothing. It’s nothing, really.”

There was a beat of silence. Viktor studied him, but—mercifully—didn’t press. His hand lowered, settling against Jayce’s chest as though nothing had happened.

Jayce tried to steady his breathing, but his mind wouldn’t quiet. His skin still burned where Viktor had touched him.

And worse—he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

---

Finding Smeech was no challenge. The yordle’s crew always left a trail of noise, oil, and trouble wherever they went. Scrap Hackers prided themselves on being Zaun’s “innovation,” but what Silco saw was little more than butchery—sloppy cybernetic grafts, patchwork limbs, and desperate people thrown back onto the streets half-ruined. He tracked them to one of their usual haunts, an abandoned workshop choked with the stink of rust and solder.

Smeech was there, as expected, lounging on a stack of twisted metal, flanked by his goons. They all bristled when Silco stepped inside, the dim light cutting across his scarred face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t slow his stride—he simply entered and the room felt smaller.

“Smeech.” His voice was steady, carrying just enough weight to silence the snickering of the lackeys. “You’ve been busy.”

The yordle hopped down from his perch, goggles flashing in the low light. “Can’t fault a man for making a living.”

Silco’s eyes narrowed, his hands folded neatly behind his back as though he were strolling through a garden rather than a den of butchers. “Attacking the new venaliation system. Attacking me.” He let the words hang. “Why?”

Smeech puffed out his chest, but the gesture looked comical against Silco’s unwavering calm. “Why? Because you’re sellin’ us out! Cozying up to those Piltie dogs, breathing their air, drinkin’ their wine while the rest of us choke on fumes and scrap. You think you’re better than us now?”

A flicker of amusement touched Silco’s lips, gone as quickly as it came. He stepped closer, his shadow spilling across the floor. One of the goons instinctively shifted back. “I think,” Silco said softly, “that Zaun deserves clean air. That our people deserve not to rot from the inside out. That with fewer sick and fewer broken bodies, Zaun can build more—fight harder—rise higher. That is money in all our pockets, Smeech. Including yours.”

But the yordle barked a laugh, his nerves betraying him. “You’re feeding yourself into their machine, Silco. Givin’ them the keys while you pretend it’s for us. I see it. We all see it. You’ll drown in Piltover’s lies before they let you breathe their air.”

Silco stilled. The air shifted. His calm expression didn’t change, but the silence grew sharp, oppressive, like a blade against skin. He leaned down until his good eye locked with Smeech’s, voice so quiet the others had to strain to hear it.

“Do you know what happens to those who mistake me for weak, Smeech? They vanish. Quietly. Without fanfare. Their names dissolve, their work forgotten, their legacy...” he let the pause stretch, “...ashes in the sump.”

The yordle’s bravado cracked. He licked his lips, glancing at his goons for support, but none dared meet his eye.

Silco straightened. “You will never attack me again. Nor the work I do. Because if you do, I will not come for you with words.” His voice dropped, iron behind silk. 

Smeech swallowed hard, muttering something that might have been assent. But then, desperate to salvage pride, he spat, “you’ve already thrown yourself to Piltover. One day they’ll gut you, and when they do, don’t expect Zaun to weep.”

For the first time, Silco’s composure faltered. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing to a slit. A dangerous quiet followed, and though he did not lash out, the tension in the room grew suffocating.

When he finally spoke, it was low, venom threaded through every word. “Careful, Smeech. You tread on words that might end your life.”

With that, Silco turned, the scrape of his boots on the floor the only sound as he left the workshop. The Scrap Hackers didn’t breathe until he was gone.

Notes:

The only reason I managed to get this beast of a chapter out is because I’d already written most of it beforehand. Realistically, this would’ve taken me at least half a week—probably a full one. I don’t do much, so most of my free time ends up going here.

This will probably be the longest chapter in the fic. Honestly, I should have split it into two parts (I know long chapters aren’t everyone’s favorite), and I easily could have since there was a natural stopping point about halfway through. But I want to keep the seven-year timeskip structured so that one chapter = one year. The next six years will definitely be shorter than this one, I promise.

For clarity’s sake, here’s how the timeline works:

The first ten chapters (before the timeskip) end in May.

After the seven-year timeskip, the events of seasons one and two will take place just a few months after year seven.

Oh, and about the chapter title—yes, it’s from Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call. I chose it because this chapter starts during the holidays, and I liked how the lyrics echo the relationship between Piltover and Zaun.

I’ve decided to include MelJay. Like in canon, they’ll be sleeping together. And throughout the timeskip flirting. I know not everyone likes MelJay, and that’s okay, but I do want to write them scissoring. However, JayVik will still be endgame. I also want to make something very clear: I will not be using Mel as the “disposable Black girlfriend” trope. She is much more than just another love interest for Jayce. Her relationship with Jayce will matter, and so will JayVik’s. Both will be handled with care.

As for the focus of the fic—JayVik will be at the center, but other characters (Cait, Vi, Ekko, Powder, etc.) will have side plots as well. They won’t be the main focus, but occasionally, I’ll include their POVs—like I did with Silco at the end of this chapter. These side plots won’t really kick off until they’re older, though.

I’m also toying with the idea of switching POVs each year. Since year one was Jayce’s, year two would be Viktor’s, and so on.

Timeline-wise, the ventilation system alone took months to design, so even after year one, it won’t be finished. And that’s just the start—there’s still a sewer system to rebuild, new buildings to design, and countless other projects. It’s a lot. Writing all of it will be a challenge, so I’ll probably keep the details vague unless I really feel like diving into them.

There weren’t even that many Jayce/Viktor moments this chapter, but I promise the next one will have more of them together.

Final note—I’m still figuring out how I want to build the Hexgates. That’s going to be way easier than tackling the Hexcore, though. I’m rewatching Arcane and piecing things together, but I’m assuming Viktor began working on it during the timeskip? Either way, I don’t want to think about it yet.

See you in the next chapter!

Chapter 12: Caged In

Summary:

The ventilation system is almost done.

Viktor had been born with femoral anteversion—a rotation of the femur that twisted his right leg inward. His knee and foot always pointed slightly askew, a crookedness that made his gait uneven and left him with a pigeon-toed look. As a child, it had meant scraped knees and awkward stares; as a man, it meant constant strain, pain that never quite left him, and the quiet humiliation of watching others move with ease while his body betrayed him with every step.

For years, his doctor had urged him to use a corrective brace. Not a cure—it would never undo the twist carved into his bone—but at least a measure to keep things from worsening. A way to slow the decline. He had resisted for as long as he could. The idea of strapping himself into metal each day felt like surrender. But the pain had grown sharper these last months, and even Viktor knew when to yield.

The brace had only arrived a few days ago. A heavy, awkward thing that locked from thigh to ankle, encasing his foot and wrapping around his shoe to force it straight. It made him walk stiff, mechanical. By the end of each day, the muscles around it felt like fire.

Now, in the quiet of the lab, Viktor finally let himself breathe without it.

The brace sat discarded beside the couch, straps coiled in a tangled heap, the steel frame catching the faint lamplight. Viktor himself had sunk deep into the cushions, head tipped back, one hand draped loosely over his stomach. His right leg—freed at last—stretched across Jayce’s lap, pale skin marked faintly red where the brace had pressed too tightly.

Jayce’s large hands rested there, careful at first, thumbs pressing lightly into the tense muscle. “You sure you don’t want it back on?” he teased. “It was such a pain to take off, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

Viktor’s mouth tugged faintly at the corner, the ghost of a smile. His eyes half-opened, yellow glinting in the dim light. “I think I will survive.”

Jayce chuckled, but his hands stayed steady, kneading deeper into the stiff calf. He could feel how tight it was, how much resistance Viktor carried in his body after hours of being forced straight. Slowly, carefully, he coaxed the muscle to soften under his touch.

“Does this feel okay?” he asked, quieter now.

A soft hum slipped from Viktor, his lashes lowering again. “Mm. Better than okay.” His accent thickened, the words heavier with exhaustion, softer at the edges.

Something in Jayce’s chest ached at the sound. He shifted closer, working his thumbs up toward the tendon behind Viktor’s knee, then down again, dragging heat into tired flesh. Each time Viktor exhaled—slow, shaky, relaxing—Jayce felt the tension bleed out of him, and it felt like a victory.

“You should let me do this more often,” Jayce murmured after a long silence. “I think I’ve got a talent for it.”

That earned him a faint smile. Viktor cracked an eye open. “Oh? And this is what you want to be known for? Jayce Talis, amateur masseuse?”

Jayce grinned, but the sound that slipped out of Viktor when he pressed his thumbs deeper—halfway between a sigh and a groan—made his grin falter, heat crawling up his neck. “If it gets you to relax, then yeah. Could be my side gig.”

Viktor let his eyes fall closed again, his breath slowing, his long fingers twitching slightly where they rested against his stomach. For a while, Jayce thought he might have drifted to sleep. The lab was so quiet.

Then Viktor’s voice broke it, low and uncertain. “The doctor says the brace will keep things from getting worse,” he murmured, not looking at him. “But it will not fix what is already there.”

Jayce’s hands slowed but did not stop as he listened.

“I have lived with it this long,” Viktor continued, voice quieter now. “But sometimes, I wonder... if it will only grow harder. If I will always have to fight my own body just to keep walking.” He breathed out sharply, shaking his head against the cushion. “Ah. Never mind. It is foolish.”

Jayce stilled for only a heartbeat before resuming, softer now, tracing careful circles into Viktor’s skin with his fingertips. “It’s not foolish,” he said, his voice gentler than before. “If it matters to you, then it matters. And if you ever wanted the surgery—”

Viktor scoffed, eyes flicking open, lips curving wryly. “Jayce. I hate surgery.”

Jayce met his gaze steadily. “I know. But if you ever change your mind... I’d be there to help you.”

Viktor studied him, unreadable for a long moment. Then he exhaled, a small sound too soft for Jayce to catch, and tipped his head back again. His hair was mussed against the couch cushion, a few strands curling against his temple.

“Just... keep doing this,” Viktor muttered, and his voice was lower now, pulled down by sleep, heavier with every word.

Jayce’s lips curved, warmth blooming in his chest. His hands softened, fingers dragging one last slow line down Viktor’s calf before kneading gently again. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

---

As Jayce began dedicating more and more of his time to Zaun and the ventilation system, Viktor found himself increasingly alone in the lab. The once-lively space, always filled with the sound of debate and the spark of collaboration, had grown quieter—emptier.

But Viktor did not stop. If anything, he buried himself deeper into the work. Hextech had too much potential, too many applications left unexplored. And though Jayce’s absence left a certain stillness in the lab, Viktor filled it with focus, refinement, and long hours that blurred into each other.

The Academy had noticed the workload piling on his shoulders and assigned him an assistant. Someone he could trust. Someone who already knew him better than most.

Sky Young shifted her grip on the last of her boxes as she stepped into the lab. The air smelled of hot metal, ozone, and the faint tang of oil from Viktor’s latest experiment. Behind her, the enforcer Steb followed in with a crate balanced against his chest, grunting as he set it down.

“That the last of it?” Steb asked, stretching his shoulders.

Sky glanced around. The lab was messier than she’d expected—blueprints spilling off tables, loose gears scattered across benches, a trail of hex-crystals glinting faintly under the lamplight. And, of course, Viktor, hunched over his desk, his hand moving with meticulous precision across a schematic. He hadn’t even looked up when they came in.

“Looks like it,” Sky said, brushing dust off her hands. “Thanks, Steb.”

He gave her a nod before heading out, the door hissing shut behind him and leaving Sky in the soft, buzzing quiet of the lab.

Her eyes lingered on Viktor. Older now, sharper in posture and expression, but she could still see the boy she’d met so many years ago.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” Sky said after a moment, setting her box down gently. “You were at the river, with that little boat of yours.”

Viktor finally looked up, blinking at her over the rim of his glasses. For a fraction of a second, there was surprise in his gaze, then something softer. A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “It was not a toy. It was a model.”

Sky smirked faintly. “Right. A model.”

He made a quiet noise, caught between exasperation and amusement, before returning his attention briefly to the gears in his hand. “That was... a long time ago.”

Her voice gentled, more tentative. “A few months later, I found you again. Crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that stubborn when you wanted to save Rio. And that’s saying something.”

Viktor’s lips twitched upward again, but there was melancholy in it. “I had no choice. She deserved more than what he planned for her.”

Sky studied him for a moment, then shook her head with a small laugh. “We never left each other's side after that. Even when we tried being... more.”

Viktor finally looked at her again, eyes narrowing just slightly, though his expression stayed composed. “We were sixteen,” he said flatly. “We dated for—”

“A week,” Sky finished with a grin. “And it was terrible.”

That actually earned her a quiet huff of laughter. “Terrible,” Viktor agreed, though his tone was warmer now. “We were better as friends.”

“And here we are,” Sky said, gesturing lightly at the lab around them. 

Viktor inclined his head. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but when the Academy had agreed to give him an assistant, she was the only name he had spoken. The only one he trusted. Pulling strings to get her here had been far easier than he expected.

“I appreciate you letting me help,” Sky continued, her voice sincere now. “What you and Jayce are building—Hextech, the ventilation system—it’s more than just machines. It’s hope. And the fact that you’re using it to help the Undercity...” She trailed off, shaking her head with a faint smile. “It means more than you know.”

Viktor tapped his fingers against the table, considering her words. His eyes softened slightly. “It is... a work in progress,” he said at last. “But progress, nonetheless.”

Sky nodded. “Still hard to believe we ended up here. Two kids from the Lanes. People like us don’t usually get this kind of chance.”

“No,” Viktor agreed quietly. “We do not.”

---

Over the next few weeks, Sky and Viktor fell into an easy rhythm.
She proved quick and capable—her hands deft as she assembled devices, her notes meticulous as she tracked Viktor’s latest calculations. She wasn't afraid to ask questions: about energy output, about stability matrices, about the intricacies of refining hex-gems without fracturing them.

Viktor wouldn't praise her outright, but his approval showed in smaller gestures. Adjusting the workbench so she didn’t have to strain. Wordlessly passing her the right tool before she even asked. Pausing his own work to glance over her notes and, with the faintest nod, return them without correction.

Steb, much to Viktor’s amusement, became a frequent fixture in the lab as well. The enforcer always seemed to have a reason to stop by—sometimes under the excuse of a “security check,” other times with an extra sandwich he just “happened” to bring. Sky would roll her eyes, but she never turned him away. Viktor, on the other hand, observed it all with the faintest twitch of a smile, storing it away for later.

One afternoon, as Sky hunched over a wiring array, Viktor leaned against the workbench beside her, his cane resting loosely against his leg. He watched her work, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“So,” he said, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, “how long have you and Steb been courting?”

Sky froze mid-turn of her screwdriver, nearly dropping it. “I—what?”

Viktor gestured vaguely toward the door. “He is here often. Brings you food. Carries your crates. Very... attentive.” His brow arched ever so slightly. “Either it is romance, or he is hoping you will hire him as your personal assistant.”

Sky groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “He’s just being nice.”

“Ah.” Viktor nodded solemnly. “So, you are not his type.”

Her head whipped toward him. “I didn’t say that!”

Viktor hummed, clearly entertained. “Mm. Interesting.”

Sky turned back to her work, her ears still flushed red, muttering under her breath. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Viktor smirked faintly as he unrolled a blueprint beside her. “Yes,” he said simply. “I do.”

Later that week, when Steb appeared again at lunchtime with two sandwiches in hand, Viktor didn’t say a word. He merely glanced at Sky, raised a single brow, and returned to his work—while the smirk tugging at his lips said everything.

---

In the months that followed, Viktor had only seen Jayce a handful of times. Sky and even Steb had kept him company in the lab. But they weren’t Jayce.

Jayce had been his other half in the lab—the one who could read him without words, who always seemed to know what he needed before he even asked. With him, the work had felt effortless. Some days, a selfish part of Viktor had wished for the ventilation project to end, just so he could have that time back. But he knew better. Zaun needed this—cleaner air, a chance at a healthier life. The pollution had already taken too much: from him, from thousands. No one deserved to carry live like this.

Now, the system was complete. And Sky and Viktor were descending into Zaun to see it for themselves—and, though he would not admit it aloud, also to see Jayce.

The elevator rattled on its way down, metal shuddering under their weight. Sky adjusted the strap of her satchel, sneaking a look at Viktor. His gaze was fixed ahead, but there was a flicker in his eyes—anticipation, perhaps. Or pride.

“You excited?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Viktor tapped his fingers against his cane, thoughtful. “Excitement is not the word I would use,” he murmured. “Curious, perhaps. I need to see if the system is functioning as intended. If there are… complications, adjustments must be made.”

Sky smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The doors opened with a groan, and for once the air that greeted them wasn’t choked with acrid smog. It was fresher, clearer. Not perfect, not pure, but a vast improvement. Already, people had noticed. Children darted through the streets, laughing. Shopkeepers leaned in their doorframes, their faces lighter than usual, the tiredness replaced with something closer to relief.

Waiting near the main support pillar stood Jayce, arms folded across his broad chest. He looked out of place in the Undercity, but his smile was bright, familiar.

“Took you long enough,” Jayce called, striding forward. “You should’ve seen it yesterday. People are breathing easier down here.”

Viktor’s eyes swept the rows of vents and pipes, the steady hiss of machinery releasing purified air. His lips pressed into a thin line. “We will see how long it lasts.”

Jayce’s grin didn’t falter. He bumped Viktor’s shoulder lightly with his own. “Come on. For once in your life, enjoy the moment, Vik.”

Sky elbowed him too, grinning. “He’s right. You did something good here. You both did.”

For a beat, Viktor said nothing—just stared at the gleaming lines of metal and steam overhead. But then, a small smile tugged at his lips. Subtle, almost hidden. Satisfaction. Pride.

Jayce caught it, his grin widening. “That’s the closest thing to a celebration face I’ve ever seen on you. Speaking of which—what do you say we head to The Last Drop?”

Sky’s eyes lit up. “I’m in.”

Viktor gave a quiet huff, somewhere between a laugh and exasperation. But when Jayce looked at him expectantly, he nodded once. “Very well. One drink.”

“One drink,” Jayce repeated with a smirk. “We’ll see.”

And together, the three of them set off down the cleaner streets of Zaun. For the first time in months, Viktor felt something loosen in his chest—something that felt dangerously close to joy.

---

The Last Drop was rowdier than usual tonight. The air hummed with voices, laughter, and the occasional clatter of bottles against wood. Vander barely looked up from the counter, hands moving quick and sure as he poured another round of drinks. Claggor, who clearly had not signed up for bar duty, shuffled unsteadily between tables, balancing mugs against his wide chest and nearly tripping over his own feet every other step.

In the middle of it all, kids darted between legs and chairs. Powder shrieked with laughter as Ekko gave chase, the smaller children trailing behind in a chaotic game of tag that wove dangerously close to Vander’s bar. Patrons grumbled but no one really minded.

Jayce sat off to the side with a drink in his hand, the taste of the liquor was sharper than he expected, burning down his throat, but he welcomed the burn—it helped him think less.

“Uh—hey.”

Jayce glanced up. Mylo stood there, trying to look casual and failing spectacularly. His hand lingered at the back of his neck, rubbing nervously, and his grin was too wide, too forced.

“Hey,” Jayce said, offering him the barest of smiles.

“You, uh...” Mylo’s eyes flicked toward the drink in Jayce’s hand. “Guess you don’t mind the taste of gutter swill, huh? ’Cause that’s what Vander serves. Totally trash. I mean—not that you’d know! Not that you’re trash, or whatever. Just. Uh.” He coughed, cheeks turning bright red. “Forget it.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, amused. “It’s fine,” he said evenly. “It’s... different from what I’m used to, but I don’t mind it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t. ’Cause you’re... y’know.” Mylo faltered again, fumbling for words. His foot scuffed at the floorboards. “Tall. Smart. Uh... good with, like, vents and stuff.”

Jayce blinked at him, unsure how to respond to that. “Right. Vents.”

Mylo groaned under his breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. Before he could make things worse, a familiar voice cut in.

“What's goin' on here?” Vi leaned one elbow on the table, smirk sharp and knowing. “Mylo, you practicing your pick-up lines again?”

Mylo’s eyes went wide. “Shut up, Vi!” His voice cracked embarrassingly, and he went scarlet from ears to chin. Without waiting for her response, he spun on his heel and bolted across the room, nearly colliding with Ekko as the boy darted past.

Vi chuckled, sliding into the empty seat Mylo had left behind. “He's hopeless. Not that you noticed,” she added, giving Jayce a sidelong look.

Jayce frowned slightly, still baffled. “Noticed what?”

Vi snorted and waved it off. “Doesn’t matter.” She leaned back, stretching her legs out under the table. For a moment, she let herself relax, watching Powder duck behind a chair and squeal as Ekko shouted after her. Then her eyes turned back to Jayce. “I wanted to say thanks. For the vents. it's easier to breathe now, y’know?”

Jayce’s expression softened at that. He nodded. “I’m glad they’re helping. Though, they’re not done yet. A few sections still need sealing; a couple filters aren’t holding properly. It’ll take more work.”

“Work I didn’t think anyone’d bother with,” Vi admitted. Her voice dropped low, sincerity breaking through her usual iron tone. “Whole damn city’s been choking for years. Figured that was just how it was always gonna be.”

Jayce stared down into his drink for a moment before answering. “I don’t know what comes next. But if I can finish what I started, maybe it’ll buy people some time. A chance.”

Vi studied him, thoughtful. “You talk like Vander sometimes. Big ideas. Wanting to fix what’s broken, even if you gotta bleed for it.”

Jayce shook his head. “I don’t think it’s the same. I’m not—” he searched for the word, “—a leader. I just... couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

“That’s how it starts,” Vi said simply. Her gaze flicked back to her siblings across the room, and the corner of her mouth tugged upward in a small, weary smile. “You do one thing to make it better. Then another. Next thing you know, people are lookin’ to you without even realizing it.”

Jayce glanced at her, caught by the quiet conviction in her voice. “Is that what happened to you?”

Vi laughed softly, shaking her head. “Nah. I just hit things when they need hitting. Makes me useful.” But she sobered quickly. “Still. Don’t sell yourself short. Zaun doesn’t get a lot of people who give a damn, Jayce. Not like you do.”

Not too far from Jayce and Vi, Silco and Viktor sat shoulder to shoulder. 

On the floor near them, Sky knelt with her sleeves rolled up, utterly enthralled with Rio. The sleek, scaled creature was sprawled lazily across the wood planks, her fins fluttering every so often as Sky coaxed her with a bit of string. She looked far too large to be at home here, a river-born beast nestled into a crowded tavern, yet somehow, she made it work. 

Viktor’s eyes kept flicking downward, his gaze softening whenever Rio made a trilling sound that earned giggles from Sky. He felt an ache at the thought—he wanted to keep her with him, truly. He imagined long nights with her close by, the comfort of her presence a constant reminder he wasn’t alone. But the vision faltered as quickly as it bloomed. His cramped dormitory, already too tight for him, was no place for a creature her size. He couldn’t ask her to live like that. Not when she deserved open water, freedom. The longing sat heavy in his chest, but he kept it to himself.

Silco broke his reverie, voice low. “The vents will help. More than I imagined.” He swirled his untouched drink, sharp eyes never straying far from the crowd. “But it’s not enough. These people... they’re restless. Grateful, yes, but restless. Someone has to keep them from tearing themselves apart.”

Viktor turned his glass absently between his hands. “You cannot expect progress to erase discontent overnight. Zaun has been neglected too long.”

“That neglect is precisely the issue,” Silco replied, his tone edged. “The council thinks patchwork and half-measures will buy them peace. They come crawling to me, of all people, as a middle-man to speak for the Undercity. They want me to keep Zaun quiet, to keep her from screaming loud enough to rattle their precious topside.”

His jaw flexed, the frustration plain. “They’re cowards, Viktor. And they want to use me to keep their hands clean.”

He leaned forward, resting his cane against the bar. His voice was steady, though softer than Silco’s, measured where the other’s carried heat. “Then perhaps you must decide if you play their game or change the rules entirely.”

Silco glanced at him, a faint smile tugging his scarred face. “Spoken like someone who knows the council too well already.”

Viktor said nothing in reply. His thoughts lingered back on Sky and Rio, laughter and trills blending in the tavern’s cacophony. For a fleeting moment, he let himself picture a world where the vents were just the beginning—where Zaun could breathe easy, where there was space enough for all of them to live.

---

The lab was unusually quiet when they returned later that night, its hum of machinery softened to a steady background rhythm. Sky had gone home hours ago, Steb escorting her through the dim streets, and for the first time in what felt like months, Viktor and Jayce were alone.

Lately, their lives had been pulled in opposite directions—Jayce spending long stretches in Zaun overseeing ventilation work or caught up in endless funding negotiations with Mel when he was topside. Viktor, meanwhile, had buried himself in calculations, drafts, and experiments that blurred into one another. Their paths crossed often enough, but never like this—never without work pressing between them.

Tonight, there were no meetings waiting, no officials to impress, no blueprints demanding revisions. Just the two of them.

Jayce had claimed the battered couch tucked into the corner of the lab, a half-empty glass of wine balanced lazily in his hand. Viktor was stretched out beside him, long legs draped comfortably across Jayce’s lap, turning his own glass slowly, watching the deep red liquid catch the lamplight.

“We should do this more often,” Jayce said, a half-smile curling his lips as he took a drink.

Viktor’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Yes, because we achieve history-altering engineering breakthroughs every other week.”

Jayce chuckled, tilting his head toward him. “You’re not wrong. But still—this one’s different. Feels like the whole of Zaun can finally breathe.”

Viktor hummed low in his throat, eyes drifting to the ceiling as though the thought carried more weight than he wanted to admit. The wine warmed him, softening the ever-present ache in his body. “It is... gratifying,” he said at last. “To see our work reach beyond blueprints. To know people are safer.”

Jayce nudged Viktor’s knee with his free hand, playful. “And to see me more often, right?”

Viktor shot him a sideways glance, unimpressed but unwilling to move away. “Perhaps.”

Jayce laughed under his breath, rolling his glass between his fingers. The quiet stretched comfortably for a moment, broken only by the soft hiss of steam valves. Finally, his voice dropped, gentler than before. “I’ve missed this.”

That drew Viktor’s gaze. His sharp expression softened, eyes catching Jayce’s in the low light. “So have I,” he murmured.

Notes:

I definitely plan on going deeper into Sky and Viktor’s relationship. Just like in the show, I’ll be writing flashbacks to flesh it all out—they just won’t be showing up until later in the fic. I know right now it leans a bit toward “tell, don’t show,” but that’s only temporary.

This chapter turned out on the shorter side, but the next one definitely won’t be. It won’t quite reach Year 1 length, but it’ll be close. Wish me luck, everyone.

Chapter 13: Misfit Toys

Summary:

Jayce and Viktor have been tasked with giving Piltover a gift.

The Last Drop was louder than usual tonight, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Tables sagged under half-finished drinks, scraps of food, and scattered tools. Music thundered from a back corner, and people pressed into each other on the dance floor, moving like a single tide of neon-lit shadows.

At one corner table, Powder had claimed her seat across from Jayce, chin propped in her hands, eyes glittering as she peppered him with endless questions. A loose screw spun effortlessly across her knuckles.

“But what if you combined two crystals—just mashed ’em together with a compression coil and—boom!” she grinned. “Would it double the output? Or just, y’know, explode?”

Jayce chuckled. “You’re asking if it’s stable. Theoretically, yes. Realistically, probably not. That much raw energy without containment—”

“Explosion,” Powder finished.

“Big one,” he confirmed, leaning in. “But maybe not if we figured out how to regulate the surge—”

Across the room, Caitlyn had settled into the seat beside Vi, who was nursing both a bruised knuckle and a drink. Caitlyn sat closer than necessary, their legs brushing under the table—though neither mentioned it.

“So let me get this straight,” Caitlyn teased, swirling her drink. “You punched three of them, then ran.”

“Didn’t run,” Vi said with mock offense. “Strategic retreat.”

“Into a sewer pipe.”

“Tactical positioning.”

Caitlyn’s laugh burst clear above the music. Vi caught herself staring too long, ears pink, before taking another swig to cover it.

At the bar, Viktor perched stiffly on a stool, cradling a glass of sweet milk like it was fine wine. Vander leaned his weight against the counter beside him, watchful, eyes flicking often toward his kids.

“I’d offer you something stronger,” Vander said, eyeing Viktor’s drink.

“I’ve had enough combustibles in my life,” Viktor murmured with a faint smile.

“That’s fair.”

Benzo stood nearby, elbow braced against the counter, grinning at something Silco said. He rarely had free time from the shop.

In the far back booth, Claggor, Gert, and Mylo were tangled in wires, tubes, and something that sparked ominously every thirty seconds. Mylo jabbed a component with his screwdriver, only to jerk back when it smoked.

“It’s supposed to hover!”

“You didn’t calibrate the stabilizer, genius,” Claggor muttered, leaning over.

“Why don’t you calibrate it then?”

“Because last time I did, you said I was babying you.”

“I said that once!”

“And then it caught fire.”

Before Mylo could bite back, Gert leaned against his shoulder, smirking as she plucked the sparking component from his hands. “And yet, you two keep doing this without me. No wonder it’s half-broken.”

Claggor groaned. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“Encourage? I’ve been keeping him out of trouble for weeks,” Gert shot back, bumping Mylo with her shoulder. “Besides, he’d be lost without me.”

“I would not,” Mylo said, but he was grinning like he absolutely would.

The door slammed open, cutting through the chatter.

Sevika stormed in first, her coat torn at the sleeve. She looked like hell. Behind her came Ekko, wild-haired and soot-stained, cloak flapping as he stumbled in.

The room turned to look. Vander frowned. “What the hell happened to you two?”

“The poorest side,” Sevika grunted, brushing filth from her coat. “Don’t ask.”

“Ask,” Ekko said immediately, voice loud with indignation. “Ask, because it was awful. Streets full of smoke, floor sticky as tar. Some guy tried to stab Sevika with a fork! I had to clock him with a pipe! And then—then Sevika—”

“I had it handled,” Sevika cut in, jaw tight, lowering herself onto the bench beside Jayce.

“Three guys came after us!” Ekko shouted.

Sevika shot a glare toward the bar. “And why the hell was I stuck watching him in the first place?”

Benzo chuckled into his glass. “Because you love it.”

Sevika let out a humorless laugh. “I love your money.”

Ekko made a face but didn’t argue, slumping into the seat beside Powder. He drummed his fingers on his knee, restless, lip caught between his teeth.

“You good?” Powder asked, eyeing him sidelong.

“I want to help them,” he muttered. “All those people. We can’t just leave them. They need something—someone. Hope, maybe.”

Powder went quiet for a long moment, then nudged his knee with her own. “Then let’s give it to them. You and me.”

Ekko looked up, startled, then softened into a smile. He knew Vander would never allow it—not if it meant dragging Powder into that side of Zaun. But the thought sparked something fierce in his chest.

---

The lab was unusually quiet. Papers lay scattered across the tables—half-finished equations, sketches of designs that refused to come together. Viktor sat hunched at a console, steady hands adjusting a coil on one of their older prototypes. Across from him, Jayce leaned against a desk, arms folded, staring at a blueprint he’d already redrawn twice today.

“She’s out with him again,” Jayce muttered, not lifting his eyes.

Viktor didn’t look up. “Sky?”

“Yeah. With Steb. Says it’s not a date.”

A faint smile touched Viktor’s mouth as the prototype gave a weak hum, then sputtered out. “She insists that every time.”

Jayce let out a dry chuckle. “You think they’ll ever realize?”

Viktor offered no answer, lost in his work. Jayce pushed off the desk and wandered toward the window, where Piltover gleamed in the late afternoon haze.

The lab doors swung open.

“Still nothing new?” Mel’s voice carried like velvet, her heels clicking across the polished floor.

Jayce straightened. “Mel. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I gathered.” She smiled, taking in the room as if it were hers to survey. “I was in the area. Thought I’d check in.”

Viktor inclined his head politely but kept working.

“You two made something extraordinary for the Undercity,” Mel said as she drifted past a cluttered workbench, fingertips grazing the edge. “Bold. Beautiful.” She paused. “But that was months ago.”

Jayce tensed. “We’ve been refining designs. Testing—”

“No one’s seen them,” she interrupted, gentle but firm. “Investors are starting to wonder if you’ve run out of brilliance.”

That drew Viktor’s gaze up, brow raised. “They are pulling funding?”

“Not yet. But they’re cautious. No new demonstrations, no fresh work to show them. Silence doesn’t inspire investment.”

Jayce frowned. “So what do you want from us?”

Mel turned, eyes sharp with intent. “A gift.”

Viktor blinked. “A gift?”

“For Piltover,” she said smoothly. “You gave Zaun something remarkable. Now give Piltover its own marvel. Something people will talk about.”

Jayce glanced at Viktor, uneasy. “And what, exactly, do we build?”

Mel smiled, halfway back to the door. “You’re the visionaries. I trust you’ll find the answer.”

She paused at the threshold, looking back at Jayce.

“I’m hosting another dinner soon,” she added lightly. “A few months from now. With... friends from overseas. It’s important.”

Jayce swallowed. “You want me there.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “It would mean a lot.”

And then she was gone, her silhouette vanishing through the doorway, her perfume lingering in the air.

Silence stretched until Jayce let out a long breath. “Well.”

Viktor removed his goggles with a weary sigh. “A gift for Piltover.”

Jayce dropped into a chair, rubbing at his temples. “We’re never sleeping again, are we?”

Viktor smirked faintly. “Did we ever?”

---

The lab shifted in the weeks that followed.

Day blurred into night, and nights stretched endlessly into mornings. Coffee cooled half-finished on tables, stacks of scrawled notes piled faster than solutions. The walls became a patchwork of sketches—most of them crossed out.

Hexlight—a failure.

City Core—too ambitious.

Hexforce—too vague.

Ideas rose and collapsed under their own weight, leaving only exhaustion in their wake.

“Piltover doesn’t want a weapon,” Jayce muttered one evening, pacing the floor with restless strides. “They want something that makes them feel safe. Powerful. Respected.”

“Everyone wants power,” Viktor replied without looking up, bent over a circuit board, stylus tapping against the metal table. “But what they remember—the things that last—are what makes life easier. Simpler.”

Jayce raked a hand through his hair. “Then why does everything we come up with feel hollow?”

“Because we are trying to impress,” Viktor said evenly. “Not to innovate.”

They kept hitting walls.

 Floating security drones? Already made.

A hex-powered sky rail? Practical, but uninspired.

A citywide energy grid? Piltover would never agree to share that much.

And then the storm came.

Mid-month, a massive front rolled in from the sea. Rain lashed against the windows of the Academy; thunder shook the foundations. Piltover’s docks drowned beneath it, waters surging high enough to strand merchant ships outside the harbor. For days, trade froze. Cargo piled useless on the waves, guild leaders stalked the ports in outrage.

From the highest window in their lab, Jayce and Viktor watched the chaos unfold—ships rocking helplessly in the current, shouts rising from the waterfront, money bleeding away with every hour.

Jayce’s eyes narrowed. A thought sparked.

“What if we didn’t need ports?” he said suddenly.

Viktor blinked, torn from his focus. “What?”

Jayce turned, a rare fire back in his voice. “What if ships didn’t have to wait on the tide—or the docks? What if we could bring them here directly?”

Viktor’s gaze sharpened, the gears already turning. “like teleportation?”

“Hextech teleportation,” Jayce breathed, almost reverent. “Anchored gates, stabilized by crystals. A ship enters at sea, arrives here in minutes. Trade, shipping—everything, faster than ever.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a smile. “It would change the world economy.”

Jayce’s pulse quickened. “It would be Piltover’s new age.”

In theory.

---

The exam room was cold.

Viktor sat perched on the edge of the padded table, fingers twitching restlessly in his lap. The paper beneath him crinkled with every shift, a constant reminder of how tense he was. His brace lay folded neatly beside him, a silent witness to how stiff and vulnerable he felt without it. He told himself this was just routine—a check-up, nothing more. Yet the ache in his lower back, sharper and deeper these last few months, whispered otherwise.

The door opened with a soft knock. Dr. Han stepped in, folder in hand, their expression soft.

“Viktor,” they greeted, voice gentle. “How are you feeling today?”

He managed a thin smile. “Sore. As usual.”

Dr. Han nodded, flipping through the papers. “I’ve reviewed your most recent scans. We’ve been tracking the progression closely, and…” Their brow furrowed. “The curvature has worsened since your last visit. Not dramatically, but enough that we need to discuss next steps.”

Viktor’s fingers clenched at the hem of his sleeve. “Next steps?”

Pulling the stool closer, Dr. Han set the folder down. “At this stage, bracing isn’t enough. You’re compensating more than before, and it’s starting to affect posture, gait—even organ function, if left unchecked.” They hesitated, meeting his eyes. “I think it’s time we seriously consider spinal fusion surgery.”

The words hit like a weight dropped into the room.

Viktor exhaled, unsteady. “That’s… permanent.”

“It is,” Dr. Han said softly. “The procedure involves inserting rods to stabilize the spine and fusing vertebrae to stop further shifting. Recovery will be long. You’ll have limitations in mobility. But it would reduce your pain, and more importantly, prevent further degeneration.”

He stared at the floor. He knew the facts—he’d read the literature, studied the outcomes. But hearing them spoken aloud made it feel heavier, more final.

“I need to think,” he murmured.

“Of course,” Dr. Han replied. “This isn’t a decision you have to make today. But the sooner we act, the better the outcome. I’ll prepare everything for you in writing—scans, options, risks, timelines.”

Viktor only nodded, his thoughts a blur. He heard Dr. Han rise, the shuffle of papers.

“I know it feels daunting,” they said, pausing at the door. “But this isn’t about fixing you. You’re not broken. It’s about giving you the life you deserve to live.”

The door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the cold room, spine throbbing. The weight of his future pressed down between his shoulders—like a hand he could never quite shrug off.

---

The lab was dim, alive only with the low murmur of machines—the rhythmic tick of gears, the hiss of cooling pipes, the faint clatter of metal settling into place. Work had ended hours ago, or at least been paused the way it always was when Viktor could no longer push his body to sit upright at his station.

Now he was stretched across the old leather couch, head resting on Jayce’s thigh, legs tucked beneath the blanket Sky had crocheted for them months earlier. Jayce sat still, one arm slung lazily across the back of the couch, the other combing gently through Viktor’s hair in absent, soothing motions.

Viktor shifted with a faint wince, his spine protesting. He kept his eyes fixed across the room, voice barely above the hum of the machines.

“My doctor wants me to have the surgery.”

Jayce’s hand stilled. “For the scoliosis?”

A small nod. “Spinal fusion. Rods, screws, all of it. They say I’d lose flexibility, but… it might stop the pain from worsening. Stabilize things before they get worse.” He swallowed hard, words tasting heavier aloud than they had in his head.

Jayce’s fingers moved again, slow and grounding, as if to anchor him there.

“I don’t know what to do,” Viktor admitted, quieter still. “It feels like deciding who I get to be. Less pain, but less freedom of movement. If I wait too long, though…”

Jayce exhaled through his nose. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“I know.” Viktor tilted his head enough to find Jayce’s gaze. His eyes searched his face. “But I trust you. So I need to ask.”

Jayce frowned softly. “Ask what?”

“What you would want me to do.”

For a moment, Jayce only looked at him, then he reached down and brushed a lock of hair from Viktor’s forehead, thumb lingering against his cheek.

“I can’t make that choice for you,” he said, softly. “I want you to hurt less. I want you to wake up without dreading the day. I want you to keep doing the things you love. But it has to be your choice, Viktor. No one else’s.”

Viktor’s chest rose and fell unevenly. “And if I choose wrong?”

“Then we deal with it together.” Jayce’s smile was small but certain. “There’s no right or wrong. Just what’s best for you, here and now.”

Viktor let his eyes drift shut, comforted by the steady warmth of Jayce’s presence, by the hand carding through his hair.

“Together,” he whispered.

“Always,” Jayce murmured back.

---

The first prototype they made exploded. Not catastrophically—just enough to leave Jayce hacking soot out of his lungs and Viktor walking with a limp for the next day. The hexcrystal split clean down the center, jagged as a fault line. Too much power. Not nearly enough stabilization.

“Okay,” Jayce coughed, waving the smoke out of his face. “That was... ambitious.”

Behind a pair of blackened goggles, Viktor’s glare could’ve cut steel. “That was idiotic.”

Still, they tried again. And again.

The problem wasn’t whether teleportation worked—they already managed to shift small objects across the lab. A wrench here, a beaker there. But scaling the system up to something as massive as a ship, with crew and cargo intact? That required crystal synchronization at a level neither of them had fully mastered. Precision. Control. Stability that didn’t collapse under its own weight.

That was when Sky started weighing in.

“What if you used dual regulators?” she suggested one evening, leaning over Jayce’s shoulder as he sketched revisions. “Balance the pull at both anchor points. That way the tunnel won’t cave in halfway through.”

Jayce blinked at her, impressed despite himself. “That’s... actually brilliant.”

Viktor was already scribbling adjustments onto his notes. “I will need stronger alloys for the regulators.”

Sky smirked, arms crossed. “Lucky for you, I’ve been hoarding spares.”

Weeks bled into months.

The lab evolved into something entirely new—tables buried under coils and circuit boards, walls lined with notes, and a half-assembled gate dominating the far side of the room. Jayce hammered out the first hexplate anchors himself. Viktor engineered the calibration core, fine-tuning tolerances down to the width of a hair. Sky soldered conduits, reprogrammed pulse regulators, and crawled inside the frame to reroute wiring when the system threatened to tear itself apart.

There were failures.

One test object vanished completely, never to be found.

Another arrived upside-down and promptly fell to the ground.

Jayce stopped sleeping. Viktor wasn’t far behind.

Then came the real test.

A crate—stuffed to capacity, lashed to their calibration platform with glowing hexlines. The crystals hummed, each one lighting in sequence until the entire gate vibrated with power.

The three of them stood frozen, holding their breath.

Sky flipped the final switch.

The crate disappeared in a ripple of light—then reappeared across the lab, intact. Perfect. Exactly where it was meant to be.

For a moment, no one moved.

Jayce’s jaw slackened. “...It worked.”

Viktor stared at the readouts, then let out a laugh, unrestrained for once. “It worked!”

Jayce leaned against the railing, breathless, as if weeks of tension had finally broken.

Sky was smiling and giggly. “Still no name for it?”

Jayce shrugged, dazed. “Nothing’s stuck.”

Viktor tapped the clipboard in his hands, eyes still gleaming. “It doesn’t need a name to change everything.”

Sky groaned. “You two are hopeless.”

---

Jayce’s apartment glowed softly under the lamplight, the room cluttered with signs of long nights—papers scattered across the low table, a half-empty bottle of wine leaning against stacks of notes, and abandoned takeout boxes balanced on the edge.

Viktor padded in from the bathroom, barefoot, swallowed by a pair of Jayce’s sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt that brushed his knees. He tugged at the hem with a faint scowl.

 “I look ridiculous.”

Jayce glanced up from his notes, smirk tugging at his mouth. “You look fine.”

“I look like your closet has eaten me.”

Jayce chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

It was late—far too late for work—but they hadn’t stopped circling the same thought since Mel’s last reminder. Her dinner loomed just days away, and with it her request for presentable. A name. A future wrapped neatly in a word.

So far, they had nothing.

“Hexway?” Jayce muttered, scribbling it down only to slash it out a second later. “Sounds like a sneaker brand.”

Viktor lowered himself onto the couch, folding his arms. “Gateflux?”

Jayce wrinkled his nose. “That sounds like a disease.”

They both sighed. Silence filled the room. Viktor shifted until his knee brushed Jayce’s, but didn’t move away.

Then, almost to himself, Viktor murmured, “Hexgates.”

Jayce blinked. “What?”

“The name,” Viktor said, eyes on the fire. “Hexgates. Simple. Direct. Functional.”

Jayce studied him—the oversized shirt, his hair still tousled, the shadows of exhaustion softening his expression, but with a spark still alive in his gaze. Slowly, a smile tugged at his lips.

“Hexgates,” he repeated. “That’s... actually kind of cute.”

Viktor turned his head, one brow arched. “Cute?”

Jayce cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close they were. “The name. The name’s cute.”

Viktor gave him a look that said he wasn’t convinced, but let it pass.

Jayce bent over the page again, this time writing: Hexgates.

 “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the one.”

Viktor leaned back against the couch, arms still folded but a trace of satisfaction slipping through. “It will do.”

Jayce laughed under his breath and looked back at Viktor. Who was half-asleep beside him in a shirt far too big, shoulders sinking into the cushions. And Jayce thought—that was cute too.

---

Jayce stood in front of the mirror, tugging at his collar for what had to be the third—no, fourth—time. The tie wouldn’t sit right. Or maybe his hands just wouldn’t stop fidgeting. Mel’s dinner was tonight. Diplomats, investors, Council members, foreign delegates. He was expected to look sharp, speak sharper, and somehow sell the future of Piltover with both confidence and charm.

He already hated it.

Behind him, Viktor sat perched on the edge of the bed, a folder of notes open in his lap. His cane rested against the nightstand within easy reach. He already refused the invitation—several times.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Jayce asked, turning halfway.

“Quite sure,” Viktor replied without looking up.

Jayce arched a brow. “It’d mean a lot if you did.”

“I am not a politician, Jayce. These events are not meant for people like me.”

Jayce crossed his arms. “You helped invent the Hexgates. Without you, there wouldn’t be anything to present tonight. You deserve to be there.”

Viktor finally glanced up. “I would rather not spend an evening shaking hands with people who do not actually care what I say.” He flipped another page, then added, “besides, I do not own a suit.”

Jayce’s mouth tugged into a grin. “You could borrow one of mine.”

“I would be swimming in it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jayce said, softening the tease with a look that was almost pleading.

That look gave Viktor pause. His usual defenses faltered. And when Jayce’s hopeful expression slipped into full puppy-dog territory—wide eyes, raised brows, lips pressed just so—Viktor’s sigh came sharp and pained.

“Jayce...” he warned.

Jayce stepped closer, hopeful. “You sure?”

“You are doing that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one where I start agreeing to things against my better judgment.”

Jayce brightened instantly. “So that’s a yes?”

Viktor groaned and pressed a hand to his temple. “It is a maybe.”

“I’ll take it,” Jayce said triumphantly, snatching an extra tie from the dresser and tossing it onto Viktor’s lap. “We’ve got an hour. Let’s see if I can tailor you into something... almost decent.”

Viktor stared down at the tie like it was a personal insult. “You are impossible.”

“And you,” Jayce said, grinning as he leaned down just enough to catch Viktor’s eye, “are going to look great.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, but the smallest hint of a smile betrayed him at the corner of his mouth.

---

Jayce stood in front of Viktor with a defeated sigh, hands braced on his hips, his own tie hanging undone and crooked.

“You’re hopeless,” Viktor muttered, tugging at the lapels of the ill-fitting blazer Jayce had tried—and failed—to tailor for him.

“I said I could try,” Jayce defended, exasperated. “It’s not like I'm a professional. Besides, you look fine.”

“Jayce,” Viktor deadpanned, “I look like a child dressed in his father’s funeral suit.”

Jayce winced. “Woah. Brutal.”

“Accurate,” Viktor corrected flatly, arching a brow.

Jayce scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Mel’s tailor. She always lets me borrow him before these dinners. We’ve still got time.”

“I do not—”

“You agreed,” Jayce cut in, already shrugging into his coat. “You’re coming. You don’t get to back out now just because you’re—” He faltered, words tumbling faster than thought. “—hot, and don’t know how to dress for it.”

Viktor blinked, caught off guard. “You think I am hot?”

Jayce froze mid-step. “...I meant what I said.”

---

The tailor’s studio was all gleaming marble and soft decadence—velvet drapes spilling onto polished floors, racks of silks and wools lined up like soldiers, the faint scent of cedarwood lingering in the air. Jayce strolled in with Viktor in tow. 

“Emergency,” he announced with a grin. “Life or death. He needs saving.”

The tailor lit up at once. “Finally,” he purred, circling Viktor with a predator’s precision. “Tall. Lithe. A touch of melancholy. Perfect.”

Before Viktor could protest, deft hands were lifting his arms, tugging seams, measuring in brisk silence. Then came the verdict:

“Backless. We’re doing backless.”

Viktor stared. “Excuse me?”

But the decision was already made. Within minutes he was whisked away with three carefully chosen options, the door to the fitting room snapping shut behind him.

Jayce was still laughing when the tailor turned to him, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

Jayce paused mid-step. “...No?”

“That thing you’re wearing. That relic. It’s a tragedy. A suit for a museum, not a gala. Take it off before you embarrass us both.”

Jayce sputtered. “You made me it—”

“I will not,” the tailor cut in with finality, “be responsible for Piltover’s fall from grace because you showed up looking like a war memorial.”

Jayce threw his hands up but started unbuttoning, grumbling. “Fashion changes every time.”

“We have standards,” the tailor said coolly. “Unlike you, apparently.”

The door to the fitting room opened. Viktor stepped out.

And everything stopped.

The suit was a deep, midnight black with a faint sheen of blue when it caught the light, cut close to his frame without suffocating it. The high collar sloped elegantly against his chest, the lines tapering down his waist and hips. But the back was open, its edges framed by clean, crisscrossing straps.

Jayce’s mouth went dry. “Holy shit.”

Viktor tugged at one sleeve; his ears were faintly pink. “It’s... tolerable.”

“It’s unfair,” Jayce said honestly.

Viktor allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “Wait until you see yours.”

The tailor reappeared with a suit draped over one arm. And Jayce went inside the dressing room to change. It was white as fresh paper, accented with a bold scarlet lining at the collar and cuffs. The jacket was sharp-shouldered and slim-waisted, designed to elongate his frame. The lapels dove deep, hinting at the chest beneath, while the trousers tapered into a flawless line that made him look taller, leaner, and—Jayce thought with a mix of pride and horror—like he’d been carved for display.

Jayce stepped out and turned toward the mirror. The white seemed to glow against his skin, the red like a flare at the edges. He smirked. “Damn.”

“Told you,” Viktor murmured.

The tailor stepped back with a satisfied sigh, folding his arms like a general surveying victory. “Perfect. The two of you together—oh. Now go. Leave wreckage in your wake.”

---

The hall shimmered in gold and candlelight, every corner a display of Mel’s taste for grandeur. Gilded frames lined the walls, music floated from a quartet tucked beneath a balcony, and laughter rose in polished waves from every cluster of silk and velvet. Power hung in the air like perfume—expensive, intoxicating, and laced into every conversation.

When Jayce and Viktor stepped through the doors, more than a few heads turned. Jayce carried himself with the easy confidence of someone used to the attention; Viktor, cane tapping softly at his side, looked as though he might prefer to be anywhere else.

Mel reached them almost at once. Her smile was as poised as the cut of her gown, but her brows lifted as her eyes flicked to Viktor. “You brought him,” she said, a note of curiosity in her tone.

“He’s very persuasive,” Viktor replied evenly, though the faintest shift of his cane betrayed his nerves.

Mel’s hum of amusement was low, intrigued. “I’ve never seen you at one of these. Consider me impressed.”

Jayce grinned. “Told you he cleans up nice.”

“That much is obvious.” Mel’s gaze swept over both of them with approval before softening. “Dinner will be served soon. Afterward, you’ll have your moment to present your little... gift to the city.”

Jayce inclined his head. “We’re ready.”

“Good. Until then—mingle. And Jayce, there’s a man by the far table. From Ixtal. You might... connect.” She let the word linger, before drifting away in a shimmer of silk.

Jayce followed her gesture. The man in question stood tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a flowing coat of emerald green, embroidered with geometric gold lines that caught the candlelight. He was handsome, silver at his temples, his presence magnetic even at a distance.

The Ixtali noble turned as they approached, his smile warm and appraising. “Jayce Talis,” he greeted in an accent before smoothly shifting into their shared tongue. “Así que aún recuerdas de dónde vienes, eh?” (So, you still remember where you come from, huh?)

Jayce’s grin lit instantly, boyish and charming as he answered without hesitation: “Nunca lo he olvidado. Sobre todo cuando la compañía es tan buena.” (I’ve never forgotten. Especially when the company is this good.)

The noble’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Cuidadoso—me halagas así y acabarás prometiéndome más de lo que realmente pretendes.” (Careful—flatter me like that and you’ll end up promising me more than you intend.)

“¿Y si no me importa?” Jayce countered smoothly, his tone teasing but edged with sincerity. He leaned just slightly closer, before adding: “Es raro encontrar a alguien de casa en una sala como esta. Vale la pena disfrutarlo.” (And what if I don’t care? It’s rare to find someone from home in a room like this. It’s worth enjoying.)

The noble chuckled, clearly entertained. “Un político nato. O un amante peligroso.” (A born politician—or a dangerous lover.)

Jayce only laughed, his voice carrying above the hum of the crowd. He gestured animatedly with one hand—while the other settled, unconsciously, on Viktor’s shoulder.

Viktor, who’d been standing politely at his side like an ornament, went rigid at the touch.

And then the hand moved.

Fingers traced down the line of his shoulder, lingering briefly before sliding lower—slow, absent-minded, across the open expanse of his back where the suit dipped daringly away. Heat trailed with the touch, silk doing nothing to dull the glide of skin against skin.

Viktor inhaled sharply. He froze, eyes locked on the decorative vase over the noble’s shoulder, desperately willing his body not to betray him. His ears burned.

Jayce, utterly oblivious, kept talking. His thumb idly brushed a small circle at the base of Viktor’s spine as he spoke, laughter spilling free at the noble’s witty retort.

Viktor nearly choked.

---

Dinner had been elegant, measured, almost theatrical—each course arriving with clockwork precision, each conversation tuned to just the right pitch. When the final plates were cleared, Mel rose gracefully from her seat at the head of the table, her golden cuffs flashing in the candlelight.

A light tap of her spoon against crystal stilled the room. Dozens of eyes turned to her.

“Tonight,” Mel began, her voice carrying effortlessly, smooth as silk, “we celebrate not only unity, but progress. Piltover has always risen on the strength of its visionaries. And now, thanks to Jayce Talis and Viktor”—her smile flicked toward them—“we stand at the edge of something extraordinary. Gentlemen?”

Jayce rose first, adjusting the sharp line of his jacket. With a subtle gesture, he extended his hand to Viktor, who rose beside him, cane clicking softly on marble. The two walked together to the center of the hall, where a velvet-draped pedestal waited like a stage.

 Jayce swept the cloth away. Beneath it sat the model: a sleek ring of polished steel and crystal, veins of light pulsing faintly through its core.

“This,” Jayce announced, his voice strong and sure, “is our gift to Piltover. A new way to bring the world closer.”

Viktor’s eyes gleamed as he stepped forward, the nerves of earlier dinner talk melting into genuine excitement. “We call them...” He glanced sideways at Jayce.

Jayce tipped him a quick nod, grinning.

“Hexgates,” Viktor finished.

A ripple passed through the room—low hums of curiosity, skepticism, intrigue.

“With these,” Viktor continued, voice measured but alive with energy, “we hope to make near-instantaneous transport possible. For goods. For medicine. For trade and opportunity.”

Jayce reached to the table beside the pedestal, lifting a polished red apple. He turned it over in his hand with a flourish. “Something simple, for now.”

He placed the fruit gently on the plate suspended within the arcane current. “This is Gate One.”

Across the table, Mel revealed a second device—identical, already glowing faintly with restrained power. “Gate Two,” she announced, smiling faintly as she met Jayce’s eye.

“Ready?” Jayce asked quietly.

Viktor’s hand adjusted a dial, steady and precise. “Now.”

Together, they activated the sequence.

The air vibrated with a low hum. A shimmer of golden-blue light flickered, rippling across the room. In the space of a blink, the apple was gone.

Gasps erupted.

Mel raised her hand toward the second gate, where the apple now rested, untouched, its skin shining under the lamps. “Voila.”

Laughter, disbelief, murmurs in half a dozen languages filled the air. Chairs scraped as people leaned forward for a closer look.

Viktor could no longer contain his smile. “It is, of course, only a small test. There are still challenges—power stability, long-range calibration—but the concept stands proven.”

“And soon,” Jayce added, his voice cutting through the chatter, “it won’t be apples. It’ll be crates, carriages, even ships. Trade without delay. Piltover, the center of the world.”

The applause came in waves, a rising storm of voices. Toasts lifted, praise overlapped, excitement surged like wildfire.

Mel’s glass caught the light as she raised it high. “To innovation.”

“To connection,” Viktor added, breathless.

Jayce didn’t raise his glass right away. He just looked at Viktor, who was alight with wonder, smiling wider than Jayce had seen him in months.

And Jayce thought he wanted Viktor to look like this always.

---

The orchestra played with wild, glittering energy. Silk skirts swept across the floor, shoes clicked against marble, and laughter wove seamlessly into the music. At the center of it all, Jayce moved with easy confidence, twirling the Ixtal man. His broad smile, his low laugh, the way his shoulders rolled with ease—it all drew eyes.

Including Viktor’s.

He sat stiffly on a velvet bench at the far wall, his cane propped beside him, trying and failing to look anywhere else. His gaze kept drifting back to the pair, to the hand resting far too comfortably on Jayce’s shoulder, to the way Jayce bent his head to listen, grinning at some private remark.

Viktor’s chest tightened. Something bitter and unfamiliar curled in his stomach, hard to ignore, harder to name. Jealousy, perhaps. The thought made his jaw clench.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers curling against his trousers. The Ixtal noble wasn’t subtle. His touch lingered. His smile dripped intention. And Jayce—Jayce wasn’t pulling away. Was he interested? Could he be?

“Hmm,” came a lilting voice beside him. Mel had slipped gracefully into the seat, following his line of sight. Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “I didn’t take you for the jealous type, Viktor.”

His head snapped toward her, cheeks heating. “I am not.” The denial was unconvincing. His tapping fingers betrayed him.

Mel chuckled, low and amused. “You seem rather invested in where Jayce’s attention lies.”

“He is merely... friendly. The other man is very friendly.” Viktor said quickly—too quickly. 

“Ah.” Mel tilted her head, her smile widening. “So, it’s him you distrust.”

Viktor scowled, though the flush in his face deepened. Words tangled on his tongue. He couldn’t untangle whether the knot in his chest came from irritation with the man—or from the way Jayce looked at him.

Mel leaned back, eyes glittering. “Then let’s fix it.”

Before Viktor could protest, she stood, her hand alighting on his shoulder as though she could summon him to his feet with touch alone. “Up.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What—?”

She tugged him upright with a surpringly strong grip, leaving his cane behind. “Trust me. I suspect Jayce would much prefer your company to Lord Ramírez’s.”

Viktor barely had time to catch his breath before Mel swept across the floor, Viktor in tow. In one fluid motion, she intercepted the pair, slipped herself between Jayce and his partner, and all but peeled the nobleman away with a dazzling smile.

“Lord Ramírez,” she said warmly, already guiding him elsewhere, “walk with me. I have a question only someone of your taste can answer.”

The man barely had time to blink before she spirited him into the crowd.

Jayce stood blinking in her wake, surprised, then bemused. His eyes found Viktor—who stood frozen, faintly flushed, uncertain what to do with himself.

Jayce’s expression softened. “Well,” he said, voice warm and a little teasing. “Guess that leaves you.”

Viktor swallowed, his pulse racing. His hand twitched before he dared to extend it, stiff but deliberate. “May I have this dance?”

Jayce’s smile widened, gentle as sunlight. He reached out without hesitation, their fingers brushing. “I’d love to.”

The music swept them in. Viktor was stiff, his movements awkward, the rhythm unfamiliar. His palms dampened, his thoughts tangled into knots of too close and not close enough.

Jayce, patient as ever, eased him into the steps. His hand slid to guide Viktor’s other one, placing it against his waist. “Here,” he said softly, reassuring.

Viktor flushed scarlet. The heat radiating from Jayce’s body pressed through the fabric, dizzying. His fingers trembled.

“Relax,” Jayce murmured, his own hand steady at the small of Viktor’s back, coaxing him closer. The motion was fluid, natural, like he’d been waiting for this.

Viktor’s breath caught as their bodies aligned, the rhythm tugging him into step. He felt the whisper of fingertips graze up the line of his open-backed suit, brushing bare skin. The touch sent a shiver straight through him, and he found himself leaning instinctively closer, as if surrendering to it.

The world blurred. The orchestra faded. For Viktor, there was only the warmth of Jayce’s hand, the weight of his chest rising and falling against the side of his face, and the pulse that felt almost like it belonged to both of them now.

He didn’t dare look up. But he could feel Jayce’s gaze, soft and unwavering, and it made his heart race until he was certain Jayce must feel it too.

---

Viktor got the surgery.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and wilting carnations, sharp and cloying all at once. Viktor had grown used to it, though. After weeks of white walls and fluorescent lights that hummed through the nights, even the sterile air felt familiar. Today, though, the word discharge had been spoken, and it still rang in his mind like something unbelievable.

He sat propped against stiff pillows, his posture half-held by the new brace clamped tight around his ribs and spine. Breathing too deeply made everything pinch and ache. He was going home, he thought, and the words almost made his eyes sting.

The nurse was finishing her instructions when the door swung wide.

“Viktor!” Sky’s voice carried in before she did, bright and unrestrained. She barreled in with a balloon nearly the size of her head, its surface scribbled with a crooked heart in permanent marker. Steb followed, juggling an unruly bouquet of flowers and a card that looked like it had lived three lifetimes in someone’s pocket.

Jayce was last, quieter than the others, but his smile was steady, soft at the edges—warm in a way that made Viktor’s chest ache more than the brace.

“Look what we brought,” Sky announced, already setting the balloon near the window as though decorating for a festival.

“You didn’t have to—” Viktor began, but his voice came out thinner than intended, and the words faltered into a smile instead.

“We absolutely did,” Sky interrupted, hands on her hips now. “You survived screws in your spine. You deserve a parade. And cake. And maybe another parade, just for good measure.”

Steb nodded solemnly and held out the card. “We all signed it.”

Viktor took it carefully, as though the paper might tear under his fingers. A quiet laugh escaped him, softer than he meant it to be. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Jayce moved to Viktor’s side and sat down, close enough that Viktor could feel the warmth radiating from him. Without a word, he reached out and took Viktor’s hand. 

Viktor stilled. Affection had been something distant, foreign, reserved for memories of childhood he rarely revisited. But Jayce always managed it so naturally, giving without spectacle.

“Hey,” Jayce murmured then, low and meant only for him. “You good?”

Viktor looked at their joined hands, at the way Jayce’s calloused fingers curved easily against his own. He thought about answering honestly—about how everything felt strange and frightening in his body, how he wasn’t sure what “normal” would ever look like again. Instead, he let out a slow breath and said, “I will be. Just... everything feels different.”

Jayce’s thumb brushed faintly across his knuckles, the motion steady and quieting. “It’ll be okay,” he said simply.

Something in Viktor’s chest loosened. He forced himself to meet Jayce’s eyes, managing a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

Jayce’s answering smile was soft, almost luminous. “Anytime.”

The room buzzed with Sky’s chatter and Steb’s awkward jokes, the balloon bobbing against the ceiling. Flowers crowded the counter, spilling their colors into the sterile space. Viktor let himself sink into it all—the laughter, the warmth, the unspoken care that asked nothing of him but to receive it.

He clung to it quietly, hoping it would be enough to steady the things that still bloomed, dark and unvoiced, somewhere deep inside.

---

The door shut with a soft click, and Jayce turned the lock. Viktor hadn’t spoken since they left the clinic. Each step was slow, his breath catching when he moved too quickly. Jayce shadowed him the entire way to the bedroom.

“Do you want to eat first?” Jayce asked gently. “Or bed?”

“Bed,” Viktor rasped, his voice raw and tired.

Jayce nodded and guided him with a light hand at the small of his back. His touch was barely there, but Viktor felt it anyway.

The brace cut hard across Viktor’s ribs and shoulder, pinching with each shift. He winced as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Jayce moved behind him, his voice soft. “Okay. Let’s get this off.”

The screws came free one by one; Jayce’s hands were careful. Viktor flinched at each release, not from the pain alone but from the way Jayce’s touch lingered, gentle as if he were handling something breakable.

“You alright?” Jayce murmured.

Viktor gave a small nod. “It’s just... tender.”

When the final strap loosened, Jayce eased the brace away. Viktor exhaled, shaky and uneven, suddenly aware of how fragile he must look without it—bruised skin, raw edges, the harsh map of his body laid bare.

Jayce didn’t comment. He only crossed the room and pulled a soft shirt and loose pants from the dresser and returned. “Can you lift your arms?”

Viktor tried, but his body betrayed him. His breath hissed through his teeth. “Not really.”

“Okay,” Jayce said softly. He slipped Viktor’s arms through the sleeves himself, pulling the fabric carefully over his head. His fingers brushed Viktor’s stomach, his side, each accidental graze leaving Viktor breathless in ways that had nothing to do with the surgery.

Neither of them moved for a heartbeat too long.

“Sorry,” Jayce murmured, rougher than usual.

“It’s fine,” Viktor said, though his pulse was racing.

Jayce helped him into the pajama pants with the same ease, as if this intimacy were routine. But Viktor felt every brush of his hands, every moment Jayce lingered close enough for Viktor to smell the faint scent of him.

When at last he was settled beneath the blankets, Viktor turned carefully onto his side, his face pinched from the effort. Jayce hovered, uncertain.

“Do you want me to—”

“Stay,” Viktor whispered. The word came out before he could think to stop it. “Just... stay.”

Jayce slid onto the bed slowly so as not to jar him. For a moment, Viktor lay stiff but then Jayce opened his arms without a word, and Viktor’s body moved of its own accord. He leaned into him, pressed against his chest, tucking his face into the warmth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The rise and fall of Jayce’s breathing filled his ear. Steady. Comforting. And when Viktor noticed the softness beneath his cheek, the quiet give of flesh. He froze for half a second, startled by the intimacy of it, by the reminder of Jayce’s body and how close they really were.

It wasn’t the first time they had laid like this. But it was the first time Viktor noticed Jayce's breast beneath his cheek. it felt like something human. Something tender. Something he wasn’t supposed to feel.

Viktor swallowed hard, the ache in his back suddenly second to the tightness in his chest. He stayed still, pretending he hadn't noticed anything. But the thought was already lodged somewhere deep. Jayce was attractive. Kind eyes, solid hands, broad shoulders and a voice that steadied all sorts of people.

Viktor just never thought he could be attracted to him. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with Jayce. Not with his Jayce. The one who’d seen him at his worst, who held his hair back when he was sick, who knew the exact way his spine curved and never treated him like glass.

Jayce shifted slightly, pressing a little closer like he sensed the change. A hand in his hair, the other stroked slow circles over Viktor’s back—careful, always so damn careful. “You alright?” Jayce asked, voice low.

Viktor nodded against his chest and lied. “Yes.” He didn’t want Jayce to know. Not now. Not ever. This—whatever this was—wasn't allowed to grow into anything else. He just wanted to be held. But he couldn’t un-feel what he felt. And that scared him more than the pain ever could. But he pressed himself closer, he clutched at him, one hand fisted in the fabric over Jayce’s ribs.

He should stop this. But Viktor only buried himself deeper in the warmth, as if he could hide there. As if Jayce wouldn’t notice the way his body shook.

Notes:

I don’t remember the artist, but Viktor’s suit is totally inspired by a piece I once saw where his back was on full display (lmao). If anyone recognizes the artist, please let me know so I can give them proper credit.

Also—I cannot believe Jayce had the audacity to be touching Viktor’s back while openly flirting with another man. JAYCE TALIS, YOU ABSOLUTE WHORE.

Anyway, a couple things I want to flag: as the story goes on, Viktor will unfortunately be getting sicker. Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it either, but the plot demands pain. This is definitely shaping up to be the angstiest fic I’ve ever written.

But it’s not all bad—because on the flip side, Viktor has finally realized he’s in love. CAN YOU BELIEVE it took him this long? After all the times he checked Jayce out, too. Now it’s Jayce’s turn next, and ohhh, it’s going to be fun.

Chapter 14: I Could Do About Anything

Summary:

They finish building the Hexgates.

The Hexgate has been under construction for months now—long enough that Jayce sometimes dreamed of scaffolding and half-wired circuits, the constant grind of stone and steel haunting his sleep. The tower itself clawed upward in crooked stages, ribs of iron and unfinished stone cutting against the skyline. At this rate, Jayce figured they’d be lucky to see it finished by next year.

But the real heart of it wasn’t above ground.

He stood with Viktor deep beneath Piltover, where the air was thick with mineral musk and damp stone. The “basement” wasn’t a basement at all—it was a cavernous chamber carved miles below the surface, wide and circular, the walls grooved with the beginnings of rune-work that would one day control teleportation.

“We should reinforce the western arc,” Viktor murmured, cane tapping lightly against the stone. A dull resonance followed, echoing through the wall. His brows knit. “The flow here is weak. If the charge runs unevenly, the Hexgem array could crack under stress.”

Jayce swiped his sleeve across his damp brow, despite the chill clinging to the cavern. “Then we reroute a stabilizer ring. Maybe two. I’d rather waste time on overbuilding than watch the core collapse the first time we push it.”

Around them, lanternlight glimmered off the early framework: hex crystals already embedded in their sockets, faint and dormant, like a constellation waiting to be lit. Each rune carved into the stone walls had to be exact. Too shallow, and they wouldn’t hold. Too deep, and they’d tear through the channeling lines. Every stroke mattered. Every spark would decide whether this place thrummed with power—or came apart under it.

The concept was elegant on paper. Power would gather here, in the core, pulled into motion by the crystals. From there, it would coil outward along the spiraling runes, climbing the tower above, until finally it reached the gates at the summit—whenever those were ready to open.

But in the half-dark of this cavern, with the chisels and dust and the steady drip of water from the ceiling, all Jayce could think about was how far they still had to go.

“How long before we can even test the core?” he asked finally, voice lowered, like the cavern might overhear.

Viktor was silent for a beat. Then, measured: “If there are no more delays... perhaps by the end of the season.”

Jayce let out a sharp breath, this was going to be a large project.

---

Ekko leaned over the workbench, goggles slipping crooked across his forehead as Jayce tightened the pressure gauge on his hoverboard’s core. “You’re still overclocking it,” Jayce muttered, twisting a knob. “You’ll fry the engine before you ever get off the ground.”

Ekko grinned, unbothered. “Better to fly fast and fix it later.” He flinched when a spark spat up from the coil, though, and Jayce shot him a look.

At one of the side tables, Viktor was showing Powder a small light emitter, the glow reflecting in her wide eyes. “The internal array is misaligned,” she said quickly, pointing with ink-stained fingers. “But if you reverse the polarity—”

“Exactly.” Viktor’s smile was faint but real.

Powder’s lips curved, but the moment broke when her gaze slid toward the corner of the lab. Sevika sat slouched in a chair, arms folded, looking about as interested as someone waiting for a late tram. Babysitting duty didn’t suit her; that much was obvious.

“Don’t break anything,” she called lazily, though she didn’t bother to get up.

“Maybe you could help instead of heckling,” Jayce said dryly.

“Not my job,” Sevika shot back, stretching her legs out. “Vander said keep ‘em alive, not teach ‘em math.”

Jayce rolled his eyes but let it drop, setting Ekko’s hoverboard aside. “So. How are you holding up, Ekko?”

The boy brightened, tugging his goggles down around his neck. “I found this old place, past the pumps, where the ground dips low. And in the middle of it—there’s this huge tree. Biggest I’ve ever seen. Somehow it’s still alive. Must’ve been there before half the factories even went up.”

Viktor tilted his head, intrigued.

Ekko’s voice picked up speed, full of wonder. “It’s hidden, but there’s space. Real space. Enough for people to breathe, to sit. Maybe even build something. I thought... maybe it could be a place to help people, you know? A start.”

Jayce’s expression softened, surprised by the earnestness in his tone. “It sounds beautiful.”

Powder shifted in her seat, her expression souring. “At least you get to do something.”

The mood shifted. Viktor’s gaze flicked toward her, gentle but attentive.

“Powder—” Jayce started.

“No one lets me help,” she cut in sharply. “Vander says I’m not ready. Silco says it’s not safe. I can barely build my bombs anymore.”

Sevika raised a brow but said nothing, arms still crossed.

“I’ve been building for years!” Powder’s voice cracked. “And they still treat me like I’m just a kid. Like I’ll ruin everything.”

Viktor said softly, “It isn’t dismissal, Powder. It’s protection. Those are not the same.”

Powder’s hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t answer, just shot a look at the floor before pushing herself up.

“Whatever.”

She brushed past Viktor, the door hissing shut behind her.

Jayce let out a long breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Think that hit a nerve.”

Sevika leaned back further in her chair, gaze on the closed door. “She’s a spark waiting for the match,” she muttered.

---

The council chambers felt colder than usual—or perhaps it was only the weight of their stares.

Jayce stood alone in the center of the marble floor, posture rigid despite the exhaustion dragging at his shoulders. 

Murmurs stirred around the circle of councilors until Mel lifted a hand, silencing them. Her nails tapped lightly against the table. “Every trade house in Piltover is pressing for answers,” she began. “They want to know when the gates will be ready.”

“Progress is steady,” Jayce replied. His voice was firm, though he felt the strain in it. “We’re still in the infrastructure phase—carving the core channels, inscribing runes, installing gem stabilizers. It’s delicate work. Precision takes time.”

Salo gave a thin smile. “You promised a revolution. What we see instead is stagnation.”

Jayce’s jaw clenched, but he kept his tone even. “At the current pace, we could reach completion by the spring of next year.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the chamber’s stone walls.

“A year?” Shoola scoffed.

“We’re laying the foundation for something that has never existed before,” Jayce said, his voice hardening. “Teleportation is not a steam engine you can bolt together overnight. A single flaw in the pattern could collapse the tower—or worse. I won’t gamble with Piltover’s safety for the sake of speed.”

“The people want results,” Salo snapped.

“And they will have them,” Jayce shot back, eyes narrowing. “Safe ones.”

Mel leaned back, golden eyes catching the light as she studied him. “Then perhaps what you need is more oversight. More hands on the project.”

“No,” Jayce said, sharper than he intended. He forced himself to breathe, to level his tone. “What we need is time. Not interference.”

The words echoed, and Viktor’s absence pressed in like a shadow—no quiet voice to steady him, no presence at his side. Viktor was still below, carving runes by hand in the dark while Jayce defended their vision alone.

Mel let the silence stretch before she finally inclined her head. “Then let’s ensure that time is not wasted. Piltover is watching.”

Jayce gave a single nod, then turned to leave, the weight of their scrutiny clinging to him long after the doors closed behind him.

---

The work stretched on, silent and consuming.

Seasons blurred together. Snow thawed, plants bloomed, the next generation of animals was born, and still the winds turned while beneath Piltover something impossible took shape.

Every day they descended into the depths, carrying tools, schematics, and a stubborn kind of hope. The hollow chamber, once only stone and silence, slowly transformed. Each rune etched into its walls tightened the design; each hexgem, socketed in place, hummed faintly as the lattice of power found its connections.

Jayce lost himself in calculations, dust staining his gloves, oil smearing his sleeves. Viktor rarely left the lower level; his world narrowed to the delicate balance of charge pathways and glyph alignments. Sky moved quietly between them both, steady hands adjusting conductors, tightening fittings, ensuring no pressure cracked the seams.

It was slow. Tedious. Sacred.

And then, at last, the final rune was carved.

The last gem set.

The chamber complete.

Jayce stood in its center, staring upward at the massive ring circling the ceiling—every rune faintly glowing, every line in its place. He didn’t speak. Neither did Viktor or Sky. Together, they simply looked, letting the weight of it settle: the impossible made real.

They had checked everything—twice, then three times more. The runes aligned, the crystals locked, the chamber sealed. All that remained was the spark.

At the console, Jayce hovered a hand above the activation rune. Across the chamber, Viktor made one last adjustment, posture rigid with anticipation.

“On your signal,” Viktor called, his voice echoing off stone.

Jayce gave a single nod. “Here we go.”

His palm pressed down.

For a breath, nothing stirred.

Then the floor trembled. A low hum swelled through the stone as the air thickened, charged, as though the chamber breathed its first breath. Light seeped from the center outward, crawling along the etched veins, filling the hollow space. Shapes flickered above it—impossible geometry folding and collapsing, straining the edges of perception.

And then—

A blinding surge.

The blast threw them back. Viktor stumbled, but Jayce lunged, shoving him down, shielding him as the world turned to thunder and white static. The chamber screamed around them—stone, air, and power ripping at the edges—before all at once it broke into silence.

Jayce lifted his head, vision swimming. The light still lingered, softer now, steadier, hovering at the chamber’s heart like the eye of a storm. Slowly, the embedded crystals flared to life one after another—deep azure, pulsing with power. The current spread, racing along runes, climbing the chamber walls in radiant veins.

The ceiling was lost to shadow, but high above, something rippled—a disturbance, faint and vast, stirring in the dark.

Jayce’s chest rose and fell, breath catching in disbelief. “It’s holding.”

Viktor pushed himself upright, wide-eyed. “The chamber... it didn’t collapse.”

Jayce managed a grin, ragged and breathless. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

Around them, the runes glowed in unison, steady and alive, their rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat.

The Hexgate worked.

---

The quiet of the lab was broken only by the soft scratch of Jayce’s pen moving across the page. Papers littered the table beside him—sketches, equations, lists of half-formed ideas. The Hexgate was complete, a triumph in itself, but the greater challenge loomed ahead: making it work across oceans, across borders.

Jayce laid back on the worn couch, notes balanced on Viktor's back who rested against him, head on his chest, his thin frame curled close. The weight was light, grounding. Jayce’s hand drifted idly over Viktor’s back as he wrote, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“We’ll need another Hexgate in each country,” Jayce murmured, tapping his pen against the margin. “It’d be the only way. Otherwise the tether has nothing to connect to.”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He nestled a little deeper, his cheek brushing against Jayce’s shirt. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, muffled. “Maybe. But we should get through the grand opening first. One thing at a time.”

Jayce huffed a laugh. “Yeah. You’re right. I just... keep thinking too far ahead.”

“You need to shut your brain off once in a while,” Viktor said softly.

That drew a small chuckle from Jayce, though his pen still moved. “Easier said than done.”

For a while, they let the silence linger, the hum of lanterns filling the space around them. Then Viktor stirred, his voice different, a little hesitant.

“...You know what today is?”

Jayce blinked, pen stilled mid-line. “Hm?”

“Today is the day the fight on the bridge happened. Nearly ten years ago.”

Jayce froze. He hadn’t realized. Or maybe he had and buried it somewhere so deep he wouldn’t have to. Slowly, he lowered the pen, letting the memory pull at him. “Right,” he said quietly. “The anniversary.”

Viktor’s fingers flexed against Jayce’s shirt. “I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “But Vander told me about it. How many died. Most of them Zaunites. Powder and Vi’s parents among them. That's why they're with Vander now.”

Jayce swallowed, his throat tight.

“Silco disappeared for months after,” Viktor went on. “Then one day... he came back. As if nothing had happened.” He trailed off, his voice thinning, and after a moment, he added, almost sheepishly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up so suddenly.”

Jayce shifted, setting the papers aside and wrapping his arm more firmly around him. “Don’t apologize.” His voice was gentle, certain. “You’re allowed to remember. And I’m glad you did. I should’ve remembered too.”

Viktor tilted his head, looking faintly surprised at the warmth in his tone.

Jayce offered him a small, sad smile. “We both carry this city, one way or another. That means remembering the good and the terrible. Even if it hurts.”

Viktor’s lips pressed together, his expression softening. He laid his head back down on Jayce’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath.

Jayce brushed a hand over Viktor’s back. “We’re still here,” he whispered. “Still building. Still trying. That has to count for something.”

Viktor let out a breath. “Yes. It does.”

---

The basement of the Last Drop felt heavier than usual, the air thick with smoke and the scent of alcohol. Lantern light flickered against the damp stone walls as the group lingered, talk of the past hanging on like ash.

They’d been trading memories—hard ones, soft ones—until the bridge came up.

Vi leaned against the table, jaw tight. “I still remember the fire. The screams. Our parents—” She cut herself off, fists clenching. “I’ll never forget it.”

Silco, lounging half in shadow, exhaled slow smoke from his pipe. “The bridge was a mistake,” he muttered, voice low, as though speaking more to himself than anyone else. “The molotov was thrown too far—”

He shut his mouth.

Vi’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “The mol... what did you just say?”

He froze. Even he seemed to realize too late what had slipped from his tongue.

“You,” she hissed, voice trembling with rage. “You threw it.”

Powder blinked, confused, stepping closer to her sister. “Vi—”

“You killed them,” Vi barked, her voice cracking as she shoved the chair back. “All these years—you let me blame the enforcers. You let me hate them, when it was you all along!”

Silco set the pipe down calmly but his eyes betrayed a flicker of panic. “Vi, it wasn’t—”

“Don’t.” She stepped toward him, every muscle coiled like a spring. “Don’t you dare try to explain this away.”

“Listen to me—” he started, rising.

“No!” Her shout echoed off the basement walls, sharp enough to silence even Mylo’s smart mouth. “You lied to me every damn day.”

Silco’s lips parted, but the words caught in his throat. For once, he didn’t have the right speech ready.

Vi’s chest heaved as she glared at him, her vision blurred with angry tears she refused to let fall. Without another word, she spun and stormed toward the stairs.

“Vi—!” Powder called after her, but Vi didn’t look back.

The door slammed above them, leaving the rest in the dim light, silence stretching uncomfortably. Silco sat rigid, shadowed, smoke curling forgotten in the air around him—looking, for once, like a man caught in his own fire.

---

Vi’s lungs burned by the time she reached Piltover, she hadn't realized she was even running here. She tore through the cobbled streets, past startled enforcers and merchants, until she was standing outside the familiar door of Jayce’s apartment.

Her fists pounded against the wood. Once. Twice. Over and over until her knuckles stung.

The door swung open with a startled creak, Jayce standing there in a loose shirt and pants, hair a mess. His eyes widened. “Vi?”

She didn’t say a word. She just stumbled forward, collapsing into him.

“Whoa—hey, hey,” he murmured, arms coming up to catch her as her weight hit his chest. “Vi, what’s—what happened?”

Her shoulders shook, hot tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Jayce froze for half a second, overwhelmed, then gathered her closer, rubbing a steady hand across her back.

“Come on,” he said gently, guiding her inside. He closed the door with his heel and led her to the couch, easing her down. “Sit, breathe, you’re okay.”

For a long while, she couldn’t speak—just clung to him, fists curling into his shirt as if she might fall apart if she let go. Jayce didn’t push. He sat beside her, one strong arm around her shoulders, the other smoothing back her damp hair, humming faintly under his breath like he was trying to calm her heartbeat with his own.

Finally, the words came out broken. “It was Silco. He… he killed my parents. The bridge—” She choked, dragging a trembling hand across her face. “He lied. All this time, he lied to me.”

Jayce’s brows knit, shock and anger flashing in his eyes, but he kept his voice steady. “Vi... I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, tears brimming again. “I can’t go back. I can’t even look at him. All these years... and I—” her breath hitched—“I trusted him.”

Jayce tightened his hold, pulling her against his chest. “Then don’t go back,” he said firmly, no hesitation. “Stay here. As long as you need.”

Her head jerked up, eyes red and raw. “Jayce, I—”

“Hey.” He offered a small, crooked smile, brushing a thumb under her eye to catch a tear. “You think I’d leave you out there alone? Not a chance.”

Something in her chest loosened at that, a fragile laugh escaping despite the ache. “You’re too good for this world, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Jayce said, feigning thoughtfulness. “Or maybe I just like having you around. Makes the place less quiet.”

Vi let out a shaky chuckle, sniffling as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“Takes one to know one,” he teased softly, squeezing her hand.

Notes:

I know some of you might be frustrated with Vi for running away, but in her defense... Silco did kill her parents. Accident or not, that’s not something you just brush off—especially after years of silence, only for her to find out by accident. That’s a lot for her to carry.

And honestly, I need this for her character arc. Don’t worry though—Silco will be forgiven eventually. I don’t do sad endings.

I feel like Vi finding out was very weak. But I wanted to write the scene cause I felt weird having her just... show up. You know?

Next chapter is going to be a big one. Wish me luck, because this was the last chapter I had from my old fic. Now I’ve actually got to do this thing called figuring everything out myself??? Whatever that means /j

As for posting—since these chapters are getting long, updates will probably slow down a bit. Maybe 2–3 times a week, maaaybe 4 if I really get in the groove. Year 6 and 7 might be shorter, but we’ll see.

Thanks so much for understanding.

Chapter 15: The Hexgate

Summary:

The Hexgate is now open to the public.

The lab was uncharacteristically spotless, cleared of scrap and half-finished prototypes, though stacks of notes and blueprints still crowded the tables. Jayce adjusted his cuffs in front of the mirror propped against the wall, frowning. His suit felt stiff, his collar too tight, his heartbeat too loud.

“Gods, I look ridiculous,” he muttered, tugging at the lapel. “They’re going to laugh me right off the stage.”

Behind him, Viktor’s cane tapped softly against the floor as he crossed the room. “They will not laugh,” he said, voice calm as ever. “You look... like you’re golden.”

Jayce huffed. “That’s exactly the problem.” He dragged a hand down his face, turning halfway to Viktor. “What if I forget my speech? What if I choke? What if—”

Viktor placed a steady hand against his arm, quieting him mid-spiral. His touch was grounding. “Jayce,” he said firmly. “You have worked for this moment. You built this. They will see it. And if you forget a line, then you speak from your heart. As you always do.”

The tension in Jayce’s shoulders bled out a fraction. He leaned a little into Viktor’s hand, watching him with something softer than panic now. “You always know how to talk me down,” he said, almost sheepish.

Viktor’s lips curved in the faintest smile. “Perhaps because you are very easy to read.”

Jayce laughed quietly, the knot in his chest loosening at last. He took a breath, let it steady him, then asked, “Will you... stand with me? On stage, when I give the speech?”

Viktor blinked, his hand slipping back to his side. “Jayce—”

“Please.” Jayce’s voice was gentle, but insistent. 

Viktor blinked, hesitation flickering across his features. “I don’t know if that is necessary. You are the face of the project—”

“I don’t want to be the face of it alone,” Jayce interrupted, his voice firmer than before. “We built this together. I can’t stand up there and pretend it was just me. Please. Stand with me.”

Viktor lowered his gaze, torn. He wasn’t one for grand crowds, for eyes on him, for ceremony. But Viktor had never been good at resisting Jayce’s plea.

Finally, he gave the faintest of smiles. “Very well. But only because you insist.”

Relief washed over Jayce, and without thinking, he pulled Viktor into a brief, tight hug. “Thank you. Really.”

Viktor lingered just a heartbeat before stepping back. “Come,” he said softly. “We have a city to impress.”

And with Viktor beside him, Jayce found he could breathe again.

---

The front of the Hexgates had been transformed into something out of a festival. The wide expanse of stone and grass leading up to the towering structure was draped in streamers of deep blue and gold, Piltover’s colors catching in the wind. Lanterns floated on suspended wires overhead, casting a warm glow even as daylight filtered through, their glass etched with Hextech motifs that shimmered faintly with runes.

A stage stood proudly at the center, polished wood raised just high enough for everyone to see. Behind it loomed the Hexgate tower itself.

Stalls and tables had been set up along the edges of the party, offering refreshments, trinkets, and keepsakes for visitors. Children darted between the legs of finely dressed patrons, their laughter mingling with the music from a small ensemble playing near the fountain. Inventors, merchants, and council members mixed with the ordinary people of Piltover, all drawn by curiosity.

The air was alive with anticipation. Conversations carried a note of awe, whispers pointing toward the tower, the invention, the men who had made it possible. Every eye kept straying back to the Hexgate, waiting for the moment when the speeches would begin.

Jayce and Viktor barely made it past the opening before they were swallowed whole by the crowd. Voices rose around them in a jumble—questions, congratulations, demands—all blending into a steady hum of excitement.

“Mr. Talis, what’s next after the Hexgates?”

 “Is it true you’re planning expansions to Ixtal?”

 “Excuse me, Jayce, just one statement—”

Jayce kept his polite smile fixed in place, offering quick nods and half-answers as he tried to push forward. Viktor stayed at his side, but even his steady presence couldn’t keep the tide of people from pressing closer.

“We’ll address everything at the speech,” Jayce said firmly, though his voice nearly drowned in the din. “Please—later.”

Someone tugged at his sleeve, another called Viktor’s name, and for a moment it felt like they’d never get through.

Then, like a knife cutting through the chaos, Mel appeared. Draped in white and gold, her very presence seemed to command the air around her. She stepped in front of the pair, her hand raised in a graceful gesture that silenced the nearest voices.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said smoothly, “our honored guests will be speaking soon. I promise you, your questions will not go unanswered. But for now—let them breathe.”

The crowd hesitated, caught between eagerness and the unspoken authority in her tone. Slowly, they relented, the circle widening just enough for Jayce and Viktor to slip free.

Mel turned to them with a small, knowing smile. “You looked like cornered prey for a moment there.”

Jayce exhaled a laugh, loosening his shoulders. “Felt like it, too. Thanks for the rescue.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied, eyes gleaming. “You’ll be back up there in front of all of them soon enough.” She glanced between him and Viktor, her smile softening just slightly. “Both of you have already done the impossible. Now it’s just about showing the world. Good luck.”

Jayce and Viktor slipped deeper into the festival grounds after leaving Mel, the sounds of music and chatter swelling around them. Lanterns swung overhead in the breeze, their soft glow catching on the polished stone of the Hexgate tower behind the stage.

Ahead, Sky and Steb stood off to the side of the path, hands twined together. Their heads tipped close as if they were sharing some private thought, but when Sky spotted Jayce and Viktor, her face brightened instantly.

“Jayce! Viktor!” she called, tugging Steb gently along as she crossed to meet them. “Congratulations. Truly—you’ve done something extraordinary.”

Jayce grinned, his earlier nerves easing for a moment. “Thank you. But don’t sell yourself short, Sky. We couldn’t have done it without you. You kept us from burning the whole lab down more than once.”

Steb chuckled, squeezing Sky’s hand. “He’s right. You kept everything running while these two lost themselves in equations.”

Sky ducked her head, embarrassed but smiling. “Maybe, but I haven’t been around as much lately. My own research has been... taking up time.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, studying her with quiet curiosity. “We’ve noticed your absence. But I trust your pursuits are worthwhile.”

“They are,” Sky assured quickly, though her eyes flickered, as if weighing how much to share. Then she smiled again, softer this time. “Still—I wanted to be here for this. For both of you.”

Jayce felt his chest tighten, the weight of her words hitting deeper than expected. He glanced between her and Steb, noticing the subtle way their hands tightened together. “Looks like you’ve had your own breakthroughs,” he teased gently.

Sky’s blush deepened, but she laughed. “Yeah... a few weeks ago. Officially.”

“About time,” Jayce said warmly, earning a quiet laugh from Steb.

Viktor’s lips curved faintly, a softness in his expression. “I am glad. It suits you both.”

Leaving them behind, Jayce and Viktor had barely taken ten steps before another voice cut through the crowd.

“Jayce Talis! Viktor!”

They turned to find Cassandra and Tobias striding toward them, Caitlyn between them. Vi trailed close at her side, her hands shoved deep in her pockets, shoulders squared like she was bracing against the whole celebration.

Jayce straightened instinctively. “Cassandra, Tobias,” he greeted, warmth in his voice despite the knot of nerves still lingering in his stomach.

Cassandra gave a gracious nod. “The gates look magnificent. Piltover is... buzzing with anticipation.”

Tobias lanced up at the tower behind them. “And you’re certain the structural integrity will hold when you run the system at full power?”

Viktor inclined his head. “We are certain. It has been tested thoroughly.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly at the reassurance, though her eyes darted toward Vi, who was already looking elsewhere.

Jayce was about to ask if they’d be staying long when the crowd shifted again, opening to reveal familiar figures. Vander pushed through first, his broad shoulders hard to miss, followed by Mylo—whose hand was tangled with Gert’s, the boy looking sheepish but oddly proud. And behind them Silco.

Vi stiffened. 

The greetings started easily enough—Vander clasping Jayce’s arm with a wide grin, then Viktor’s shoulder with fatherly warmth. “Look at this,” he said, voice thick with pride. “Building something the whole world will look up to. I couldn’t be prouder of you both.”

Jayce felt the praise land deep, like a weight and a gift all at once. “Thank you, Vander. Really.”

Viktor gave the faintest of nods, his lips curving in acknowledgment.

But the warmth faltered when Silco stepped forward. His eyes flicked over Jayce and Viktor briefly before landing—inevitably—on Vi.

“Vi,” he said, voice low.

She met his gaze with ice. “Silco.” Nothing more.

The air between them was sharp enough to cut, and even Caitlyn shifted slightly, standing a little closer to Vi.

Vander cleared his throat, drawing the attention back. “The other kids are... somewhere out there.” He chuckled.

Jayce smiled faintly, grateful for the reprieve. “Tell them we said hello if we don’t see them.”

“Of course,” Vander said, already herding Mylo and Gert toward the crowd again. Silco lingered a beat longer, but Vi’s glare sent him turning after them without another word.

As they left, Jayce exhaled slowly, glancing at Viktor. They said their goodbyes to the others and slipped over to the refreshment table.

Jayce popped a sugared pastry into his mouth and tried not to groan aloud. “Gods above, I think this is the first thing I’ve eaten all day.”

Viktor smirked faintly, delicately lifting a small cup of tea from the table. “I told you to eat breakfast.”

“I was nervous.” Jayce shot him a sheepish grin.

“Still, something small would have been good.” Viktor countered, the dry amusement in his voice enough to make Jayce laugh softly.

They lingered there a moment, shoulder to shoulder, speaking in low voices about nothing in particular—anything to hold back the weight of the moment pressing down on them.

Then, the soft tap of the microphone echoed from the stage.

Heimerdinger had stepped forward, the crowd quieting almost instantly as he raised his hands. His fur bristled slightly in the evening breeze, eyes sparkling beneath the lantern light.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Piltover,” Heimerdinger began, his voice rich with warmth and pride. “Today, we stand before a creation that will shape not only our city, but the world beyond it. The Hexgates represent progress, unity, and boundless possibility. None of this would be possible without the brilliance and dedication of two extraordinary minds...”

Viktor shifted subtly, cane tapping lightly against the stone, and Jayce exhaled. That was their cue.

Heimerdinger gestured toward them. “Please welcome to the stage—Jayce Talis and Viktor.”

Applause rippled through the crowd as Jayce and Viktor began their walk toward the steps leading up. Jayce straightened his jacket, heart thudding, and felt Viktor’s steady presence beside him like an anchor.

As they reached the stage, Heimerdinger stepped back with a proud smile, leaving the spotlight open for them both.

Jayce’s palms felt slick despite the cool air. He gripped the edge of the podium a little too tightly, his jaw set as he forced himself to look at the crowd. Hundreds of faces stared back at him—eager, skeptical, reverent, and expectant all at once. His throat tightened. This wasn’t like presenting to the council. This was the city. This was history.

He stumbled slightly over his first words, voice too fast, too strained. “Th–thank you... all for coming, for... supporting Piltover’s leap into a new era.”

He felt his chest constrict. His mind raced with every possible mistake—what if he said the wrong thing, what if he forgot a line, what if the people rejected it all?

Viktor met his gaze. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His golden eyes, steady and calm, anchored Jayce in an instant. They always had. A small nod, a faint, reassuring curve of his lips—silent but telling: You’ve got this. I’m here.

Jayce exhaled slowly. His heart steadied. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger, steadier.

“The Hexgates are more than just machines,” he said, looking out over the people, his nerves softening into conviction. “They’re bridges. Connections. A way to unite trade, knowledge, and opportunity across the world. Today isn’t about one invention—it’s about a future where Piltover stands at the center of innovation, and all of us rise together.”

The crowd began to murmur, some nodding, some clapping faintly. Encouraged, Jayce continued.

Viktor allowed himself the smallest smile. And when Jayce faltered—searching for the right phrasing—Viktor stepped forward, his voice measured and thoughtful as he addressed the people.

“These gates,” Viktor said, gesturing gracefully toward the tower, “are not built only for merchants. They are built for you. For the students, the laborers, the travelers, and the dreamers who will use them to reach horizons once thought impossible. Piltover thrives when we work together. That is what today represents.”

The crowd hung on their words—merchants leaning forward, scholars scribbling furiously, children craning their necks to see. But somewhere among them, something shifted.

A cloaked figure pushed through the bodies, hood low. He brushed against Vi’s shoulder.

Immediately, her instincts flared. She straightened, eyes narrowing as her head snapped toward him. He muttered something and kept moving.

“Cait,” Vi muttered, voice low and sharp.

Caitlyn’s eyes followed the figure weaving through the masses. “I see him.”

The two moved subtly after him, slipping between the crowd. Then Vi froze.

Another cloaked figure. Then another. Three... four... her pulse quickened.

“Not good,” she hissed.

The realization hit them both at once. They weren’t drifting toward the refreshments, nor the exits—they were headed straight for the stage.

“Shit,” Vi breathed. They pushed faster, weaving through citizens who hadn’t yet realized the danger.

But they weren’t fast enough.

The first cloak fell. A man stood revealed, tattoos crawling over his skin like brands of war, snaking up his neck and down his arms. His jaw, golden plates bolted into flesh, hissed with a metallic click each time he moved. Gasps erupted from those nearest, dread rippling outward.

And then he pulled the gun.

Screams tore through the air. The man fired wild into the crowd, bullets striking bodies—shrieks of pain cut the joyous celebration to ribbons. Pandemonium exploded as people shoved and scrambled to escape.

From the stage, Jayce froze, horror widening his eyes as the gun turned upward—aiming directly at Viktor.

“Vik—!”

The shot rang.

Jayce didn’t think. His body moved before his mind could catch up. He lunged, throwing himself between Viktor and the barrel.

The bullet slammed into his shoulder. Pain exploded white-hot through his chest, his knees buckling as the world tilted.

Viktor’s cry split the chaos. “Jayce!” He dropped his cane, arms catching him before he hit the ground. Blood seeped rapidly through Jayce’s suit, hot against Viktor’s trembling hands.

Jayce’s face twisted with pain, but his first instinct was to look back, desperate, as if to reassure Viktor even through the agony.

“Stay with me!” Viktor’s voice cracked, sharp with fear, as he tried to haul him up. His frame shook under Jayce’s weight, but he refused to falter.

Gunfire cracked through the courtyard. Cloaked figures pushed forward. Enforcers surged from the edges, shields raised, shouting commands as they tried to force back the attackers and shield civilians. 

But on the stage, Viktor had only one thought: keep Jayce alive.

Jayce gritted his teeth, blood soaking his shoulder. He tried to straighten, to move. “We... we have to... help them—”

“You cannot help them if you bleed out here!” Viktor snapped, voice trembling, but his grip was iron-strong as he pulled Jayce toward the back of the stage, toward safety.

Another shot cracked. People screamed. Jayce stumbled, vision swimming—but even then, he looked at Viktor and, through clenched teeth, managed a weak, wry smile.

“Knew you’d... end up on stage with me.”

Viktor’s breath caught, breaking into a sharp sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. He pulled him tighter, desperation burning in his chest. “Idiot,” he whispered harshly. “Now hush, and move.”

Together, half-dragged, half-running, they disappeared toward the rear as enforcers closed in, the world erupting into chaos behind them.

The cheers of minutes ago were gone, replaced by screams, shouts, and the sharp cracks of gunfire. Decorations fluttered to the ground, trampled beneath panicked feet as people shoved past one another, desperate to escape.

Vi’s instincts took over. She shoved a fleeing civilian out of the way of a stray shot, her fists clenching tight. A cloaked man lunged at her, knife flashing in the light. Vi ducked the first slash and drove her fist into his gut, the impact cracking against bone. He staggered, and Vi grabbed his collar, slamming his head into her knee with a sickening thud.

“Stay down!” she barked, before whirling toward the next threat.

Beside her, Caitlyn crouched near a fallen enforcer, fingers quick and sure as she stripped the rifle from his lifeless grip. Her jaw was tight, eyes narrowed with focus. She cocked the weapon, set her stance, and fired.

The rifle kicked against her shoulder, the crack echoing. One of the cloaked shooters collapsed, a crimson spray marking the cobblestones. Caitlyn adjusted her aim, breath steady, and fired again—another figure dropped.

Vi caught sight of the tattooed man through the haze of bodies and smoke—metal jaw gleaming, his weapon raised once more as he shouted something guttural to his allies. Vi’s blood roared in her ears.

“That’s him!” she yelled, breaking into a sprint.

The man turned just as she lunged. His gun came up, but Vi grabbed the barrel, forcing it upward as the shot went wild, exploding harmlessly into the air. She slammed her elbow into his side, the sharp plates of his armor biting into her skin, but she didn’t care. She swung again, her fist connecting with his jaw—the metal clanged, her knuckles screaming with pain, but she refused to let go.

Caitlyn raised her rifle, exhaling slow. The world narrowed to a pinpoint—just her, the scope, and the target. She squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, hitting home. The tattooed man jerked violently, blood blossoming across his chest. His gun slipped from his hands, clattering uselessly to the ground.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled. He staggered, his metal jaw twitching, eyes wide with shock. Then, finally, he crumpled to the ground at Vi’s feet.

Vi stood over the fallen man, chest heaving, fists still trembling with rage and adrenaline. Caitlyn moved to her side, lowering her rifle, eyes scanning the crowd for any further threat.

“You okay?” Caitlyn asked, her voice calm despite the fire still burning in her eyes.

Vi spat to the side, her gaze locked on the tattooed man’s still body. “I will be.”

Smoke and screams tangled together, bodies rushing in every direction. Enforcers clashed with cloaked figures, fists and steel colliding, gunfire cracking sharp through the air.

In the swirl of it all, Powder huddled close to Ekko and Claggor. The two boys moved like shields around her, stepping in front of stray shots, knocking back any attacker who came too close. Ekko swung his wrench hard, the metal singing through the air, while Claggor used his weight to shove one of the cloaked men to the ground.

“Stay close to us!” Claggor barked, glancing back at Powder.

“I am!” she snapped, though her voice shook. Her heart pounded so loud she could barely hear anything else.

Her eyes caught ia gun gleaming on the ground in the mess of bodies and dust. 

For a moment, the world tunneled. If she had that gun, she could help. She wouldn’t just be standing here, waiting for Ekko and Claggor to save her. She wouldn’t be useless anymore.

“Powder—don’t!” Ekko shouted, realizing what she was about to do.

But she was already running. Her boots pounded against the stone, weaving through the chaos. Enforcers yelled, a bullet hissed past, and still she kept going—her eyes locked on that weapon like it was salvation itself.

“Powder!” Claggor’s voice roared behind her.

She dropped to her knees, fingers closing around the gun’s grip. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she lifted it with trembling arms, fumbling to steady it, to aim—

The crack of a shot split the air.

Pain exploded in her leg. She screamed and collapsed to the ground, clutching the gun tight even as blood soaked through her pants. The weapon clattered against the stone, but she refused to let go, knuckles white with desperation.

“Powder!” Ekko’s voice cracked with panic as he slid beside her. Claggor was there a second later, scooping her into his arms like she weighed nothing at all.

Her fingers dug into his shirt, clutching at him as tears streaked her dirt-smeared face. The gun was still in her grasp, held awkwardly against her chest as though letting go would mean losing any chance to prove herself.

“I—I was trying to help,” she gasped through sobs, her leg throbbing, vision blurring from the pain. “I just wanted to help.”

Claggor held her tighter, running as Ekko cleared the way with his wrench, striking down anyone who got too close. “You are helping, Pow. Just hang on!”

But Powder pressed her face into her brother’s chest, shame cutting sharper than the wound in her leg. She didn’t feel like help. She felt useless. Like dead weight they had to carry.

As Claggor’s arms wrapped around her and Ekko’s shouts rang ahead, all she could think was that she had failed them again.

---

Powder’s throat felt tight, but she forced herself to sit up a little. The pull in her leg made her wince, but she pressed her lips together and tried not to show it. She just woke up in a bed, in an infirmy. It turns out she passed out, but the riot was stopped.

Silco leaned closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he adjusted the blanket over her. Vander hovered at her other side, rough hand resting on the bedframe like he didn’t trust himself not to scoop her up and carry her home that second.

“You gave us quite the scare,” Vander rumbled, voice softer than usual.

Powder dropped her gaze to her lap. “I’m fine,” she murmured.

Her eyes flicked sideways, landing on Claggor, Mylo, Gert, and Ekko. They were all scuffed and bruised but alive. Her chest ached.

Beside her, on the second bed, Jayce shifted, his casted arm propped awkwardly on a pillow. Viktor sat perched at the edge of his bed, thin frame angled toward him like he was ready to catch him if he slipped. Jayce caught Powder’s glance and gave her a crooked smile despite the strain on his face.

“You holding up okay?” he asked gently.

Powder’s fingers curled into the blanket. She nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The words felt heavy in her mouth. She wasn’t okay. Her leg throbbed. Her pride burned worse. And beneath it all was the gnawing guilt—she ran for the gun, she slowed everyone down, she got hurt.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Instead, she swallowed hard, hiding her trembling hands under the blanket.

Viktor’s quiet voice cut in, directed at Jayce but low enough that Powder caught it. “You’re the one who nearly got yourself killed.”

Jayce huffed, “we all nearly died,” his eyes flick back to Powder with the same soft worry.

Powder turned her face away before anyone could see her lip quiver.

The infirmary door flew open, and Ximena swept in, her eyes locked onto Jayce instantly, and she rushed to his side, skirt swishing against the floor.

“¡Jayce! Dios mío, ¿qué pasó? ¿Estás bien? ¿Te duele mucho?” she blurted, voice trembling with panic. (Jayce! Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”

Jayce startled, but his face relaxed into a tired smile. “Tranquila, mama,” he murmured. “Estoy bien... bueno.” (calm down, mama. I’m fine... good.)

She pressed her lips together, hands hovering over his cast as if touching might break him further. “¡Te dispararon! ¿Y me dices ‘Estoy bien’?” Her tone was sharp, but her eyes glistened. (You got shot! And you’re telling me I’m okay?!”

Jayce chuckled softly, then hissed when the motion tugged at his shoulder. “He tenido peores días,” he teased, though his voice betrayed the strain. (I’ve had worse days.”

Ximena shook her head, muttering under her breath, “Este hombre...” before sighing. Her hand finally settled lightly against his good arm, thumb brushing over his sleeve. “Prométeme que vas a tener más cuidado, ¿sí? No puedo...” Her voice faltered. “No puedo perderte.” (this man... promise me you’ll be more careful, okay? I can’t... I can’t lose you.”

Jayce’s gaze softened, and he leaned toward her ever so slightly. “Te lo prometo,” he said quietly. (I promise you.”

The moment lingered before Ximena drew in a steadying breath and turned her head. Her eyes landed on the smaller figure in the next bed. Powder froze as Ximena crossed the room, her gaze no less warm but sharp with concern.

“And you,” Ximena said, crouching slightly so she was level with Powder. “How are you feeling?”

Powder swallowed, gripping her blanket tighter. “I’m fine,” she lied quickly, her voice shaking.

Ximena tilted her head, reading the truth in her eyes. Still, she didn’t press. Instead, she offered a small smile and reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from Powder’s face. “You were very brave,” she said gently. “But it’s okay to feel scared too.”

Powder’s lip quivered. She looked away, blinking furiously to stop the tears threatening to fall.

“Shh, cariño,” Ximena whispered, her tone soft as silk. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

The muffled hum of voices carried through the infirmary door—heated tones, boots scuffing against tile. Everyone in the room turned their heads just as the door swung open. Caitlyn stepped in first, her eyes sweeping the room. Right behind her, Vi barreled in like a storm.

“Powder!” Vi’s voice cracked, raw with worry.

Before Powder could even sit up straighter in her bed, Vi was at her side, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around her sister. The force of the embrace startled Powder, her breath catching as Vi crushed her against her chest.

“I’m okay,” Powder mumbled into her sister’s shirt, muffled. “Really, Vi—I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Vi shot back instantly, pulling away just enough to look her in the face. Her eyes darted to the cast on Powder’s leg, her jaw tightening. “You’ve got a hole in your leg, Pow. That’s not fine.”

Powder tried for a weak laugh, her hands tightening in the fabric of Vi’s clothes. “It’s... it’s not that bad. Claggor carried me out, and the doctors said I’ll walk again. It’s fine.” She forced the word out, heavy as stone, like if she said it enough Vi would believe her.

Vi’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt still clinging to her skin. Her eyes softened, but her voice wavered. “Don’t scare me like that again. I thought—” She broke off, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here.”

Powder swallowed hard, blinking quickly. “I didn’t mean to. I just... I thought maybe I could help.”

Vi’s chest tightened at that, but she leaned forward and kissed the top of Powder’s head. “You already do help, Pow. Just by being here. Don’t forget that.”

Caitlyn, who had been standing quietly by the door, finally stepped closer. “She’s right,” Caitlyn said softly, her gaze resting on Powder. “You don’t have to throw yourself into danger to prove your worth. You matter without all of that.”

Powder ducked her head, fingers twisting in the blanket over her lap. She muttered again, almost too low for them to hear, “I’m fine.”

But her voice wobbled this time. And Vi didn’t let go of her.

---

The infirmary had grown quiet. The chaos of earlier had dwindled to a soft, uneasy stillness. The others had been ushered out by the nurses, leaving only those required to stay. 

The lamps along the walls glowed dim, throwing long shadows across the floor. Powder stared at the ceiling, her hands clutching the blanket pulled tight to her chest. She tried to stay silent, tried to push the thoughts away, but they kept replaying in her mind—the gun on the floor, her running for it, the sound of the shot, the searing pain in her leg, and Claggor’s arms carrying her away like she couldn’t do a single thing for herself.

She bit her lip, hard enough to sting, but it didn’t stop the tears from sliding hot and quiet down her cheeks. She curled into herself, trying to muffle her breaths so he would not notice.

Jayce had been awake, his own shoulder aching too much to let him sleep, his gaze drifting absently around the infirmary. When he noticed her trembling, the way her shoulders shook under the thin blanket, he pushed himself up despite the pain and crossed the short distance to her bed.

“Powder?” his voice was gentle.

She quickly wiped her face with the heel of her hand, but the motion was shaky, betraying her. “I’m fine,” she whispered. The words were automatic, rehearsed—empty.

Jayce sat down carefully on the edge of her bed, ignoring the twinge in his arm. “You don’t have to be fine,” he said softly. “Not after today.”

Powder shook her head, staring at her lap. The tears came harder now, slipping past her defenses. “I just... I feel so useless,” she choked out, the words tumbling in a rush. “Everyone else can fight, or build, or... or do something. Vi’s strong, Caitlyn’s brave, Viktor’s brilliant, you—” she glanced at him with watery eyes, “you built created a new kind of magic. And me? I just—” She broke off, pressing her hands over her face as a sob shook her. “I couldn’t do anything. I just got hurt. I always get hurt.”

Jayce’s heart twisted at the words. He reached out carefully, his good arm wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her against him. She resisted for a moment, stiff with shame, but then collapsed into his side, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Hey, hey,” Jayce murmured, holding her close, his chin resting lightly atop her hair. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever think you’re useless.”

Powder sniffled, voice muffled against his shirt. “But it’s true. Everyone’s moving forward, doing these big things. And I’m just... me.”

Jayce tightened his hold on her, his tone steady and warm. “Powder, listen to me. You don’t have to be like anyone else. You don’t have to fight the way Vi does, or invent the way Viktor does, or... build giant gates the way I do.” A small smile tugged at his mouth, though his voice never lost its sincerity. “You matter just by being here. By being you. You’re clever, you’re kind, and you’ve got more fire in you than you realize. That’s not useless. That’s strength.”

She sniffled again, lifting her head just enough to meet his eyes. “You really think so?”

Jayce brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I know so. And someday, when you’re ready, you’re going to show everyone exactly what you’re capable of. But even if that takes time... you’re not less. You’re not nothing.”

Powder swallowed hard, her chest tight, but something in his words soothed the ache. She leaned back into him, letting herself breathe, letting herself believe him just a little.

“Thanks, Jayce,” she whispered.

He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Anytime, kiddo. You’re not alone in this. You never will be.”

Powder let herself close her eyes and rest, held steady in Jayce’s embrace.

---

The chamber was a storm. Voices crashed against each other, echoing off the marble walls of Piltover’s council hall. Every councilor spoke at once, their words sharp, their tones outraged. The grand table that normally carried calm discussion was drowned in chaos.

Jayce sat stiffly beside Viktor, his arm still wrapped in its cast. On Viktor’s other side sat Silco, his good eye glittering like a blade. Across the chamber, Captain Grayson stood with her shoulders square, a target of much of the council’s fury.

“You should have known!” Councilor Salo spat, slamming her hand on the table. “Lives were lost, Captain—Piltover lives. Men, women, children. Dozens of enforcers! And all because you let Zaunites wander unchecked into our streets—”

Grayson’s jaw tightened. “With respect, councilor, I cannot predict the actions of terrorists. We had no forewarning of their plan—”

Hoskel cut her off, his voice like thunder. “Then what good are the enforcers? We trusted you to protect our people, and you failed. Now we face the cost.”

The room erupted again—talk of rebellion, whispers of revenge, calls for more boots in Zaun.

Councilor Medarda’s voice rose above them, cold and cutting. “Enough.”

The chamber fell to a quieter rumble, though not silence. Mel’s eyes scanned the room, gold jewelry gleaming faintly in the morning light.p

“Let us not delude ourselves. Sending more enforcers into Zaun will not prevent bloodshed—it will ignite it. What you propose is not safety; it is war. And we cannot afford a war within our own city.”

“A war has already begun!” Hoskel barked. “Look what happened at the Hexgate unveiling!”

“Because of a few,” Mel countered, her tone sharp but controlled. She turned her head, gaze steady on Silco. “And I think our guest from the Undercity can confirm this.”

Silco, who had until now sat quietly with smoke-like calm, finally rose. His voice carried like fire through the chamber.

“You blame us all for the sins of a handful.” His words were low but sharp enough to cut. “Yes—Zaunites fired into your crowd. But how many more lives have been saved because of what you allowed us? Do you know what it is to breathe for the first time in years? To wake without choking on poison in your lungs? That is what your vent system gave us. That is what progress gave us. You dare say we are unworthy of it?”

Salo sneered. “And yet you repay us with violence.”

Silco’s eye flashed, his voice rising. “We suffer every day. Do you think we want rebellion? No. We are willing to live under Piltover’s rule—because it means survival. Because for once, we can breathe! Do not punish the many for the actions of the few!”

The council chamber rippled with uneasy murmurs. Jayce exchanged a look with Viktor, but neither spoke.

Mel leaned forward, her voice soft at first, but enough to draw all eyes back to her.

“Then let us consider what message we send,” she said. “If we flood Zaun with enforcers, what will they see? Oppression. Punishment. We will push them into rebellion, and once violence begins, it will not end. But—” She spread her hands slowly. “If we show them trust, if we show them unity, we will send another message entirely: that Piltover does not see them as enemies, but as our equals.”

Her words lingered in the air. Then her gaze slid toward Silco again.

“What better way to prove this than to place a Zaunite on this council?”

The chamber exploded.

Hoskel nearly leapt from his chair. “Absurd!”

“Unheard of!” Salo's face twisted with outrage. “The council has never had more than seven members!”

“And never a Zaunite!” Bolbok added.

“They will poison our city from within!” Hoskel barked.

Mel waited until the noise reached its peak, then rose to her feet. She let them rage for a moment, then her voice struck like iron.

“Piltover calls itself the City of Progress. The City of Change. Yet here we sit, clinging to ‘tradition’ like it is law. Tradition is not progress. Tradition will not save us from rebellion. In these new times, we must break free of old ways. A better future demands it.”

Her words hung heavy, undeniable.

For the first time, Heimerdinger raised his head, his small face solemn. “Councilor Medarda speaks wisely. If we are to endure, we must adapt. Let us put it to a vote.”

The chamber stilled, the tension thick. Heimerdinger lifted his paw. “Those in favor of expanding the council to include a Zaunite?”

Mel’s hand went up first, her bracelets chiming softly. Heimerdinger raised his own beside hers.

Cassandra hesitated, her eyes flicking between Grayson and the rest of the council. Then, firmly, she raised her hand.

Hoskel shifted, frowning deeply, but when Mel’s sharp eyes locked on him, he wavered—then, slowly, reluctantly, lifted his hand.

Finally, Shoola scowled, muttering curses under her breath, and raised hers as well.

Mel straightened. “Five in favor.”

Hoskel slammed his hand down again. “Two against.”

“Then it is decided,” Mel declared, her voice carrying over the stunned silence. She looked toward Silco, her expression unreadable, but victorious. “In the coming days, Silco, it shall be none other than you to join the council.”

Silco's hands pressed to the edge of the table, knuckles pale. His good eye darted over the faces staring back at him—some triumphant, some resentful, some wary. His name echoed in his mind like a curse.

A council seat. In Piltover.

He knew what it meant—power, influence, a voice that Zaun had never been granted before. Yet even as the chamber waited for his answer, doubt coiled in his chest like smoke. What would his people think? How many would see him as a traitor the moment he set foot in this chamber as one of them? How many would believe he had bent the knee to Piltover, not for Zaun’s survival, but for his own ambition?

They would not see the nuance. 

He thought of the stares in the Lanes, the whispers, the countless who had followed him because he promised something better. He had always told them to fight against Piltover’s grip. To take their future. And now—now he was being invited into Piltover’s highest circle of power.

Was that progress? Or betrayal?

Mel’s voice cut into his thoughts, smooth and commanding. “It makes the most sense for it to be you. The truth is plain. For years now, every matter between this council and the Undercity has gone through you. Resources. Ventilation. Infrastructure. You are already the bridge between our cities. You are the Undercity’s leader—whether or not you acknowledge it. To offer this seat to anyone else would be dishonesty. This is your role already. The council is simply giving it form.”

Silco’s jaw flexed. He wanted to laugh—darkly, bitterly—but no sound left him. The irony was not lost on him. 

In his mind, the weight of the choice pressed like chains on his chest.

---

The doors of the council chamber shut behind them with a heavy thud. For a moment, the silence of the hallway felt heavier than the arguments that had filled the room.

Silco’s steps echoed in measured beats.  His face betrayed little, but his single eye was sharp, distant.

Jayce broke the silence first. “You don’t seem... thrilled.”

Silco let out a rasp of a laugh. “Thrilled? They’ve just placed me on Piltover’s council. Half the city will call it progress, the other half betrayal. My own people most of all.”

His words hung in the air. Viktor walked quietly at his side, studying him. “And yet, without you, Zaun would remain voiceless. This way, at least, it is heard.”

Silco glanced at him. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “Perhaps it’s the noose they’ve fastened round my neck.”

Jayce looked uneasy, but didn’t push further.

At the stairwell, Silco paused, his expression shifting—less steel, more weight. “I’ll not think on it tonight. I’ve got to get Powder home.”

He adjusted his coat and gave the two men a brief nod. “Take care. The city won’t wait for you to steady your footing.”

With that, he turned and descended into the lower halls.

---

Jayce hissed under his breath as he tried to wrestle off his shirt one-handed, the cast making every movement clumsy. Viktor reached over quickly, taking the fabric before Jayce could tear it out of frustration. His fingers moved carefully, undoing buttons, but his eyes weren’t on the task. They flicked to Jayce’s chest, to the bruises that ran along his ribs, to the cast on his arm. His jaw was tight, and he’d barely spoken a word all evening.

“Vik?” Jayce asked quietly. “You’re a million miles away. What’s going on?”

Viktor froze, his hands lingering uselessly on the last button. For a moment it looked like he’d brush it off with some sharp remark, but instead his shoulders sagged, the mask cracking.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he said, his voice trembling. “You should not have stepped in front of me.”

Jayce frowned. “I wasn’t going to let you—”

“No!” The word came out harsher than Viktor intended, his accent thickening as emotion surged through. His breath hitched, and he clutched Jayce’s shirt as though grounding himself. “Do you not understand what that would have meant? You—” His voice broke, his eyes wet and burning. “You could have died, Jayce. I would have had to watch you die, because of me.”

Jayce reached for him, but Viktor pressed on, words tumbling out faster, like he’d lost control of the dam he’d kept shut for so long.

“I cannot—I cannot lose you. You are—” His voice cracked again, a strangled sound escaping him. “You are so important to me, Jayce. All I—”

His chest heaved, tears slipping free as he finally gave in, folding forward until his forehead pressed against Jayce’s collarbone.

Jayce, startled by the rawness of it, pulled him close with his good arm, guiding him down onto the bed with him. Viktor collapsed there, half sprawled across him, gripping his shirt as though afraid Jayce might disappear.

“Hey,” Jayce whispered, holding him tighter, his hand stroking Viktor’s back. “I’m here. I’m right here. Nothing’s taking me from you, I promise.”

Viktor shook his head, muffling a broken laugh against Jayce’s chest. “You make promises you cannot keep.”

“Then I’ll keep this one out of spite,” Jayce said gently.

Viktor buried his face in Jayce’s shirt, his breath shuddering against him. His hands gripped the fabric as though afraid to let go.

For a long while, they stayed like that. With Viktor’s eat pressed to Jayce’s chest. To make sure his heart kept beating.

Notes:

I’ve been toying with the idea of making Silco a councilor for a while, and I finally decided to go for it. The guy who attacked during the Hexgate reveal was Finn, one of the chembarons. Honestly, the more I think about it, I wish I had made him the one who attacked the Vent workers instead of Smeech. It fits better as a side plot—him betraying Silco.

I think that could be a strong subplot: the chembarons starting to lose respect for Silco and even working against him now that he’s been made a councilor. Poor guy—he’s already lost his daughter (since he and Vi are still at odds), and now he has to bow to the council. Straight Ls.

Also, I love Powder so much. I need more of her and Jayce 💔

Anyway, I’m taking a break from writing over the weekend so I can rewatch Arcane. I need to figure out the rest of the plot for Season 1 (I’ve been calling it Act 3, right?). Act 3 is definitely going to branch off from canon, but I still want to revisit canon anyway.

Chapter 16: Never Going Back

Summary:

Viktor and Jayce try and figure out what's next for Hextech.

The air inside the chamber was thick with smoke and tension. The chembarons’ voices overlapped one another—sharp, cutting, impatient. Silco sat at the long table with Sevika standing at his shoulder, her arms crossed, her glare fixed like a blade on the others.

“You sit in their tower now,” Smeech sneered, leaning forward. His fingers drummed on the table. “Their council. Do you even remember who you are, Silco? Or are you just another one of their lapdogs?”

Margot let out a low chuckle, though her smile was anything but warm. “Zaun bleeds, and instead of tending to it, you polish Piltover’s boots.”

Renni, lounging with her legs crossed, finally cut in. “Enough.” The single word silenced the bickering, if only for a moment. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “The truth is, things have changed. You sit among them, while we scrape by down here. You claim it’s strategy, but from where I’m standing, it looks like betrayal.”

Sevika shifted, about to speak, but Silco lifted a hand. His eyes narrowed, his voice low and venomous. “Do you think I asked for this seat? That I begged them for scraps? It was thrusted upon me. And it gives Zaun something it has never had before—a voice.”

But the words seemed to fall flat against the barons’ disdain. Chross slammed his hand down on the table. “A voice? What good is a voice if no one listens? If your own people spit on your name?”

It was Margot who brought it up, her tone almost amused. “Funny, isn’t it? This new era began after Finn’s little stunt at the Hexgate reveal. What was it, last year now? And where is he? Dead. Shot down like an animal. Seems those who cross Piltover don’t last long.”

A ripple of bitter laughter went around the table. Sevika’s jaw tightened, her hand twitching toward her blade, but Silco didn’t flinch. He simply exhaled smoke, the ember of his cigar glowing in the dim light.

Renni’s voice cut through again, cold and deliberate. “And now Finn is gone. Which leaves the rest of us. The balance has shifted, Silco. You may sit in Piltover’s tower, but here? Here, they answer to me.”

Silco eyes flicked toward her, calculating, unyielding, even as the room pressed in with hostility.

Renni leaned back in her chair, her lips curling in satisfaction at the silence that followed her claim. For a moment, it almost seemed like she had won.

But then Silco’s laugh cut through the smoke—low, sharp, humorless. “You?” His voice dripped with venom. He leaned forward, planting his hand flat on the table, his eyes blazing. “You mistake opportunity for authority, Renni. Finn is dead because he was a fool. He played at rebellion without foresight, without control—and he dragged innocents into his spectacle. And now you hold his corpse up like a trophy?”

Renni’s smirk faltered, but she held her gaze.

Silco didn’t let her interrupt. His voice rose, the careful control breaking into a raw edge. “You speak of respect? You know nothing of it. I have bled for this city. I have been branded traitor, murderer, villain. And still, Zaun breathes. Not because of you. Not because of your petty deals or your back-alley power struggles. Because of me.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. Even Sevika, though used to his fury, glanced at him with something close to caution.

Silco’s glare swept across each of them in turn, his hand curling into a fist. “You think Piltover’s council weakens me? No. It binds them. It forces them to look me in the eye and acknowledge Zaun exists. I’ve clawed us from the depths while you’ve grown fat on scraps. And now you’d dare to question my loyalty?”

Smeech shifted uncomfortably. Margot’s smile was gone. Even Chross, for all his bluster, sat back, his jaw tight.

Renni held his stare the longest, but there was no denying the crack in her composure. Silco leaned back at last, drawing in a long drag of his cigar. When he exhaled, the smoke curled toward her like a threat.

“You will not replace me. You will not lead Zaun. You will obey, as you always have. Because without me, without what I’ve built—Zaun is nothing but ash.”

Sevika’s hand found the hilt of her blade, her eyes daring any of them to speak against him.

The chembarons said nothing.

---

“Steady—steady!” Ekko shouted, his arms flailing as the hoverboard wobbled beneath him. Jayce grunted, both hands gripping the boy by the shoulders to keep him from toppling face-first onto the floor.

“You said you had this,” Jayce muttered, fighting to keep his balance as much as Ekko’s.

“I do!” Ekko shot back, a huge grin on his face despite nearly slipping. “I just... maybe don’t have it completely yet.” He pushed his weight forward, the board humming as it lifted a few inches higher off the ground. His eyes lit up. “Yes! You see that? I told you it’d work!”

Powder sat cross-legged nearby, watching with wide, shining eyes. Her fingers fiddled with a gear in her lap, though her attention was nowhere near her project. “You look so cool up there,” she blurted out before quickly looking away, cheeks coloring as she tried to mask it with a cough.

Ekko wobbled again, but managed to steady himself with Jayce’s help. “Once I get this thing under control,” he said, excitement bubbling in his voice, “the Firelights’ll be unstoppable. We’ll be able to move faster, get supplies to people who need them. No one will ever catch us.”

Powder perked up at that, scooting a little closer. “You mean... like helping the people? For real?”

“For real,” Ekko said, chest puffing out with pride. Then he glanced down at her, the grin softening just a little. “And you can help too, Powder. I bet you could trick this thing out with explosives or something wild.”

Her face lit up, though she tried to play it cool, twirling the gear in her hands. “Yeah, maybe. I mean... if you need me to.”

“Careful,” Jayce interrupted, adjusting his grip on Ekko as the board dipped suddenly. “You two keep dreaming and I’ll be the one breaking my back trying to keep him upright.”

Ekko just laughed, his eyes never leaving Powder’s for long. “It’s worth it.”

Vander slammed another glass down in front of Viktor, who gave him a wary look like it might explode.

“Go on, lad. Don’t let it sit there looking lonely,” Vander said, already halfway through his own. His cheeks were warm with the drink.

Benzo chuckled as he wiped down a glass, standing next to Viktor. “Careful, Vander. You’ll drink the poor boy under the table before he even gets started.”

“That’s the point,” Vander grumbled, taking another swallow. “’Cause if I don’t drink, I’ll start thinkin’ too hard about Mylo. Kid’s never home anymore, always runnin’ off with Gert. Hells, he practically lives at her place. Young love,” he scoffed, though the edges of his words were fond.

Benzo smirked. “And you don’t remember what you were like at that age?”

“Bah. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Vander leaned back, tipping the glass in his hand. “Mark my words—when Powder’s old enough, I’ll be twice as bad. No one’s gettin’ near her unless it’s Ekko. That boy’s decent. Respectful. If anyone’s courtin’ my daughter, it ought to be him.”

At that, Viktor muttered just loud enough to be heard, “I hope Ekko knows what he’s signin’ himself up for...”

Benzo barked out a laugh. “And what about you, Viktor?”

Viktor froze mid-sip, nearly choking on his drink. He coughed into his sleeve, the tips of his ears turning red. “M–me?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you and Jayce,” Benzo said slyly, leaning across the bar with a glint in his eye.

“N–no!” Viktor stammered, straightening in his seat as if good posture would save him from the heat crawling up his neck. “There is nothing between us. He is... he is my partner. My colleague. That is all.”

Benzo and Vander exchanged a look—equal parts amusement and disbelief. Vander leaned forward, squinting at him like he could peel the truth out of his skin.

“Uh-huh,” Vander said finally, slow and skeptical. “Sure. Colleagues.”

Viktor groaned into his glass, wishing it would swallow him whole.

Benzo leaned closer, grin wide. “You should see your face, Viktor. You’re redder than a fresh tomato.”

“I am not,” Viktor snapped, adjusting his collar like that might somehow hide the flush creeping all the way down his neck. “You both are being ridiculous.”

Vander chuckled, slow and deep. “Ridiculous, eh? You’re tellin’ me all those late nights you two spend closin’ up the lab, all that ‘genius inventin’’ you get up to, there’s nothing more to it?”

“It is work,” Viktor said firmly, crossing his arms. His voice was steady, but his ears were burning. “Purely professional.”

Benzo raised a brow. “Professional, sure. Just like it was purely professional when Jayce nearly knocked down half my shop trying to find a flower shop open late.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. “He what?”

Vander grinned like a cat who’d cornered a mouse. “Oh, you didn’t know? Boy showed up with his arms full of roses, mutterin’ about how someone deserved better than gears and blueprints for a gift.” He paused deliberately. “Wonder who that could’ve been for?”

Viktor opened his mouth, then shut it again. He tugged at his sleeves, desperately looking anywhere but at their smirking faces. “This is absurd. I am not—Jayce and I are not—” His voice faltered as his chest tightened.

The warmth in Vander’s grin softened. “Relax, lad. We’re only teasin’. He didn't do that. Don’t look like we’re askin’ you to march up and declare undyin’ love.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched. If only they knew. How many times had he imagined exactly that? And how many times had he sworn never to let it slip—never to risk what he and Jayce had now? He couldn’t. Not when Jayce’s friendship, their partnership, was the one thing in his life that still felt steady.

“I will not... let my feelings ruin this,” Viktor muttered under his breath, almost too soft to hear. Then louder, more brittle: “you can make all the jokes you like, but it is wasted breath. There is nothing between us.”

Benzo and Vander exchanged another look—half amusement, half pity.

“Sure, Viktor,” Benzo said with a wink. “Whatever you say.”

Viktor lowered his gaze to his glass, wishing the floor would open beneath him.

The doors of The Last Drop creaked open, Silco stepped through, Sevika at his side. His posture was sharp as ever, but there was a tiredness in his eyes.

Vander noticed the shift right away. He straightened, brows knitting. “Silco.”

Silco’s gaze flicked toward him, then back to the floor as he and Sevika crossed to the bar. She peeled away toward the counter, but Silco stayed near, fingers drumming faintly against the wood. “The chembarons are restless,” he said, voice low. “Restless, and... dangerous. They see my seat on the council as a betrayal. A leash, tied too tight to Piltover’s hand.”

Benzo frowned, exchanging a look with Viktor, but Vander leaned in closer, concern plain on his face. “And what do you see it as?”

Silco hesitated, jaw tight. “A means to keep Zaun breathing. To keep our people alive. But they don’t care for survival—they want power. They want to see me fall.”

Vander reached across the bar, his broad hand closing gently over Silco’s. The simple touch seemed to pull Silco out of the shadows in his mind. Vander’s voice softened. “Then let them talk. Let them scheme. You’ve carried this city longer than they ever could. Don’t go thinkin’ you have to carry it alone.”

Silco’s breath caught. His fingers curled around Vander’s, squeezing back, almost uncertainly. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Vander’s lips tugged into the faintest smile. “Good thing it’s not about deserve, then.” He brushed his thumb over Silco’s knuckles, firm but tender. “It’s about stickin’ together. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

For a moment, the smoke and noise of The Last Drop faded. There was only the warmth of Vander’s hand, steady and grounding, and Silco let himself lean into it, if only for a heartbeat.

At one of the corner tables, Claggor leaned forward with his elbows propped on the wood, listening intently as Sky flipped through her notebooks. 

Between them sat a small pot. Inside it, cradled by a careful cage of glass and bits of bent metal, was a flower unlike anything he'd ever saw—a single golden bloom that seemed almost to glow against the dingy backdrop of Zaun.

“You see how the petals open wider in the dark?” Sky said, tapping her notes, her handwriting looping across the page. “They’re not just pretty. They’re breathing—pulling toxins out of the air. If we worked with what’s already here, with the ventilation system, maybe... maybe we could scrub some of the filth out that the vents can't get.”

Claggor’s brows rose, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You’re tellin’ me this little thing could do what rest can’t?”

“Not on its own,” Sky laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But together? A system. A balance. Nature and machine working side by side.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the flower like it might be something fragile from another world. “Sounds like you’re gonna need help riggin’ that balance.”

Sky looked up from her notes, surprised. “You’d... help?”

“’Course I will,” Claggor said, his grin softening. “You do the brainwork, I’ll handle the heavy lifting. We’ll make sure your little bloom here gets to breathe easy.”

Sky’s smile was small but radiant, the kind that made her eyes crinkle. She reached over, carefully adjusting the metal cage around the flower. “Then it’s settled. We’ll make Zaun breathe easier. Together.”

---

The market streets were lively. Caitlyn carried a paper bag tucked neatly under her arm, while Jayce trailed behind Vi, who was already weaving through the crowd with her usual energy.

“C’mon,” Vi called over her shoulder, smirking. “You’re walking like an old man.”

Jayce huffed. “I’m not old.”

Vi slowed suddenly, eyes catching on a poster slapped against a wall. She stopped in her tracks, stared for a moment, then barked out a laugh so sharp it startled a couple of passersby.

“Oh, this is too good.” She jabbed her thumb at the paper. “In Jayce we... thrust?!”

Jayce froze mid-step, color flooding his cheeks. “What? No! It says trust! TRUST!”

Caitlyn tilted her head, stepping closer with a faint frown. “It does say trust, Vi. Plainly.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Vi said, doubling over in laughter. “But from back here? Looked like thrust to me. Oh man, Piltover really put that up everywhere?”

Jayce dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t even know they were using my image for propaganda. This is mortifying.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Vi teased, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “City-wide posters screaming about how good you are at being thrusted intl? That’s a hell of a reputation boost.”

Jayce groaned so loudly Caitlyn nearly laughed herself, though she covered it with a polite cough. “Really, Vi. Don’t torment him too much. It’s just a poster.”

“‘In Jayce We Thrust,’” Vi repeated under her breath, wiping a tear from her eye. “That’s going on a T-shirt.”

Jayce groaned again, shoulders sagging as Vi marched ahead with her new favorite joke.

---

The lab was quiet except for the soft scratch of Viktor’s pen against paper. He sat at one of the worktables, notes spread out in careful order, his posture bent just slightly forward in concentration.

The door creaked open, and Jayce slipped inside, the faint smell of sweets trailing with him. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning his shoulder against the frame for a moment.

Viktor looked up, eyebrows raising. “You are back early. How was your outing?”

Jayce didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room, setting a small wrapped bundle on the edge of Viktor’s notes. “Picked these up on the way. Thought you’d like them.”

Viktor’s eyes flicked to the parcel, then up to Jayce. He adjusted his pen carefully, setting it down before unwrapping the bundle. Inside were delicate little sweets, golden and dusted with sugar. A faint smile curved his lips. “You remembered,” he said quietly.

Jayce leaned against the table, watching him with a grin. “Of course I did. You’re the one who always sneaks these first whenever we pass by that stall.”

Viktor huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You exaggerate.” But he took one anyway, breaking it in half before offering a piece to Jayce. “You should have some as well.”

Jayce accepted, their fingers brushing for a heartbeat longer than necessary. He chewed slowly, gaze drifting over the notes scattered before Viktor. “You’ve been busy.”

Viktor’s expression sobered, his hand resting lightly on the table. “We have not made anything new with Hextech, Jayce. Not since the gates. I worry... we are giving more to the council than to the people who need it most.” His voice grew quieter, earnest. “Trade thrives, Piltover flourishes, but the common folk—they still struggle. That was never our intent. Hextech was meant to better lives, to give back to those who are forgotten. Not just to make rich men richer.”

Jayce nodded, his chest tightening at the weight behind Viktor’s words. “You’re right. The gates were only the beginning. We should be building things like... like the ventilation system again. Things that make life better, not just profitable.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with shared conviction. Then Jayce shifted, reaching to rest his hand lightly over Viktor’s on the table. “We’ll figure it out. Like always.”

Viktor glanced down at their joined hands, then up at Jayce’s face. His eyes softened, a flicker of warmth breaking through the steel in them. “Yes,” he murmured, voice almost too soft to hear. “Like always.”

Jayce smiled, leaning just a little closer, not quite closing the space between them. The hum of the lab seemed distant now, replaced by the quiet rhythm of their breathing in tandem. For that moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist at all.

Notes:

Remember how I said I was going to take a break from writing over the weekend? Yeah... I lied ☠️. I ended up finishing season 1 way sooner than I expected, which means the plot season 1 for the fic is officially done! :)

I could have spent Sunday rewatching season 2 to nail down the plot details, but honestly 😞 I just wanted to write. I’ll save the rewatch for sometime this week or maybe next Saturday.

After the next chapter, the seven-year timeskip will finally be wrapped up! From there, the rest of season 1 will be told across six long chapters.

Since I haven’t rewatched season 2 yet, I don’t know the exact length it’ll take in fic form. My guess is around fourteen chapters. I know season 2 only has nine episodes, but the way I’m approaching it is different—and I already have most of the plot sketched out. Once I rewatch, I’ll be able to give a proper chapter count, but I think the whole fic will end up at about 38–40 chapters total.

I also wanted Claggor to help Sky with her flowers, since in the alt universe version he had her flowers with him. They both want to use them to help Zaun. Ideally, they would’ve teamed up sooner, but the chapters I had planned for it were already packed (the hexgate reveal, Viktor getting his back brace, etc.). Still—better late than never 😭.

The poster scene was made only because I thought it’d be funny. Plus, I’d completely forgotten that Piltover was using Jayce’s face for merch 💔, so I had to start sprinkling that in.

Anyway, that’s where things are at—see you all soon!

Chapter 17: You Are All I Need

Summary:

Jayce will find a way to keep Viktor with him.

The courtyard was alive with cheers, polished boots striking in unison as a fresh line of Enforcers stood tall. Their uniforms were crisp, their badges gleaming under the afternoon sun. Grayson beamed from the dais, her voice ringing out with pride as she welcomed Piltover’s newest protectors. 

Vi and Jayce, along with Caitlyn’s parents, sat in the crowd. When Grayson announced her name, the crowd erupted with applause. With them being the loudest. 

After the ceremony, they found their way through the bustling crowd until Caitlyn appeared. Her smile was wide, but it faltered the second Cassandra’s voice cut sharp at her side.

“Caitlyn, this is not the life I wanted for you,” Cassandra said, low but firm. “You could be anything, darling. You don’t need to throw yourself into danger for the sake of... of playing hero.”

“Mom—” Caitlyn’s reply came fast, tight. Her eyes darted to Vi and Jayce, then back at Cassandra. “This is what I want. It’s my choice.”

Vi stepped forward, breaking it with a lopsided grin. “Gotta say, your kid’s a natural. Probably outshoots half the new recruits already.”

Jayce nodded in agreement. “She’s going to make a difference.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders eased slightly, her lips curving into a grateful smile at her friends. Even Tobias chuckled quietly, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like, she gets that stubbornness from her mother.

Cassandra gave Caitlyn one last long look, before sighing and letting the subject drop.

The group pressed in closer, offering congratulations, and the mood lightened. Caitlyn straightened, chin lifted, eyes shining with that determined fire none of them doubted for a second.

“Why don’t you two go on ahead?” Caitlyn said quickly, sliding between her mother and her friends. She gave Cassandra a practiced smile, then turned and nudged Jayce and Vi down the steps. “I’ll catch up, Mom.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push—at least not in front of everyone. She gave Tobias a pointed glance and let herself be swept into conversation with another person. Caitlyn exhaled a breath of relief the moment her parents were out of earshot.

Jayce glanced back, brows lifted. “You sure that’s wise?”

“Absolutely not,” Caitlyn muttered, her voice tight. She hurried to fall into step between them. “But I need a minute before she corners me again.”

They walked through Piltover’s sunlit streets, the cheers of the graduation fading into the background. Caitlyn’s frustration began to slip through. “She doesn’t listen. It’s always what she wants, never what I want. I know she’s worried, but... I’m not a child anymore.”

Jayce offered her a sympathetic look. “You proved yourself today. She’ll see it eventually.”

Vi smirked, shoving her hands in her pockets. “You ask me, she’s just scared you’re gonna outshoot her.”

That earned Caitlyn’s first laugh since the ceremony. She tilted her head toward Vi, arching a brow. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hm.” Vi leaned in slightly, her grin widening. “I’ve seen you handle a rifle. Can’t blame her for being jealous.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but her cheeks colored faintly. “You’re impossible.”

“Charming,” Vi corrected.

Jayce coughed loudly into his fist, though the amused look on his face betrayed him. “You two want me to keep walking ahead so you can...?”

Caitlyn swatted his arm, Vi just laughed.

---

The lab smelled faintly of copper and oil, the usual symphony of gears clicking and tools clattering filling the air. Powder sat at her own table near the back, sprawled sideways in a chair with her legs swinging. A collection of screws and springs were stacked into a teetering tower in front of her, which she kept blowing on dramatically to see how far she could lean it before it toppled. She's been coming to the lab on and off for a few months now.

Jayce stepped inside, shaking off the cold air from the streets, and his eyes immediately went to Viktor. His partner was hunched over the hexclaw prototype, his thin frame bent a little too sharply, every movement slow. There was a sheen of sweat across his temple despite the chill in the room.

Jayce frowned. “Viktor, when was the last time you sat down?”

Viktor didn’t glance up. “I just got up,” he said dryly, though his voice was quieter than usual, strained at the edges. His hand trembled slightly as he adjusted one of the arm’s joints.

Jayce stepped closer, leaning on the table to peer at him. “Vik.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “Who would finish this if I stopped? The hexclaw does not assemble itself.”

“You could let me handle it for a while,” Jayce countered, gently prying the spanner from Viktor’s hand. “Your health matters more than a pile of wires and plating.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “You sound like a mother hen.”

“Better than sounding like someone about to collapse on the workbench,” Jayce shot back, softer this time. Their eyes lingered on each other for a beat too long, Jayce’s hand still brushing Viktor’s as he set the spanner down.

Viktor arched a brow, voice low. “You do enjoy fussing over me, don’t you?”

Jayce chuckled, leaning just a bit closer. “Maybe I do.”

“EUGH, gross!” Powder’s voice pierced the moment like a gunshot. She had tipped dramatically backward in her chair, one arm thrown across her eyes like a wounded actress on stage. “Do you two have to flirt where I can see it?!”

Both men froze.

“We are not—” Viktor started, adjusting his collar with an indignant flush.

“We weren’t—” Jayce said at the same time, color rising to his cheeks.

Powder groaned loudly, flopping onto the floor with all the grace of a fainting goat. “Ughhhh, you so were! I can’t work like this! My eyes! My poor, innocent eyes!”

Jayce pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing despite himself. “You’re not even working.”

“I was!” Powder protested, pointing at the leaning tower of screws. “Until you two started making goo-goo eyes at each other!”

Viktor coughed into his hand, the tips of his ears red. “This is... absurd.”

Jayce glanced at him with a grin that was anything but denying. “Totally absurd,” he agreed, though his gaze lingered a little longer than it should have.

Powder groaned again. “I’m never coming back here again!”

Jayce leaned closer to Viktor and whispered with a smile, “she’ll be back tomorrow.”

Viktor sighed, but his lips betrayed him with the faintest curve.

Jayce stayed leaning in, close enough that Viktor could feel the warmth radiating off him despite the chill that clung to his own bones. His voice dropped low, soft enough to keep their words between them.

“You’re burning up,” Jayce murmured, brushing his thumb against Viktor’s temple where the sweat caught the light. “You should be in bed, not hunched over a prototype.”

Viktor tilted his head, trying for composure but his gaze softened. “If I left everything unfinished every time I felt unwell, nothing would ever be completed.”

“That’s not true,” Jayce said, almost stern but with a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You’d still get things done—you’d just... live to enjoy them too.”

Viktor let out a faint, humorless laugh. “Optimistic as ever. You think you can will me into health with your stubbornness?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done the impossible,” Jayce teased, lowering his voice even further. He adjusted the hexclaw gently out of Viktor’s reach. “And if it means keeping you here—safe, alive—I’ll keep trying.”

Viktor found his throat tightening. “You are... insufferable,” he said, though it came out softer, almost fond.

Jayce’s grin widened, but he didn’t press. Instead, he set a steadying hand at Viktor’s back. “You’re stuck with me anyway, so you might as well let me help.”

Viktor glanced sideways, the faintest smile tugging at his lips despite his protest. “...Perhaps. For once.”

Jayce’s hand lingered against his back just a moment longer than necessary.

---

The lab had gone quiet after Silco picked up Powder. 

Jayce dropped onto the couch with a tired sigh, one leg propped up, the other stretched lazily across the floor. Viktor followed, slower, his cane tapping against the floor until he lowered himself down carefully. He eased onto the cushions, his head finding its way to the cradle of Jayce’s thigh.

Jayce blinked, startled for half a breath, before his hand drifted down, threading absently through Viktor’s hair. “Comfortable?” he asked, tone lighter than the weight in his chest.

Viktor gave a soft huff of breath, eyes slipping closed. “As much as I can be. Your legs make for... surprisingly acceptable pillows.”

Jayce chuckled, though the sound caught when his fingers grazed the sharp ridge of Viktor’s skull. “You’ve been coughing more lately,” he said quietly, thumb brushing just behind Viktor’s ear.

Viktor opened his eyes, gaze turned to the ceiling as though the truth might hide there. “I have always been sick, Jayce. But yes it is worsening. Some days, more than others.” He didn’t look at him when he said it. “I am not... built for longevity.”

The words twisted in Jayce’s gut. He leaned down a little, voice rough. “Don’t say that like it’s decided.”

“It is decided,” Viktor murmured, though there was no venom. “My body was never kind to me. I knew this long before I came here.” His hand twitched faintly against his chest, a motion he half-stilled before it turned to a cough. “Hextech can change the world, Jayce. But it cannot change me.”

Jayce’s hand stilled in his hair, his jaw tight. He thought of his mother, and how she was brought back to life. “Who says it can’t?” he asked, a sudden intensity in his voice. “Hextech has helped so many people —why not healing? Why not... why not you?”

Viktor turned his head then, eyes catching his. “Because hope is dangerous.”

“And giving up is worse,” Jayce shot back softly, his thumb stroking through Viktor’s curls again, gentler this time. “If Hextech can change everything else, it can change this. I swear it.”

Viktor reaches for Jayce’s hand and takes it into his. "Then I hope you're right."

Notes:

Sorry for the chapter being so short. I was planning on adding a... very important scene(which I will not be telling you guys), but I've decided to save it for later.

Also I kind of forgot about the Hexcore ☠️ so them talking about using Hextech to heal Viktor, they'll be creating it. In the span of a few months as the rest of season 1 will be starting up next chapter.

Also I want Powder to be joining them in the lab. Sky's busy with her own project with Claggor, they need someone else to do the stuff they don't wanna do 😞

Also, who else wants to use Jayce's thighs as pillows?

Chapter 18: Happy Progress Day!

Summary:

With Piltover prospering from their tech, Jayce and Viktor weigh their next move as Caitlyn and Vi start investigating an attack in the harbor.

The faint scratch of a match, the soft flicker of flame. Heimerdinger lit the lamp on his desk, though the early morning sun was already spilling through the tall windows of his office, casting warm gold across the stacks of papers and well-worn books. He settled back into his chair with a quiet sigh, ears twitching at the knock that came at his door.

“Enter,” he called.

The door creaked open, and Jayce stepped inside, shutting it gently behind him. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah. Come in, Jayce,” Heimerdinger replied, easing himself down from the chair. His short legs carried him toward the window, where the city stretched wide before them, rooftops and spires gilded by morning light.

Jayce crossed the office and stood nearby, glancing around the familiar space as Heimerdinger’s gaze lingered on the skyline.

“Can you believe it?” the yordle said softly, hands clasped behind his back. “Our city is about to turn two hundred years old.” His eyes flicked toward the statue near the window—an aged figure wrought in gold, his posture both proud and weary. A shadow crossed Heimerdinger’s features. “A bicentennial.”

Jayce let out a small chuckle, moving to stand beside him. “It’s shaping up to be an amazing Progress Day.” His gaze followed Heimerdinger’s to the statue, and he bent slightly, reading the inscription etched into the base. “Stanwick Padidly? Huh.” Straightening, he glanced down at the professor. “I don’t know much about him.”

“Everything he built either exploded, melted, or toppled over,” Heimerdinger said, voice tinged with both humor and melancholy. His eyes lingered on the statue as though speaking to an old friend. “And yet, here he stands. Stanwick set his personal ambition aside and focused on something far more important—our future.” He turned, peering up at Jayce. “He realized nothing he could accomplish could compare to the contributions of his students.”

Jayce blinked, surprised. “I had no idea.” In truth, he knew little about Piltover’s founders at all—too often buried in his own work to dig into the past.

“That was his sacrifice.” Heimerdinger’s ears drooped, his voice growing quieter. “A dear friend...” He shook his head, forcing a small smile as he looked back up. “But never mind that. The council has recommended you give the Progress Day speech this year.”

Jayce’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “What... but you always give the speech.” A nervous laugh slipped out as he stepped forward. “I... I could never take your place.”

“I agree with them,” Heimerdinger interrupted gently. He stopped before the balcony doors, turning to regard Jayce with steady eyes. “Your Hexgates have done wonders for our city. They’ve brought scholars from distant lands, reignited passions in art and science. You deserve this honor.”

Jayce’s lips parted, then closed again. His hands fell to his sides, fingers curling as he tried to take it in. “I... I will do my best to make Piltover proud, Professor.”

“It’s short notice, I know,” Heimerdinger said, tilting his head with a curious smile. “But perhaps there’s something in the lab you might be able to share? People love a grand reveal.”

Relief flickered across Jayce’s face as he gestured with one hand, excitement slipping into his voice. “Viktor and I have just the thing! The next chapter of Hextech. Come to the lab this afternoon—I’ll show you.”

“I look forward to it.” Heimerdinger grasped the handles of the balcony doors, his silhouette framed by the morning sun. He glanced back over his shoulder, his tone fond but weighted. “You certainly have something to live up to, my boy.”

With a push, the doors opened, and golden light flooded the office, spilling across the floorboards and catching on the distant towers of Piltover, shining as though the city itself was eager for its next chapter.

---

Jayce left Heimerdinger’s office with his head still buzzing from the weight of their conversation. He meant to head straight to the lab, to warn Viktor that Heimerdinger would be stopping by later that day—but he never got the chance. Cassandra intercepted him, her hand on his arm as she steered him toward the rows of stalls and awnings set up for Progress Day.

“Come, Jayce,” she insisted with a politician’s smile. “The people should see the man behind their prosperity.”

And so, he was dragged along at her side. As the sun climbed higher and higher, more and more citizens spilled from their homes, filling the streets with music, chatter, and the aroma of roasting food. Everywhere he looked, Jayce felt their eyes on him—curious, expectant, reverent.

He tried to listen as Cassandra spoke to the crowd, but his attention drifted. His gaze caught, once again, on the garish posters plastered to the walls. His own face, larger than life, staring back at him. It was mortifying. And yet, there it was too—his likeness on mugs, on pins, on anything that could be printed and sold. He cringed inwardly, reminding himself that at least the royalties softened the blow.

“Our most famous protégé—Jayce Talis.” Cassandra’s voice rang out.

Startled from his thoughts, Jayce blinked and forced a smile as she gestured toward him.

“The visionary behind the Hexgates,” she continued, her words lilting with pride. “A beacon of trade and prosperity for our great City of Progress.”

Jayce’s eyes wandered past the crowd—and caught sight of a familiar flash of blue beneath the brim of a hat. A grin tugged at his mouth. Bowing slightly toward Cassandra, he murmured, “Excuse me,” and before she could question him, he slipped away.

He wove through the crowd, muttering apologies as people parted for him, their stares following his every move. By the time he reached her, his grin had widened. Quietly, he crept up behind Caitlyn and flicked her lightly on the head.

Her reaction was immediate. She caught his hand in a flash, twisting it with just enough pressure to make him grunt. “Cait!” he hissed, trying to wrench free.

“Serves you right.” Her laugh was short but warm. Then her gaze lifted—and locked with her mother’s across the square. Caitlyn’s face fell. She released his hand at once, snapping back into posture.

Jayce rubbed his sore hand, shooting Cassandra a wary glance before leaning toward Caitlyn. “You still avoiding her?”

“I’m working,” she replied crisply, eyes fixed forward.

“Oh, I can see that.” He gestured with mock gravity at the bustling festival. “I mean, there’s just so much crime to thwart outside your family’s tent.”

Caitlyn’s lips twitched into a grin before she tilted her head back, squinting up at the noonday sun. “I can only imagine the strings she pulled to have me posted here.”

“It’s your fault, really.” Jayce shifted to stand beside her, lowering his voice. “For not following her into a career ‘more befitting your station'.”

She let out a sigh, gaze drifting toward the far end of the street. “She’d do anything to keep me from seeing the real world.”

“At least you’ll have front-row seats to the speech.”

Her eyes darted back to him, surprise written plainly on her face. “Speech?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded, rocking back on his heels. “I’m giving the big address tonight.”

Caitlyn studied him, her expression unreadable for a beat before she tilted her chin, feigning solemnity. “We really have descended to anarchy.”

Jayce let out a laugh. “Where’s Vi?”

“Probably out somewhere getting drunk,” Caitlyn muttered, rolling her eyes as she scanned the crowd again.

“Have fun.” Jayce clapped her lightly on the shoulder before turning away. “I have to get back before your mom yells at me.”

Caitlyn watched him push through the throng, his broad shoulders swallowed by the sea of faces. Only when he disappeared from sight did she exhale, turning back to her post, her composure snapping back into place.

---

The docks were a hive of motion, as they always were. Massive airships loomed in the sky, their hulls creaking as they were pulled into place by thick ropes and iron clamps. Enforcers patrolled the piers, rifles at the ready, their eyes scanning for trouble but never looking too closely at the men unloading crates and barrels.

Above, hidden in the vents that threaded through the walls of the docking structures, Ekko crouched low. The faint tick, tick, tick of his pocket clock whispered beneath the drone of machinery, a familiar comfort in the chaos. He wound the string around his finger once before letting it swing, eyes fixed on the crew below. Behind him, the Firelights shifted silently, their hoverboards strapped to their backs. The boards hummed faintly, the promise of speed waiting to be unleashed. Baggy clothes hid their frames, and animal masks obscured their faces. Predators waiting in the shadows.

“On my mark,” Ekko whispered.

The ship’s quartermaster stood hunched over his clipboard, lips moving as he checked off shipments. Dockhands staggered past him with heavy crates, sweat glistening under the harsh lanterns. The man paused suddenly, brow furrowing. Something wasn’t right. He scanned the names scrawled down his list, then raised his head.

“Uh—shipping manifest?” he called to a worker hauling a barrel.

The worker turned. A giant of a man, broad-shouldered and scarred, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he dropped a small pouch onto the clipboard. It clinked heavy with coin.

The quartermaster hesitated for only a moment before sliding the pouch into his coat. “Looks in order.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Ekko dropped.

He hit his hoverboard in a smooth swing, the engine flaring to life in a sharp whine. The Firelights spilled from the vents behind him like a storm, boards sparking as they skimmed the deck. Masks caught the light in flashes—wolf, hawk, fox, serpent—shadows made flesh.

“Firelights!” someone shouted.

Chaos erupted. The workers lunged, some pulling knives, others swinging tools like clubs. Barrels toppled and burst, spilling their contents across the deck. Ekko ducked low on his board, striking one man across the knees with a sharp kick before spinning away. Another lunged at him with a wrench, but a blast of blue smoke hissed from a Firelight’s canister, disorienting him.

Sevika was already in the fray, she tossed one man over the railing with a grunt before smashing another into a stack of crates.

“Keep it tight!” Ekko barked, his voice cutting through the din. He swung his board sideways, clipping a worker across the chest and sending him sprawling. “Clear the ship—move!”

One by one, the dockhands fell back, overwhelmed by the sudden, precise assault. In less than a minute, the airship was theirs—barrels smashed, manifests scattered, bribes exposed.

But then came the sound Ekko had been dreading.

A sharp whistle split the air, followed by the heavy tramp of boots. Enforcers came running over, rifles gleaming in the light.

“Fire!”

Bullets sparked against metal as the Firelights kicked off, hoverboards roaring to life. They skimmed up and away in bursts of speed, weaving between the ship’s towering hulls. Smoke bombs burst behind them, covering their escape in choking clouds.

Ekko twisted back once as they climbed higher, the docks shrinking below them into a smear of chaos and firelight. His clock swung against his chest, steady even as the city reeled.

“Let’s move!” he called, and the Firelights scattered into the skies.

---