Embers Beneath The Circuitry

by PiCkylanyardz

Summary:

Technology kept advancing, giving people faster and easier ways to do things that once relied on magic. As it became less necessary, magic gradually weakened—some believe it died out because people stopped believing, others say the world simply ran out of mana. By the time modern tech dominated, magic was little more than a forgotten relic carried by a rare few.

That changed when it was revealed that Jayce had been conducting illegal experiments, attempting to use science to capture whatever traces of magic might still remain.

Chapter 1: Incitement

Summary:

Jayce gets caught doing illegal experiments as a way to harness magic.

The tram hummed steadily as it descended along the rails leading down from Piltover’s upper tiers. The morning sun slanted through the carriage windows in sharp beams, striping the floor in gold. Jayce sat near one of the wide windows, elbow braced against the metal sill, the weight of a thick book resting open across his lap.

Volume II – The Foundations of Modern Magic, Third Revised Edition, 2184.

He had borrowed it from the Academy library the night before—he’s always had a fascination with magic.

He turned the page with care. The paper was old and soft, its edges feathered from generations of hands. 

Across from him, a pair of factory workers in oil-stained jackets murmured quietly to each other about shift rotations. A Zaunite teenager leaned against the sliding door, earphones in, bobbing his head to music too faint to make out. No one paid Jayce much attention—just another passenger making the descent.

A Brief History of Magic

“Magic, in its earliest documented form, was not an art to be learned, but a force to be endured. Ancient records describe the arcane as a wild, primordial phenomenon—floods of energy that seeped through the landscape, governed by no known laws of physics. In those eras, magic was as present as wind or rainfall.”

“The earliest human civilizations did not cast spells so much as they survived the presence of arcana. Entire regions pulsed with ambient power: glowing rivers of mana threaded the ground; storms of spontaneous flame spiraled across plains; shards of suspended ice hovered in jungles, unmelted for centuries.”

Outside the window, the tram rattled as it crossed a junction between rails. The whole car shivered. Jayce reflexively tightened his grip on the book to keep his place.

“These natural phenomena were revered as divine omens and feared as curses. It is widely theorized that humanity’s first settlements formed around pockets of calmer arcane flow.”

A woman with a lunch tin brushed past him as she moved down the aisle. Jayce pulled his elbow in, nodding briefly, then turned another page.

The Rise of Runesmiths

“The emergence of runesmiths remains one of the most significant turning points in magical history. Ancient tablets describe them as scholars, mystics, engineers, and daredevils in equal measure. Through painstaking experimentation, they learned that symbols could tether magic, directing its motion the way channels direct water.”

The tram slowed momentarily at a mid-level station. A draft of cooler air rushed in as the doors slid open, a few passengers stepped off; a few stepped on. Jayce stayed absorbed in the text.

“Runes allowed mages to channel the arcane through it to produce their spell."

"Yet even then, magic was not without consequence. Failed runework caused burns, frostbite, lost limbs, lost memory, and in rare cases, spontaneous combustion. Arcane scholars accepted such risks as simply part of the discipline.”

The diagrams alongside the paragraphs were hand-drawn reproductions of ancient stones carved with looping geometric forms. Jayce traced one lightly with his thumb.

The tram lurched as it began the steepest portion of the descent. Zaun’s vast tangle of smokestacks and walkways came into view below, hazy and sprawling. Jayce lifted his gaze for a moment, watching the city then he returned to the next section.

Decline During the Modern Era

“The downfall of magic did not occur suddenly. It dwindled.”

“As technology advanced through the industrial and post-industrial ages, humanity discovered easier means to accomplish what spells once did. People could now conquer flame through a match. Electricity replaced channeled lightning. Medical science replaced healing.”

“The demand for mages shifted from essential to ornamental—then from ornamental to obsolete.”

A child in the row ahead pressed her face to the window, delighting in the view of airships drifting above Zaun’s canyon-like streets. Her mother tugged her gently back into her seat.

“Magic, once ubiquitous as air, began to fade from the world. Some theorize that arcana itself retreated in response to humanity’s dismissal. Others believe its diminishing was inevitable, the result of natural decay.”

“Whatever the cause, magic weakened drastically.”

"By the dawn of the modern tech age, magic was considered a relic.”

He leaned back in his seat as the tram curved around a support pillar, the whole vehicle tilting slightly. Jayce braced a hand on the seat beside him and held the book steady with the other. 

The Current State of Arcana

“Magic still exists today—but only as a faint echo of its former presence.”

“Most regions contain barely enough ambient energy to sustain minor spells. The number of living mages is estimated to be in the low hundreds worldwide, though no official census exists due to cultural stigma, personal secrecy, and political tension.”

He turned the page again, admiring the diagrams assigning runes to spheres:

Runes and Their Functions

“Each rune aligns to a “sphere” of influence:”

• Ignis – fire
• Glacies – ice
• Ventus – wind
• Terra – land
• Illustris – light
• Figura – shadow
• Vita – life
• Vigor – energy

“A mage does not “channel” the element itself; rather, the rune shapes nearby mana into the closest possible approximation of that element.”

The tram hit a rough patch of track, jostling everyone. Jayce steadied the book with both hands until the carriage smoothed out again.

Sigils

“Some spells exceed the capability of single runes. Teleportation, long-range projection, strong spells all require sigils.”

A sigil must meet three requirements:

• Precision – Even one misaligned line can collapse the entire structure.
• Anchor – A rune physically kept on the caster’s person; without it, the sigil has no pathway.

“When executed properly, sigils can achieve feats considered impossible by modern standards.”

“When executed poorly, the consequences are catastrophic.”

“Historical accounts describe failures resulting in torn skin, imploded rooms, shattered limbs, or—in one infamous case—the disappearance of an entire basement and three meters of bedrock beneath it.”

The tram’s automated voice chimed overhead, announcing the next station—one of the last. Passengers shuffled to prepare, adjusting coats, gathering belongings. 

Jayce closed the book gently, bending a corner for him to know where to continue later.

When the doors slid open, Jayce stepped off and pulled his cloak up. The hood cast a shadow over most of his face, but no amount of fabric would disguise the way he didn’t quite fit here. His boots were too clean, his spine too straight, and he kept flinching slightly whenever a shower of sparks burst from an alley workshop.

He’d visited Zaun before. Anyone working with experimental tech eventually found themselves down here, looking for components the Academy refused to authorize. Zaun manufactured what Piltover banned. And if you had coin, you could buy anything.

Provided you survived the process.

Jayce kept to the edges of the winding streets, following the familiar path into one of Zaun’s older districts. Eventually, he spotted a pawn shop sign hanging crooked over a rusted door. The windows were opaque with grime.

Good enough.

He pushed inside, and a bell jingled overhead. The room was dim, choked with the scent of smoke. Every surface was cluttered—heaps of disassembled machines, bins overflowing with copper tubing, shelves sagging beneath gears and wiring. Somewhere deeper in the shop, metal clacked in a steady rhythm, punctuated by a faint electric buzz.

“Hello?” Jayce called, stepping carefully between shelves stacked to his shoulders.

A rustle, then a thump.

A kid popped up from behind the counter. Eleven or twelve at most. 

“Owner’s busy,” the kid announced. “Whatcha need?”

Jayce blinked. “Busy?”

“Yep.” The boy shrugged. “Something exploded back there. Again.” He grinned as if that were perfectly normal. “So unless you’re here for refunds—which we don’t do—you’re talkin’ to me.”

“You?” Jayce repeated, raising a brow .

The kid only grinned wider. “Fastest parts-finder in Zaun. I can get you anything—gears, conduits, alloys, stabilizers.”

Jayce exhaled. “Fine. I need precision resonator coils. Three. And a containment lattice—type twelve. Also insulation plating, grade four or higher.”

A low whistle. “Whoa. Big build, huh? What’re you makin’?”

“Something complicated,” Jayce said, scanning the shelves.

“Right. Secret Pilty business.” The boy hopped down from the counter and waved him along. “Follow me, cloaky.”

Jayce ducked under hanging cables as the boy darted through aisles. He talked nonstop—stories about customers who shorted their bills or managed to blow up their entire workshops—but beneath the chatter was a sharpness. The kid navigated the store with precision, pulling drawers open, tossing aside junk, muttering part numbers under his breath.

“Resonator coils... type-3 micro mods...” he rummaged through a drawer, tossed a cracked canister over his shoulder, then brightened. “Aha! Here!” He plucked out a sealed tube and tossed it which Jayce managed to catch.

“These ones run clean,” the boy said proudly. “Won’t short out unless you’re doing something real stupid.”

“Good,” Jayce murmured, turning the coil in his hand. “And the lattice?”

“Yeah, yeah, one sec.” The kid climbed halfway up the shelving, yanked a narrow case from behind a nest of tubing, and thudded back down. “Type twelve.”

Jayce’s lips twitched. “Perfect.”

By the time they finished, a neat pile of components covered the counter—coils, lattice, plating, plus a few extras the kid insisted were “absolutely essential” unless Jayce wanted the whole thing to melt. Jayce didn’t argue. He checked each part quickly; all were functional.

“How much?” he asked.

The kid’s grin turned cunning. “For you, Pilty... let’s say... six hundred.”

Jayce’s head jerked up. “Six hundred? These aren’t worth half that.”

“Maybe,” the boy leaned his elbows on the counter. “But you’re up-top. You want Zaun parts fast, quiet, and without paperwork? Costs extra.”

Jayce stared him down. The boy didn’t flinch.

Damn.

“Fine,” Jayce muttered, pulling a coin pouch from beneath his cloak. He counted out the coins one by one, wincing inwardly at how fast they disappeared. “The Kirammans are going to skin me alive,” he muttered under his breath.

The kid’s ears perked. “Kirammans? You work for them?”

“Not exactly,” Jayce pocketed the remaining coins. “And it doesn’t matter. You said six-hundered.”

“Damn it,” the boy snorted. “Got me there.”

Jayce gathered the parts into his satchel and pulled his cloak tight again. “You’re sharp for your age.”

“And handsome too.” He added with a smirk.

Jayce paused at the door. The boy was already tinkering with a broken gear assembly, humming quietly.

“Thank you,” Jayce said.

Without looking up, the kid waved him off.

“Yeah, yeah. Try not to blow yourself up, cloaky.”

---

The Academy’s marble floors gleamed under fractured beams of afternoon light streaming through the tall stained-glass windows. Jayce and Caitlyn walked together down the hall.

Caitlyn shifted her grip on the wooden box she carried; she had insisted on taking it from Jayce’s bag, but its weight dragged heavily at her arms. Inside, the components rattled with each step.

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

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

“I’ve got it,” she said quickly, though her clenched jaw betrayed the strain. 

Two Enforcers lingered near the far archway. They nodded as the pair passed; Jayce nodded back. Caitlyn nearly tripped when the edge of the rug snagged her boot. The box jerked in her hands, and something small clattered free, skipping across the polished floor until it spun to a stop in a patch of colored light.

Jayce halted immediately. “Careful. That’s your parents’ money escaping.”

“Fantastic,” Caitlyn muttered. She crouched and retrieved the runaway piece—a compact metal component. She turned it over warily. “This isn’t going to explode, is it?”

Jayce laughed, gently taking it from her and slipping it back into the box. “Not if you keep dropping it.”

They reached his dorm. The wooden door bore years of battle scars—burn singes, gouges, dents left by both accidents and experiments. 

He slid the key in and twisted.

It didn’t turn.

“...Huh.” He tried again, then jiggled the knob with increasing confusion. “It’s stuck.”

“Let me guess—you barricaded yourself in with all your junk again?”

“Funny.” Jayce braced his shoulder and gave the door a harder shove. It didn’t budge.

He paused.

A faint murmur came from the other side.

“Hello?” He leaned closer. “Is someone in there?”

A shadow flitted across the stained-glass panel inset at the top of the door.

Jayce straightened. “Hey! Open up!”

No answer.

He stepped back, inhaled, and drove his shoulder forward. The latch groaned. Another slam, harder. On the third, the hinges shrieked and the door burst inward, smashing against the wall as a chair toppled over—

—and then a blinding flash swallowed the room.

The explosion struck with brutal force.

Jayce flew backward, the world instantly drowned in white light and deafening sound. He slammed into the corridor wall, his skull cracking against stone. Pain exploded behind his eyes; the hallway warped and smeared in front of him.

Smoke rolled out of the doorway. Enforcers shouted. Caitlyn yelled his name.

And in the blur of motion—he saw a girl with bright pink hair sprinting straight for the balcony. She stepped out onto the balcony and turned her head.

Her eyes found Jayce’s.

Then she leapt down.

Jayce tried to push himself upright, tried to tell Caitlyn he was fine—but his body didn’t obey. The ringing in his ears swallowed every sound except for one distant, panicked voice calling his name.

The corridor tilted sharply.

Darkness swept in.

And Jayce fell.

---

The wind screamed around his tiny body, a wild, icy animal sinking its teeth into him with every step. Snow whipped across the mountainside in blinding spirals that swallowed the world whole. Every movement was a battle; each step plunged him knee-deep into drifts that clung and dragged like hands of ice. His breaths came in frantic, shallow bursts, white and jagged against the storm.

Warmth had cocooned him—his mother’s arms wrapped tight around his shivering frame, her heartbeat a faint, weakening rhythm against his ear. Her breath rasped near him, thin and fading, each exhale a fragile cloud snatched away by the wind.

Then her legs gave out.

They crumpled together into the snow. Jayce’s small, frostbitten fingers scrambled desperately across her coat as he shook her shoulder. He pressed his ear to her chest, searching for a heartbeat.

Nothing.

Only the shrieking wind.

Only the hollow ache spreading through his ribs.

He screamed her name, but the storm devoured the sound before it could travel a foot.

And then—through the swirling white—a figure formed.

A robed silhouette approached without disturbing the snow. He stopped before the boy and the collapsed woman, lifting a hand. A soft glow hovered above his palm: a runestone, pulsing weakly like an ember clinging to life. Lightning crawled lazily across his fingers, flashing reflections across the snow.

Jayce recoiled, stumbling backward, fear knotting tight inside him.

The man slowly closed his fingers around the stone, dimming its glow. Jayce’s stomach dropped—he thought the stranger was leaving. Panic clawed up his throat, and he reached out, voice cracking as he begged him not to go.

The man paused.

He turned back and raised his staff.

A sharp crack split the air.

Light exploded from the staff’s tip, Jayce shielded his eyes. Strange, melodic chimes spiraled outward—soft, crystalline notes like glass bells carried on the wind. Glyphs ignited around the mage, pale fire blossoming into existence and orbiting him in an intricate web of symbols.

Then a massive sigil unfurled high above, its silver-blue lines blazing against the storm. Light spilled downward in curling ribbons, freezing the falling snow mid-air. Every flake fractured the glow into a thousand shifting colors, turning the blizzard into a suspended, shimmering cosmos.

The staff struck the snow.

A single pulse tremored across the mountain—then bursted outward.

Warmth washed through the air. The scent of flowers bloomed from nowhere. Wind gathered in gentle spirals around Jayce and his mother, lifting them softly from the frozen ground.

The world dissolved into radiance.

Heat seeped into his bones. The cold dissolved. He floated weightless.

When the light faded, he laid on soft grass.

Open fields rolled around him in waves of color. The sky shone clear and vast. Far in the distance, the jagged silhouette of Piltover cut against the horizon.

In front of him, the mage stood silent, the Runestone’s dim glow flickering in his palm.

Jayce turned.

His mother laid in the grass between them, her dark hair fanned out like ink. For a terrible moment, she didn’t move—until her fingers twitched, and her eyelids fluttered open.

A choked, breathless sound escaped him as he crawled to her.

The mage’s shadow stretched over them. Jayce looked up through wet lashes as the stranger extended his hand.

With trembling palms, Jayce reached out.

The runestone dropped into his palms, still faintly warm but its light fading.

He looked up—but the mage had vanished.

Only the distant sound bells answered the silence. Dogs barking. Voices rising. Figures appeared over the hill, rushing toward them. Tobias wrapped his mother in blankets. Cassandra lifted Jayce into her arms.

As the rescue sled rocked gently downhill, the world blurred at the edges. He clutched the runestone tight against his chest, refusing to let go.

---

A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind Jayce’s eyes as consciousness dragged him back. His cheek was pressed to cold stone. He blinked up at the weak, flickering light above, his vision swimming until the world finally settled into focus.

A groan scraped out of him as he pushed himself upright. His spine protested, stiff and bruised from where he’d been thrown against the wall. Instinctively, his hand found the tender swell behind his head, and pain flared beneath his fingertips. He inhaled sharply and forced himself to look down at his wrist.

The rune was still there. They probably thought it was jewelry.

 A metallic clatter jolted him. Jayce’s head snapped to the door. Through the narrow slit in the metal, an Enforcer stood watching.

“Hey!” Jayce stumbled to his feet and crossed the cell in. Panic tightened his voice. “Hey—what’s happening? Why am I here?”

After a long beat, a flat voice filtered through. “You’ll explain yourself soon enough. Sit tight.”

“Explain myself?” Jayce’s voice cracked as he slammed his palm against the door. “This is a mistake! I haven’t done anything!”

Silence answered him. 

Then memories surged.

The barricade. The blinding blast of light. Enforcers pouring in through clouds of smoke. And the girl with pink hair.

“Caitlyn...” His breath stuttered, heart hammering. “Caitlyn.”

He struck the door again—harder, desperation rising like heat in his throat. “Where's Caitlyn?! Is she okay? Tell me—what happened to her?!”

Footsteps began echoing down the corridor, growing closer. The latch clicked. The door swung inward with a heavy groan of metal. The Enforcer stepped aside.

For a moment, Jayce saw no one.

Then he looked down.

Professor Heimerdinger stood framed in the doorway, bathed in the hall’s soft glow. Hands folded behind his back. 

“Imprisonment,” the yordle murmured as he stepped inside. “Fascinating, isn’t it? We cage the body, but the mind remains unbound.” His eyes swept the cramped cell.

“Professor—” Jayce began, voice strained.

Heimerdinger continued as though he hadn’t heard. “I recall your first day at the Academy. Brimming with ideas, questions, impossible theories. Quite reminiscent of myself, in a way.” His expression dimmed. “But unchecked brilliance is a dangerous flame.”

Guilt tightened in Jayce’s stomach. The explosion replayed in brutal clarity. Has someone been hurt? Killed?

The professor’s tone softened. “Tell me, my boy—what were you attempting to accomplish?”

Jayce hesitated. “I... think I’ve found something. A breakthrough. A way to harness magic through science.”

Heimerdinger froze mid-step.

“Magic?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes!”

“No.”

Jayce blinked. “No?”

“The Arcane,” Heimerdinger said firmly, resuming his slow pace, “is not a tool to be shaped. It is chaos incarnate. A force that mocks control, mocks reason. Attempting to bind it with science is fruitless. And dangerous.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Jayce insisted, his voice rising. “What if we could understand it—study it—imagine the lives it could change—”

“How old are you?” Heimerdinger cut in.

“I'm... twenty-four.”

“I am three hundred and seven,” the yordle replied. “And in those centuries, I have witnessed countless attempts to tame the Arcane.”

He turned toward the exit. “When you appear before the council, admit to recklessness. Nothing more. Do not utter a word about magic. If you do as I say, you may escape with—how do you youths say—a slap on the wrist.”

He stepped out. The door slammed shut with a resonant clang.

Jayce stood alone in the dim cell, pulse thundering in his ears. His hands trembled. His breath shook.

How had everything gone so horribly wrong, so fast?

---

The house was suffocatingly quiet that morning.

Jayce stood before the mirror, adjusting his cuffs again and again until the fabric felt worn beneath his fingertips. No matter how many times he smoothed them, his reflection still looked wrong. His collar was crooked. His hair wouldn’t stay flat. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

He hadn’t slept. Every time he blinked, he saw the flash—the explosion, the smoke swallowing everything.

“Jayce.”

His mother’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut straight through the spinning fog of his thoughts.

He turned. Ximena stood in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame as though she needed it to keep herself upright. Her dress was rumpled, her hair pinned hastily, and her eyes—gods, her eyes were red, swollen, exhausted. She looked like someone who had spent all night pacing the halls, listening for footsteps that never came.

She stepped into the room, the carpet swallowing the faltering click of her heels.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice already breaking. “Please listen to me this time.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “I know what today means to you. But Jayce, I am terrified. I can’t—” Her voice caught, trembling. “I can’t lose you.”

He drew in a steadying breath and squared his shoulders, trying to look more confident than he felt. “Mamá, I know what I’m doing.”

“No.” She shook her head violently, sending loose strands of hair tumbling from her bun. “You don’t. You truly don’t.” She took another step toward him, wringing her hands together. “The council is not merciful. They see danger everywhere, especially in places they don’t understand.”

“They’ll listen,” he insisted, even though his voice wasn’t as strong as he wanted it to be. “If I can explain everything clearly—”

“What if they don’t?” Ximena pressed, her breath coming short and fast. “What if they’ve already made their decision? What if they look at you and see a threat? What if they take you away before you even get to speak?”

Jayce’s chest tightened. “I’ve worked too hard for them to just—”

“I don’t care about the research!” she burst out, louder than he’d heard her speak in years. Her hands flew to her face, trembling uncontrollably before she forced them back down to her sides. “I care about you. You, Jayce. My son.”

He froze.

“Your father,” she whispered, voice cracking, “was taken from me because he believed knowledge was worth any risk.” Her eyes shone as tears welled despite her efforts to blink them away. “Do you know what it’s like to love someone who keeps walking toward the edge, convinced they’ll never fall? Do you know what it’s like to be the one left behind when they do?”

Jayce swallowed hard, heat prickling behind his eyes.

“Mamá—”

“You’re all I have left,” she whispered, stepping in close. “If they decide you’re dangerous—if they decide the Arcane has corrupted you—there will be no second chances.”

Her voice shook so badly she pressed a hand to her chest just to steady her breathing.

“Please.” Her fingers curled around his sleeve, clinging. “Please, my heart... don’t let them take you from me.”

He placed a hand over hers. “I’ll be careful.” The words came out soft, a promise he desperately wanted to believe he could keep. “I won’t let anything happen.”

She pulled him into a trembling embrace, one so tight it almost hurt, as though she was trying to hold him here, to anchor him to the safety of her arms.

“I love you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “More than you will ever understand.”

He closed his eyes, breathing her in, wishing he could banish the fear in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” he said gently as they pulled apart.

But the uncertainty that twisted in his stomach told him that neither of them truly believed it.

---

The heavy oak doors groaned open, and Commander Greyson’s steady hand landed on Jayce’s shoulder, guiding him forward. His boots struck the polished stone floor with sharp, echoing taps that seemed far too loud in the vast chamber. He lifted his head only a fraction—just enough to take in the grand council hall of Piltover.

Gold-trimmed pillars rose like spines along the walls, the intricate carvings meant to inspire awe and reverence. Today, they only made him feel small.

Surrounding him, rows of citizens crowded the galleries. Their murmurs swept through the air like a restless tide—judgment, curiosity, fear. Jayce swallowed hard, his breath catching dry in his throat.

Greyson paused at the edge of the wide circular center. She met his eyes briefly before stepping aside and leaving him beneath the full weight of the council’s gaze.

“Jayce Talis,” Cassandra announced. She nodded to a servant, and with a soft mechanical whine the blinds lowered, darkening the room until a single spotlight framed Jayce alone. “You stand accused of unauthorized experimentation, reckless destruction of property, and endangering the lives of Piltover’s citizens. What do you have to say for yourself?”

His pulse slammed against his ribs. He tried to breathe steadily, to stop his hands from sweating. His eyes swept the council until they found Heimerdinger.

Jayce forced his voice steady. “The materials I worked with were... more dangerous than I anticipated. I broke regulations, and my work put people at risk. For that, I am truly sorry.” He lowered his gaze. “I ask for forgiveness. If granted the chance, I’ll continue my studies—under strict oversight.”

Cassandra spoke up. “As Jayce’s patron, I can attest to his potential. He is bright, ambitious, and—guided properly—could contribute greatly to Piltover.”

Hoskel snorted, flicking a puzzle cube between his fingers. “Contribute? The boy destroyed a block. If this is the future of invention, we’ll be living in rubble.”

Heimerdinger raised a hand. “Prototypes require failure before greatness emerges. Yet even I—”

Mel leaned forward. “Do you have anything to show for your work, Mr. Talis? Anything at all besides an explosion ”

Jayce’s stomach dropped. “I... no. It came to nothing.”

“So it was meaningless?” she pressed.

“No!” His voice snapped sharper than he intended. “It was revolutionary.”

She arched a brow. “Revolutionary in what way? I see only a young man meddling with power he doesn’t comprehend.”

“This is what happens,” Salo grumbled, “when students are given too much freedom.”

“Where do we draw the line?” Shoola added coolly. “We cannot encourage chaos.”

Their voices tangled into a rising clamor. Accusations, criticisms, disbelief. Jayce opened his mouth to defend himself, but his words drowned beneath the noise.

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

The uproar died instantly.

Hoskel blinked. “Magic?” he repeated, as if Jayce had started speaking an entirely new language.

Shoola’s lips thinned. “The Arcane is not a craft. It is bloodborn. You cannot build it.”

“But why not?” Jayce demanded, voice shaking but fueled by something deeper—fear, hope, desperation. “No one’s truly tried. Imagine what we could accomplish if we stopped running from the unknown.”

“Jayce,” Heimerdinger warned softly.

“We are the City of Progress,” Jayce pressed, the words tumbling out. “If we could understand the Arcane, master it—”

“Enough.” Heimerdinger’s voice cracked through the hall like a whip.

Jayce fell silent.

“You do not grasp the magnitude of what you’re tampering with,” the professor said, ears pinned flat. “I have lived centuries longer than you. I have seen what the Arcane does when humankind believes it can control it. It destroys. It corrupts. Entire civilizations have fallen to their own arrogance.” His voice trembled. “Piltover will not join them.”

Jayce’s chest caved inward.

“Heimerdinger is correct,” Shoola declared. “Piltover was founded to escape the horrors of Arcane warfare.”

“The Ethos is clear,” Bolbok murmured. “He must be banished.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Jayce’s vision blurred. His knees threatened to buckle.

The guards shifted—ready to escort him out.

“Please—please let me speak!”

The hall parted as Ximena fought her way forward. She pushed past the guards, past protesting voices, until she stood beside her son, the spotlight catching the tremor in her hands. Her chest heaved with each breath she fought to steady.

“As a lower house member, I know my voice is barely a whisper here,” she began, her words quaking. “But as a mother... it is the loudest."

Jayce’s stomach twisted.

“My son isn’t in his right mind,” she continued, blinking back tears that spilled anyway. “He has chased impossible dreams all his life. Dangerous dreams. Reckless ones.” Her voice cracked. “But he is not malicious. Whatever he did—whatever mistakes he made—came from a heart that only wanted to help.”

Salo scoffed. “Intent does not absolve consequence.”

Ximena pressed a hand to her heart as if holding herself together. “Please. He is all I have left.”

Heimerdinger sighed heavily, sorrow softening his features. “A breach of the Ethos calls for banishment... but compassion may guide us otherwise.” He straightened. “I move that Jayce Talis be expelled from the Academy and remanded to the custody of his mother.”

Hands rose—Heimerdinger’s first, then Cassandra’s, then Mel’s. One by one, the others followed.

“You may take your son home, Mrs. Talis,” Heimerdinger said gently. “But he is forbidden from the Academy henceforth.”

Silence fell thick and irreversible.

Jayce’s breath snagged in his chest. His mother’s hand slid into his, trembling with relief. He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.

Everything he’d built his life around, every dream he’d devoted his soul to shattered in an instant.

---

Jayce’s footsteps struck the marble floor in hard, uneven beats, each one echoing up the high, vaulted corridor before dissolving into the cold silence. He barely registered the sound anymore. His mind was louder—echoing with every accusation, every cutting stare that had torn through him in the council chamber. His palms still tingled with the faint aftershocks of adrenaline. Everything he’d built—years of effort, of obsession, of faith—had been wiped away with a few merciless sentences.

But even that wasn’t what hurt the most.

It was the memory of her voice.

Using the very thing he hated most about himself as the spear to pierce him.

Ximena walked beside him. Her fingers brushed his sleeve every few moments—gentle, testing touches, little reminders that she was there, that she was trying. Jayce didn’t pull away. But he didn’t lean into them either. The space between them felt impossibly wide, stretching with everything neither of them had dared to say.

Behind them came the soft, quick steps of someone far smaller.

“My boy...” Heimerdinger’s voice reached them. He slowed beside Jayce, ears drooping, his usual warmth overshadowed by something fragile and heavy. “I am truly sorry. The trial was... deeply unjust. I had hoped—well... perhaps if you had heeded my guidance, things might have turned out differently.”

Jayce finally looked at him. The words didn’t spark anger, only a deep, numbing exhaustion that hollowed out his chest. He opened his mouth, but no sound pushed through. Only a tight, swallowing ache.

Ximena inclined her head with a grace she didn’t truly feel. Her voice was soft, carefully restrained. “Thank you, Professor Heimerdinger, for being with him today. Your support means a great deal.”

Heimerdinger nodded, though his gaze lingered on Jayce—filled with regret and something Jayce couldn’t stand to see. Pity.

His stomach churned.

A moment later, the yordle bowed lightly and turned away, footsteps fading down a side hall until the echoes dissolved completely.

Silence pressed in.

Jayce and Ximena walked on together, their shadows stretching long across the floor. For a while, she said nothing—just stayed at his side, breathing carefully, as if one wrong word might shatter him.

But then she tried.

“Jayce...” Her voice wavered. “I just—I want you to understand I only said those things because I was scared. They needed to see how fragile you’ve been. Otherwise they would have punished you even more harshly.”

He stopped walking.

Ximena froze too, realizing too late what she’d said.

“I didn’t mean fragile as in—Jayce, that isn’t what I—”

“You said exactly what you meant.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut just the same.

“Mi amor, please,” she stepped closer, reaching for his arm, “I only wanted to protect you. If they thought you were reckless, or defiant—”

“So you told them I wasn’t stable?” Jayce stepped back sharply, breath catching. “That I couldn’t control myself? You handed them the rope they hung my work with.”

“I was trying to save you.”

He shook his head, a rough exhale ripping from him. “You didn’t.”

Ximena reached for him again, but he was already turning away.

“Jayce—Jayce, please don’t walk away from me—”

But he didn’t trust his voice. Didn’t trust the shaking in his chest. The corridor blurred as he rushed forward, steps quick and uneven, desperate for distance before he said something he could never take back.

Behind him, his mother’s voice cracked into the hall.

“Please don’t leave me...”

---

Rain came down in relentless sheets, a cold wall that turned the whole city into a smear. Jayce’s clothes were soaked through long before he reached the upper streets. Water traced down his sleeves, dripping from his hair in steady rivulets. He should’ve gone home—his mother was surely pacing the windows by now—but he couldn’t bring himself to turn that direction. Something heavier tugged him forward, something dark and hollow in his chest that made each step feel chosen for him.

His boots hit the slick cobblestones with dull splashes, sound swallowed instantly by the storm. He knew what everyone expected of him—to disappear, lie low, let Piltover’s attention drift away. Let the papers bury him. Let the council forget his name.

But the thought of going home—of facing his mother’s pity, her fear, the echo of what she’d said about him in that chamber—made his stomach twist. Made his chest tighten in a way that scared him.

His thoughts were loud, too loud, piling on top of one another until his own breathing felt like a burden. He needed something—someone—to ground him before he came apart completely.

That was the only reason he ended up at the Kiramman gates.

The tall iron structure appeared through the sheets of rain. He stumbled the last few steps, reaching the bars with trembling fingers. Cold metal bit into his palms, sharp and real.

“What are you doing here, Jayce?”

He turned. Caitlyn sat beneath an umbrella near the gate. She looked so small against the ironwork—her dress clinging wetly to her legs, stray hair plastered to her cheek. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” She rose, stepping toward the gate. Her face was steady, but her eyes... they were tired. 

He noticed a bandage along her cheek. His breath stilled.

He reached through the bars without thinking, but she stepped back.

“It’s nothing,” she said softly. “The explosion. A piece of debris. I’m fine, truly.”

“No, Caitlyn, I—” The words collapsed under the weight in his throat. “I never meant for you to—any of this—”

“I said I’m fine,” and though she cut him off, her tone held none of the anger he expected. After a pause, she looked away, voice barely stronger than the rain. “I’m more sorry about the trial. It wasn’t fair.”

Jayce closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold iron. Her sympathy wasn’t a comfort—it was a knife. He couldn’t stand the pity, not from her. 

“My father says you’re a misfit,” she whispered. “He says we can’t see each other anymore.”

He let out a breath that didn’t sound like a laugh but tried to be. “Then why are you here?”

A tiny smile flickered on her lips. “I guess I'm a misfit too.”

His heart lurched painfully.

He wanted to tell her he’d miss her. That she’d been the only bright thing in a place that often felt suffocating. That losing her felt like the final proof that he was unraveling.

But speaking meant admitting it. Admitting how badly he was fraying at the edges. Admitting how, lately, it felt like the world would be better off if he just... stepped out of it.

Before he could form a word, the heavy estate doors groaned open. Her mother stood framed in the doorway, tall and rigid under her umbrella, her stare sharp as a blade.

“Caitlyn. Inside.”

Caitlyn flinched. Rain streaked down her face, or maybe that was tears—he couldn’t tell. She took one step back. Then another. 

At the top of the stairs, she looked back once.

Then the doors swallowed her.

Jayce stayed at the gate long after she disappeared. The storm hammered at him, seeping cold into his bones until he felt hollowed out, weightless. His fingers slipped from the bars.

He should go home.

The rain drowned the city in gray, and his thoughts spiraled with it, looping through the same poisoned echo:

Unstable. Dangerous. Reckless.

Words he could almost believe when his thoughts darkened like this. Words that clung to him like the storm.

He didn’t notice where he was going until his hand hit a familiar railing—the stone stairs leading up to the Academy dormitories. His old door loomed at the end of the hall.

He stood there dripping, pulse unsteady, an ache clawing at his ribs.

Everything was gone.

And even though some part of him still wanted to be here—still wanted to breathe, and fight, and prove them all wrong—another part whispered: What’s the point?

His hand rose and he turned the knob.

Notes:

I fucking hate mage viktor and hope that fucker dies alone.

Anyways, idk if you guys can tell but mage Viktor isn't my favorite. So I decided on making an au where Ryze saves Jayce 😁

I'm pretty sure people theorized he saved Jayce before season two came out. But I have to warn you guys that I don't play league, so sorry if I mischaracterize him. I'm doing my best.

The fics concept was veeeery different from what I'm writing now.

Originally, it was supposed to be ten chapters set in a modern setting with very little magic. Jayce was still creating Hextech and Viktor was Heimerdinger’s assistant.

He was looking through student files, came across Jayce’s and saw that he was taking a lot of books about the arcane from the library and decided to um... stalk him to find out what he was doing.

The new fic—this fic—is still set in the modern era with very little magic. The reason why magic is like this, honestly is because I did not want to read League lore on it so I've just created my own.

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter :)

Chapter 2: Some Mysteries Are Better Left Unsolved

Summary:

Viktor grows interested in Jayce Talis' experiments.

Heimerdinger’s office was dim, lit only by the soft amber lamps lining the walls. Viktor stood beside the yordle as he carefully locked the case—Jayce’s notebook and crystals.

The final click of the lock sounded heavier than it should have.

Heimerdinger let out a long breath. “A tragic day,” he murmured, ears drooping. “The boy’s intentions were admirable... yet misguided.”

“He is certainly impulsive,” Viktor said quietly, “but he is not malicious.”

“No,” Heimerdinger agreed. “That is why the verdict pains me so deeply.”

The room fell silent for several seconds, broken only by the low hum of lanterns.

Viktor hesitated before speaking again. “What will happen to his research?”

The professor’s eyes lowered. “It must be destroyed. His theories are dangerous.”

Viktor nodded slowly, though something inside him tightened. He glanced at the cabinet—at the metal casing now hiding everything Jayce had poured himself into. “I... see.”

Heimerdinger patted his arm gently. “You are a promising young man, Viktor. Do not let today discourage you. Piltover still needs bright minds.”

“Thank you, professor.”

Heimerdinger headed toward the door, keys jingling. “I will leave the locking up to you. Goodnight, my boy.”

“Goodnight, professor.”

The door closed with a soft thud.

The moment Heimerdinger’s footsteps faded into the hall, Viktor moved.

He pulled out his key and unlocked the glass casing.

The hinges groaned softly as it opened.

Viktor hesitated, then took Jayce’s notebook.

He sat at Heimerdinger’s desk, flipped open the cover and began to read.

Page One

(At the top: a rough doodle of a gear.)

• Hypothesis: magical energy can be stabilized through a structured scientific conduit
• Not a spell → not “casting” → channeling arcane readings inconsistent but not random
• Pattern? Frequency? Temperature? Emotional trigger? ← doubtful

The crystal resonates when exposed to heat. 

→ need to build a chamber → controlled saturation → measure amplitude spikes → don’t blow up the lab. Seriously.

 — Jayce T.

Page Ten

ARCANE STABILITY TEST — FAILED AGAIN

• Crystal fractured under 12% output
• Expulsion force still unpredictable
• Need stronger housing
• Maybe conductive alloy?

If mana is “dying,” why do residual crystals still glow?→ leftover charge? → or responding to external stimuli?

Why does exposure to electricity enhance resonance?

(Electricity ≠ magic... unless the gap between them is smaller than assumed.)

If arcane energy IS measurable, then it’s a resource

 → And resources can be harnessed.

(At the bottom: a small doodle of a crystal exploding, with a tiny scribbled curse word: “fuck.”)

 — Jayce T.

Page Fifteen

Half the page is a diagram:

• A cylinder
• Panel slots
• Crystal held in a suspension field

Energy lines drawn with arrows and labels like “??? why does it do this” and “stop oscillating you little menace”

Under the drawing:

DEVICE FRAMEWORK: PHASE-1

Need:

• consistent output
• controllable voltage
• insulation against arcane backlash
• a power regulator (maybe adaptive?)
• a failsafe so I stop nearly dying

 — Jayce T.

Viktor closed the notebook. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Jayce had signed every single page.

Over and over. As if he expected someone to read it one day. As if he wanted to be remembered for every idea, big or small.

Viktor shook his head, amused in spite of himself.

He stood, notebook in hand, standing near the window where the city lights glowed faintly through the glass.

Could it work? Could the arcane really be controlled through scientific structure?

Every logical instinct told him no.

But Jayce wasn’t a fool. He was impulsive, emotional, dramatic—yes—but he wasn’t stupid. And these notes... these diagrams, these tests, these failures tracked obsessively... they had substance.

Viktor exhaled a soft, almost disbelieving laugh.

Maybe the council had been too quick to condemn him. Maybe Heimerdinger had been too cautious.

He tucked the notebook under his arm and moved to the door.

The light switch clicked. The room fell into darkness. For a moment Viktor stood there, the notebook’s weight solid in his hands.

Then he stepped out into the hallway and locked the door behind him, returning the keyring to his coat pocket. The corridor stretched ahead.

His footsteps echoed softly as he walked, and with each step, another thought pressed in.

He was really going to do it.

Breaking into Jayce’s dorm.

The idea should have horrified him. It certainly wasn’t something he ever imagined himself doing—he, who followed rules, who respected boundaries, who avoided unnecessary trouble like the plague.

And yet... here he was.

---

The scent of smoke still clung to the room. It soaked into every breath Jayce drew, coating his tongue and sinking into his clothes. 

Charred scraps of paper covered the floor like wilted petals, curling inward and crumbling if he brushed them with his boot. His workbench was nothing but a twisted, blackened skeleton of wood. The shelves had collapsed, their remains scattered in heaps of ash, the ruined spines of books jutting out like ribs from a carcass. A faint breeze drifted through the shattered wall.

Jayce stood in the middle of the destruction, shoulders rigid, expression hollow. His hands trembled at his sides. There was nothing. Every page, every tool, every equation—gone.

But he could still see it. The memories of what this room had been hovered like ghosts: the cluttered table he’d worked at until dawn, the walls once plastered with diagrams, the sharp scent of metal. He had believed he was creating something the world would one day understand.

Now all of it was proof he’d been deluding himself.

He sank to his knees beside the remains of his desk. He stared at the destruction for a long time before spotting a single sheet of unburned paper, lying miraculously untouched. A pencil laid beside it, cracked but usable.

With hands that shook, he began to write.

Mother,

 If this reaches you. You won’t understand why I left. You’ll blame yourself, but none of this is your fault.

 I tried to be what you wanted—the son who knew how to sit still and smile politely. But I can’t keep pretending."

 They say I’m unstable now. Dangerous. They look at me like I’m something wrong. Maybe they’re right. Maybe chasing magic made me lose myself. But without it... I don’t know who I am anymore.

 You said people are measured by what they are. But I don't know what I am.

 I wish I could tell you I’m sorry. I don’t know if I am.

 I love you, mother.

 —Jayce.

The pencil slipped from his fingers and rolled across the debris. Jayce stared at the letter until the words blurred, though no tears came.

He folded the page, set it carefully atop the remnants of the desk, and reached for the band on his wrist. It glinted weakly in the moonlight. He slid it off and placed it on top of the letter, using it as a weight so the wind wouldn’t cause it to drift away.

He exhaled shakily and stood, the broken edge of the wall opened before him, revealing the vast drop to the city below. Piltover’s lights twinkled far beneath him like scattered stars in the sky.

He stepped toward the ledge. Placed his hand against the stone. Leaned forward just enough to feel the wind bite at his skin. It was so easy to imagine stepping off. The fall would be quick. Quiet. No more noise in his head. No more disappointment. No more anything.

His heart pounded. His breath hitched. A strange, fragile calm wrapped around him.

“Am I interrupting?”

The voice cut through the quiet. Jayce flinched, spinning around. Loose debris skittered down the drop. 

Viktor stood in the doorway, a book tucked under his arm.

“The hell’s your problem?!” he snapped, voice frayed to the bone. His eyes darted to the book tucked under Viktor’s arm. “What’s that? Another list with my name on it?” 

Viktor lifted it slightly, his tone dry. “Actually, yes. But only because you signed your notes.” He held it up. “Every page, I might add. A little egotistical, don't you think?” 

The faintest flicker of confusion crossed Jayce’s face. He wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or startled. “You—what?” 

Viktor didn’t give him the chance to spiral further. He moved carefully, so as not to startle the other man into doing something irreversible.

“I read your notes,” Viktor explained. “Your theories are extraordinary. You saw potential when others saw danger. That kind of mind doesn’t die in one fire. Or because a room full of cowards decides they’re afraid of you.”

Jayce’s jaw clenched. His breathing trembled. “This was my entire life. And it’s gone.”

Viktor’s gaze drifted toward the ledge. “And stepping off that edge will fix it?”

The words struck hard. Jayce’s eyes flicked to the broken wall, then back to Viktor. Panic flickered across his face.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were about to.”

Jayce swallowed hard, unable to deny it.

Viktor knelt and picked up the band. He studied it a moment before holding it out.

“You threw this away,” he said. “Why?”

Jayce’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “Because it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

Viktor straightened, extending it toward him. “Then give it new meaning.”

Jayce hesitated. Something fragile, uncertain, flickered behind his eyes. Slowly, he lifted his hand and took the band back, fingers brushing Viktor’s.

“I don’t even know your name,” he breathed.

Viktor’s lips curved faintly. “It’s Viktor.”

---

A lamp burned on the battered desk, its warped glass making the flame tremble and throw uneven gold across the room. Papers were scattered everywhere—scribbled formulas, torn diagrams, smudged sketches. Moonlight spilled through the cracked wall in thin silver lines, stretching across the floor and brushing the outline of Viktor’s silhouette as he stood before the chalkboard. The chalk squeaked as he wrote.

Jayce sat behind him, elbows braced on his knees, the fatigue long since replaced with a knot of restless frustration.

“All this time I thought it was the oscillation,” he muttered. “If I’d dampened the surge earlier...” He scrubbed both hands down his face and let out a bitter laugh. “How did I not see that?”

Viktor paused mid-line. The chalk hovered, unmoving. He studied the figures for a moment, then drew a single underline.

“The crystals will stabilize only at high frequency,” he said. “You do not suppress the surge. You—”

“—you crank it!” Jayce shot upward, the chair screeching across the floor. “Yes! That’s it! Viktor—that’s it!”

The sudden noise startled Viktor. He turned slightly, though a faint, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Indeed.”

Jayce laughed—an exhausted, disbelieving sound... “It actually works.”

“Ehh, in theory,” Viktor replied, tone dry as he returned to the equations.

The laughter faded. Jayce’s expression dropped again. He slumped back into the chair, rubbing at the ache in his temples. “Heimerdinger’s never going to allow us to test this. And without the crystal...” 

The chalking stopped.

In its place came a soft metallic jingle.

Jayce’s head snapped up. “What was—”

 His eyes widened.

Keys. A full set of them. Viktor turned slightly, the lamplight glinting off polished brass.

“Viktor...” Jayce stepped forward. “Please tell me those aren’t—”

“I can retrieve the crystals.”

Jayce grabbed his arm. “Are you insane? Those are Heimerdinger’s keys! We can’t steal from him! If he catches us—if anyone catches us—we’re done!”

“Caught?” Viktor echoed, finally turning to face him. His eyes were steady, almost cold in their certainty. “The council will destroy the crystals tomorrow. If we wait for approval, there will be no research left to save.”

Jayce started pacing, running both hands through his hair. “This is breaking-in. That’s insane! This isn’t manipulating variables or tweaking formulas—this is a crime, Viktor!”

“Progress,” Viktor interrupted with intensity, “demands sacrifice. Discovery does not come to those who wait for permission.”

Jayce froze mid-step. His breath hitched. Slowly, he looked at Viktor.

“Why?” Jayce asked, voice rough. “Why risk everything—for me?”

Viktor’s expression shifted.. “It is not only for you,” he said. “It is for the idea you were brave enough to chase.”

He motioned toward the chalkboard—the chaotic constellation of equations.

“Your hextech dream,” he said, “deserves a chance to exist.”

Jayce stared at the chalkboard, the words settling deep in his chest, heavier than anything he expected to feel tonight. And he realized—Viktor burned with the same fire he did.

The lamplight caught the gold in his eyes as he murmured, “this Hextech concept... it has the power to reshape the world.”

Jayce stepped closer, correcting softly, “our Hextech dream.”

His hand landed gently on Viktor’s shoulder. The touch made Viktor stiffen at first—but then, slowly, he exhaled, the tension bleeding out of him as he let himself accept the contact.

---

Viktor walked ahead, a small flashlight casting a thin beam through the dark corridor. It wasn’t enough to illuminate much—just the floor beneath their feet and a vague outline of the walls—Jayce stayed close behind him, pulse hammering. Every step felt louder than it should. Every inhale felt too sharp.

When Viktor finally stopped, Jayce nearly collided with his back.

The older man crouched before a thick iron door, its brass nameplate shone.

PR. HEIMERDINGER

Jayce’s stomach dropped. “Oh gods,” he whispered. “We’re actually doing this.”

Viktor didn’t bother answering. He simply held out the flashlight. Jayce took it with clammy fingers, trying not to shake as Viktor set aside his cane and pulled out the ring of keys. The metallic jingle echoed through the deserted hall.

Viktor turned one key between his fingertips before sliding it into the first lock.

Click.

The sound snapped through the air like a gunshot. 

“So far, so good,” Viktor murmured.

He sifted through the rest of the keys, metal brushing metal—when suddenly the entire hallway exploded into blinding white light.

Viktor recoiled with a hiss, shielding his eyes. Jayce staggered back, blinking furiously as spots burst across his vision.

They were caught. They were absolutely, completely—

“Willing to risk expulsion for your little experiment?” a smooth voice drawled. “That’s admirable. Or foolish.”

Jayce’s heart stopped. “Councilor Medarda,” he breathed, panic cracking through every word.

Mel stood a few steps away, framed in the harsh light, her gold jewelry throwing sharp reflections. Jayce opened his mouth, but nothing resembling an excuse came out.

Viktor, however, straightened almost instantly. He tilted his head toward the door.

“Wait,” he said thoughtfully, “this isn’t my bedroom?”

Jayce froze.

His brain stalled.

His soul left his body.

He turned so fast he nearly sprained something. His face went scarlet. Viktor was older, an assistant to the teachers, and Jayce was—no. Absolutely not. That was entirely unethical. Entirely impossible. Completely—

“N-no!” Jayce sputtered, shaking his head. “That’s not—he didn’t—there’s nothing—”

Mel arched an eyebrow, amused.

Jayce forced his brain into gear. “Councilor, please. We—we can prove my research works.”

“You couldn’t earlier,” she reminded him. “What makes tonight different?”

Viktor rose, brushing dust from his knees. “Refined calculations. The crystals will hold this time.”

She studied him. “Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant?”

“He’s my partner,” Jayce said before Viktor could answer.

Mel’s expression flickered—then vanished behind a composed smile. “Even if you succeed, the council intends to dismantle the project.”

“Heimerdinger will understand once he sees the result,” Viktor urged.

Mel let out a low laugh. “My dear—he understands perfectly. That’s the problem. He, and everyone else, fears it.”

Jayce swallowed. “And you?”

Her eyes glimmered in the light. “I can see what it could become.”

Before Jayce could respond, a shrill whistle split the air.

His blood iced.

“Councilor, please,” he begged, desperation cracking every syllable. “This is everything this city claims to be. The City of Progress, of change. This could change everything.”

The whistle came again—closer.

Jayce looked at her, heart pounding. “I know it sounds impossible. But when has that ever stopped us?”

Mel studied him for a long, breathless moment.

Then she lifted a finger.

“One night, gentlemen,” she said. “Impress me... or start packing.”

She flicked off her light and slipped gracefully into the shadows, her heels tapping a steady rhythm that faded into silence.

For several long seconds, neither Jayce nor Viktor moved.

Then Viktor slowly exhaled and crouched again, returning to the locks as if absolutely nothing had happened.

Jayce dragged a shaky hand down his face and switched the flashlight back on. 

After a moment, he muttered, “so... this isn’t your bedroom?”

Viktor froze. Shoulders stiffening. Even in the dim light, Jayce caught the faint blush climbing his neck.

“I— I had to say something,” Viktor sputtered.

Jayce snorted, tension bleeding out of him. “Relax. I’m only teasing.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. He leaned back to the door.

Click. The second lock released.

 Click. The third followed.

With a soft exhale, Viktor pushed the door open and slipped inside. Jayce followed, pulling it shut behind them.

Viktor walked straight to a reinforced glass case, reached into his coat, and withdrew a small brass key.

It fit the lock perfectly.

The door swung open.

Jayce stared. “How many keys do you actually have?”

Viktor’s mouth twitched. “Professor Heimerdinger misplaces them often.,I simply ensure they are always found.”

---

Jayce was hunched over Heimerdinger’s desk, chair dragged halfway out, elbows planted as he tightened the last shaking screws of the stabilization rig. The lamplight flickered over scattered blueprints and half-finished notes he and Viktor had scribbled during their long night of work. His goggles were fogged and smudged, leaving rings around his tired eyes when he pushed them up to rub his face.

He heard the soft, uneven steps, followed by the tap of Viktor’s cane.

Jayce looked up.

Viktor stepped into the circle of light, holding something between his fingers. A crystal. The pale blue glow rolled across his knuckles, and Jayce’s stomach twisted. He swallowed hard, reached out, and took it. His hands were shaking.

This was the moment they’d been working toward.

Carefully, he slid the crystal into its slot on the rig.

A rush of energy rippled through the air. The machine vibrated, arcs of light skittering along the brass frame. Jayce leaned in, breath held, watching every twitch and flicker.

Then everything went still.

“It is time to crank it!” Viktor announced proudly—while snapping Jayce’s notebook shut with a loud smack.

Jayce didn’t look away from the machine. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Viktor paused, thought about it, then shrugged. “Ehh...”

Jayce groaned and threw the switch.

The rig answered instantly with a roar.

The crystal lifted off its base, floating in a column of blue light. Its glow grew brighter, reflecting in both their eyes. Gears clicked into rhythm. Coils sang as voltage built. Thin arcs of raw power snapped around the chamber. Papers spun off the desk, caught in the sudden wind the machine created.

Jayce lunged for the controls. “It’s going to blow! Viktor—this is too much!”

But Viktor didn’t look away from the crystal.

“The resonance will stabilize!” he shouted. “Trust me!”

Jayce turned. Saw the certainty in his eyes. 

His pulse thudded in his ears.

He trusted him.

Jayce pulled his hand back from the shutdown switch.

Viktor let out a breath, almost a laugh. “I told you.”

And for a moment, the machine proved him right.

The crystal steadied. Its glow slowed into a calm, rhythmic pulse. Jayce stared, wide-eyed. “It’s never done that before.”

He reached out and turned a dial a fraction.

The crystal responded immediately—light intensifying, the air humming until Jayce felt it in his teeth.

Then the pulse skipped.

Once. Twice.

The hum twisted into a high, sharp whine. The glow fractured. Sparks burst from the frame as the rig shook on its bolts.

“Viktor—?” Jayce’s voice cracked.

Viktor shoved forward. “Stay with me—stay—”

A thunder-like crack ripped through the air.

The machine exploded with blinding force—they were thrown back—and then everything froze.

Shattered glass hung midair like stars. Smoke curled upward but stayed suspended. Sparks hovered as if pinned in place. Jayce floated weightlessly, staring at the impossible scene.

He turned his head.

Viktor was hanging there too, arm outstretched toward the machine, fingers frozen inches from nothing.

Then time snapped backward.

Glass reformed. Smoke folded in on itself. The shockwave pulled tight and collapsed. Thunder died. The crystal settled calmly into its chamber as if nothing had happened.

The lab stood as it once was.

Jayce staggered forward, heart pounding. “It—”

Jayce looked back at the crystal pulsing quietly, like it hadn’t nearly destroyed the room. “What the hell...” His voice shook. “What the hell did we just do?”

Viktor’s eyes glowed.

“Incredible.”

---

Jayce dragged a sleeve across his forehead, wiping away the sweat gathering there. His whole body felt heavy from hours of work, but the rush of having something real in front of him kept him focused. Across the desk, Viktor was bent over a pile of formulas, eyes darting over lines of rough numbers and half-erased calculations.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The door shook.

Jayce jolted upright.

“Stop this lunacy at once!”

Heimerdinger’s furious voice pushed straight through the metal. Jayce’s heart stalled. Viktor looked up, and the two of them shared the same expression—panic tangled with an awful, excited spark.

Another round of pounding rattled the frame.

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

Jayce’s stomach dropped.

Viktor moved first, limping to the door and wedging his cane between the handles to bar it shut. “We are close,” he said under his breath. “So very close.”

“Jayce Talis!” Heimerdinger shouted. “You have five seconds before that door is removed!”

Outside, metal scraped. Locks strained.

“They’re almost through!” Viktor called, alarmed and thrilled at the same time. “No pressure!”

“That sounds like pressure!” Jayce shot back, scrambling over the controls with shaking hands.

The sound of metal giving way echoed—the Enforcers forcing the mechanism.

Jayce clenched his jaw.

Fine. No more waiting.

He grabbed the crank and yanked it down.

The machine roared to life.

The crystal lit up with blinding force, washing the lab in sharp blue light. Tiny, glowing symbols flickered out from inside it, spiraling upward in twisting patterns. The air vibrated, almost humming.

“Jayce,” Viktor breathed, staring. “Look.”

“I am looking!” Jayce yelled, bracing himself as the floor trembled under him.

The shockwave blasted outward—

—The door slammed open.

Heimerdinger and two Enforcers bursted in—then froze in place.

Jayce and Viktor were suspended near the ceiling in a net of shimmering light. The crystal hovered between them, glowing brighter than ever, wrapped in a rotating ring of strange, moving symbols.

Jayce flailed. “Viktor! What’s happening?!”

A loose gear drifted past him. Viktor reached out, tapped it once, then tucked it into his pocket.

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

Heimerdinger stepped forward, staring up at them in shock. His anger dropped away, replaced with disbelief. “You’ve actually done it.” He muttered under his breath, then raised his voice again. “Now—would you please come down from there?”

“I do not know how to do that,” Viktor admitted.

“You think we chose to be up here?!” Jayce snapped, still spinning slightly.

Heimerdinger sighed, exasperated. “This is not the future for Piltover, my boys!”

Before either of them could respond, a calm voice chimed in from behind the Enforcers.

“That will be for the council to decide.”

Mel stepped inside, eyes scanning the room, taking in every floating scrap and every flicker of light.

“Perhaps,” she said, “this is the era of magic.”

Jayce met her gaze. Something lit up inside him.

“Hextech,” he said quietly. “The era of Hextech.”

The crystal pulsed hard. The symbols circled faster, breaking out of rhythm. Power surged, shaking the air again.

Jayce grabbed for a piece of floating metal, missed completely. “We need to shut it down,” he said, looking at Viktor. “I don’t even know how—”

“The resonance is too high,” Viktor said. “We stabilize it.”

“Stabilize it? Viktor, we’re floating!”

“Then we force stability.”

“You must anchor each other!” Heimerdinger called up.

Jayce turned toward Viktor, pulse racing. “Viktor—”

Viktor reached for him. “Trust me.”

“I do.”

Their hands met—

—and everything shifted.

The chaotic energy snapped toward their connection instead of pushing them apart. The light bent, funneled downward. The weightlessness slowly drained from the room. Jayce felt the tug of gravity return, pulling his boots toward the floor.

They landed, stumbling slightly.

Jayce exhaled shakily and didn’t let go of Viktor until he felt sure the floor wasn’t about to reverse itself again.

Viktor steadied the device. The crystal dimmed, settling into a calm pulse.

Heimerdinger came closer, ears drooping. “You’ve achieved something incredible. And also extremely dangerous. The risks—Jayce, Viktor—you must be careful.”

Jayce lowered his head, a mix of pride and guilt twisting in his chest. “We never meant to put anyone in danger.”

“It is stable now,” Viktor added. “And it works. Hextech works.”

Mel stepped toward them, hands clasped behind her back. “I thought I heard quite a commotion.” A small, knowing smile crossed her face. “Apparently you two prefer dramatic breakthroughs.”

Jayce flushed. “It wasn’t—well—okay, maybe a little—”

Mel cut him off lightly. “What matters is potential. And this has a great deal of it.”

Heimerdinger frowned deeply. “Innovation, yes. Catastrophe, equally so.”

Mel nodded. “Which is why the council must hear of it.”

Jayce’s breath caught. “The council...?”

Heimerdinger nodded slowly. “This invention is bigger than either of you. I’ll prepare a report. But for tonight—rest. Both of you. You’ve done enough.”

Mel lingered a moment longer, eyes flicking back to the soft glow of the crystal. “Get some sleep. Things like this never stay quiet for long.”

---

Jayce and Viktor chose a small table tucked beside one of the tall stained-glass windows. Moonlight filtered through in pale strips, painting the table in soft white. They were supposed to have gone home ages ago—tomorrow was going to be long—but neither of them moved to leave.

Viktor broke the silence first. “Tell me, Jayce... why did you create Hextech?”

Jayce shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “If I tell you, you’re going to think I’m out of my mind.”

“Most brilliant people are,” Viktor teased with a small smirk.

Jayce let out a short laugh, but it faded quickly. “When I was ten, my mother and I immigrated here from Ixtal.”

That caught Viktor off guard. “You are an immigrant?”

Jayce nodded, but the smile he wore was gentler now. “My father was from Piltover. He moved to Ixtal so my mom could stay near her family. He always talked about coming back someday, but he died before he ever could. A few months after his funeral my mother said we were moving to Piltover.” His hands folded together, fingers twisting. “Grief makes people do rash decisions.” 

Viktor’s voice softened. “I am sorry.”

Jayce looked up with a crooked, almost shy smile. “The move wasn’t all bad. I ended up meeting you.”

Color climbed Viktor’s cheeks, and he quickly looked away.

Jayce continued. “We had to cross the mountain pass to get here. A blizzard rolled in, our guide bailed when it got bad—said we’d slow him down.” Jayce’s voice tightened. “My mom collapsed. She... she died.”

Viktor opened his mouth, but no words came. Nothing felt big enough to answer that.

Jayce stared down at the table for a quiet moment before his voice steadied again. “But then this mage appeared. Just—out of nowhere. He did some sort of spell, and suddenly we weren’t in the snow anymore. We were lying in a bed of flowers. And she was breathing.”

He tugged up his sleeve, revealing the wristband with the embedded runestone. Moonlight caught on its edges. “He gave me this before he left. And I just... I want to give that miracle back to the world. If I can help the world, why wouldn’t I?”

Viktor studied him openly now. “So that is why you created Hextech.”

“Yeah.” Jayce nodded. “To give people what saved us.” He leaned closer. “What about you? What would you do with Hextech?”

“It is not my invention.”

“It is now,” Jayce insisted. “You helped make it possible.”

“I only made small suggestions.”

“And those suggestions mattered,” Jayce countered, reaching out. Before Viktor could pull his hand away, Jayce took it. The contact startled Viktor but he didn’t pull away. “I wasn’t exaggerating earlier. You’re my partner. I want you working on Hextech with me.”

The word landed hard. Partner. Viktor felt it settle deep in his chest, heavier than Jayce could ever know. 

“...Perhaps,” Viktor said finally, voice low, “Hextech could help improve my home. I am from Zaun.”

“I don’t see why it couldn’t.”

Encouraged, Viktor kept going, the ideas building momentum. “Better ventilation—systems that filter real air. A proper sewer network. Water supplies that aren’t poisonous. Zaun suffers, Jayce. With Hextech, we could fix some of that.”

His eyes were locked on Viktor, full of something warm and steady. When Viktor paused, Jayce’s grip tightened.

“We will,” Jayce promised. “Whatever you want for Zaun—we’ll make it happen. I swear.”

Viktor froze at the weight of the words. Slowly—almost against his better judgment—a smile spread across his face.

“Then... yes,” he finally agreed. “I would be honored to be your partner.”

Notes:

I'm pretty sure Jayce was put into a conservatorship. For those who don't know it's where the court appoints power to manage someone else’s personal/finances. The person under the conservatorship is deemed unfit to manage their own affairs.

I kinda regret not adding the scene where Viktor and Jayce meet before Grayson takes Jayce to the cell because Viktor just... sorta shows up lol.
He was at the trial. I should have at least written a scene where he and Jayce made eye contact or smth 😔

Fuuck that woulda been hot.

And also Mel's hot.

Jayce gettin so many bitches. They're both so lucky Jayce wants em.

I want to warn you guys that the fics title might change. I don't really like it anymore. I do love Hoizer!!! But idk I just don't think it fits the fic all that much anymore.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter :)

Chapter 3: Something New

Summary:

Jayce and Viktor begin work on Hextech.

Jayce and Viktor arrived at the Academy early the next morning. Heimerdinger’s office had been tidied since the night before, though Jayce could still spot a few scorch marks if he looked closely. Morning light streamed through the tall windows, warming the room in pale gold.

Heimerdinger sat behind his desk, hands neatly folded. Once they took their seats, he began to speak.

“I am willing to give you boys one chance with Hextech.”

Jayce straightened immediately, breath catching.

“Hextech has great promise,” Heimerdinger continued. “But it is unpredictable. And dangerous. If you are to continue, you must do so with caution. I want no reckless experiments. No risks that end with anyone injured... or worse.”

“We understand, professor,” Viktor replied. “We promise we will not act impulsively.”

Heimerdinger sighed, ears drooping. “Magic is a volatile force. And almost nonexistent. That you two can... recreate it is absurd.”

“We’re not exactly creating magic,” Jayce replied quickly. When Heimerdinger’s expression tightened in confusion, he continued. “The crystals I use already contain magic—they were founded deep underground. My earlier tests woke it up, I think. Last night, when Viktor and I stabilized the first one, it proved they can be handled safely. And if they can be used safely...” His voice brightened. “They can be used to make inventions. Things to help people.”

Heimerdinger rubbed his chin. “I see. I want a full explanation of your theory, but that can wait. For now...” He shifted topics. “The two of you will enter the Innovators’ Competition together. You will build a functional Hextech device as proof that your work is worth pursuing. Impress me, and you may continue your research.”

Jayce lit up—only for Heimerdinger to immediately add, “however, there will be rules.”

Jayce’s excitement deflated, and he slouched. “Rules?”

“Firstly,” Heimerdinger said, raising a finger, “Jayce, you are being re-enrolled as a student. Your education must take priority. You may work for two hours each morning before classes, and again after they conclude. You may not remain in the lab past ten in the evening. At that time, you will go—preferably to socialize. Perhaps meet someone nice. Or simply go home.”

Jayce flushed, mortified by the comment—but the only thing he could think to protest was the time limit. “Professor, that’s barely any time at all! If you want results, I need—”

Heimerdinger lifted his hand, and Jayce fell silent.

“This is your final year, Jayce. Graduation is months away. Do not throw away all the effort you’ve put into earning your diploma. You are so close.”

Jayce sagged deeper in his chair. Viktor was smiling slightly, clearly amused.

“He is correct,” Viktor added. “Your degree matters. You should not abandon it.”

Jayce exhaled sharply. He hated that they were right. “Fine.”

Heimerdinger hopped down from his chair and retrieved two keys from a drawer. “You will be working in Lab Five. Only the two of you, myself, and Ms. Medarda will have access.”

“Mel?” Jayce asked, confused.

“Yes. She plans to provide you with some funding. For now, you will use the Academy’s equipment. I believe she intends to visit the lab soon.” He handed them the keys. “You may begin after classes today.”

They were dismissed.

Jayce stepped out into the hallway with Viktor close behind. As soon as the door clicked shut, Jayce blew out a long breath.

“Six months,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Six whole months until graduation. By the time we get full access to that lab, we’ll be ancient.”

Viktor tilted his head. “You are twenty-four. You are nowhere near “ancient”.”

Jayce shot him a look. “You’re older than me. You’ll go gray first. Classes keep me away from actual work. It feels like getting put on a leash.”

Viktor rolled his eyes at the jab about his age but ignored it. “Your graduation is close. You can endure a bit more. And if you worry about falling behind... I can tutor you. Keep you in the professor’s good graces.”

Jayce bumped his shoulder lightly. “Can’t pass up a chance to learn from the professor’s right-hand man.”

Viktor smirked. “As long as you stay focused. I hear you are easily distracted.”

“Only when the company’s interesting.” Jayce grinned—then glanced up at the clock on the wall across from them. “Ah, crap. Class starts in five minutes.”

“I will see you later.”

Jayce began walking down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Try not to think about me too much!”

Viktor shook his head, amused, watching him disappear.

He doubted he’d be able to follow that instruction at all.

He hesitated only a moment after Jayce disappeared around the corner. Then he turned back, knocked once on the already-ajar door, and stepped into Heimerdinger’s office again.

The professor looked up from the stack of papers he’d begun sorting. “Ah—Viktor. Did you forget something?”

“Yes,” Viktor said, hands folded loosely behind his back. “Jayce’s class schedule. If we are expected to work efficiently, I will need to know when he is unavailable.”

Heimerdinger blinked, then hummed thoughtfully. “A sensible request.” He scooted off his chair, walking to one of the tall filing cabinets, standing on his toes as he tugged a drawer open. “Jayce’s records... let me see... ah, here we are.”

He pulled out a folder and flipped it open on his desk. “He is enrolled in Mechanical and Aerospace, Design and Manufacturing II and—oh. History of Piltover’s Expansion. I always forget that students are required to take that one.”

Viktor stepped closer, his eyes skimmed the layout. Heimerdinger tapped each block of time.

“He has morning classes on Mondays and Wednesdays. Afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays he is free after noon. That is when you two may choose to extend your research—as long as you do not surpass the nightly cutoff.”

“I understand,” Viktor said. “May I have a copy?”

“Of course, my boy, of course.” Heimerdinger made a quick trip to the copier by the wall, humming while the machine clattered. He returned with a fresh sheet and handed it over. “Here you go.”

Viktor accepted it carefully. “Thank you, professor.”

“Make sure to balance work and rest,” Heimerdinger added. “Exhaustion makes even geniuses foolish.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Viktor said, offering a small, polite smile.

Heimerdinger nodded, satisfied, and climbed back into his chair. “Off you go then. And do remember, the labs are still strictly off-limits until this afternoon.”

“Understood.”

Viktor stepped out into the hallway again, schedule in hand. With Jayce off to class, he made his way toward the research wing to begin his own tasks for the day.

---

Viktor slipped out of the workshop a few minutes before Jayce’s final class was done, shutting the door quietly behind him. His leg ached fiercely with every step, but he kept his jaw tight and his movements steady. 

He managed to get to the class and leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest.

Students began to pour out in a messy cluster. Then Jayce stepped through, he saw Viktor immediately.

His eyebrows shot up. “Viktor? What are you—wait.” He approached quickly, eyes narrowing as he looked him over. “Why are you standing like that?”

Viktor stiffened. “Standing like what?”

“Like you’re one bad step away from collapsing.” 

“I could not repair my cane,” Viktor replies simply. “It is hard to walk without it.”

“Okay, come here,” Jayce said firmly. He stepped closer, offering his other arm. “Use me.”

Viktor blinked at him, startled. “Jayce—”

“Take my arm.”

“That is not necessary—”

“Viktor.” Jayce stepped even closer, lowering his voice. “You’re hurting. Let me help.”

Viktor swallowed, embarrassment burning behind his ribs. He hated how exposed moments like this made him feel. But Jayce didn’t look pitiful.

Viktor reached out and took Jayce’s arm.

His weight finally found balance, causing the strain on his bad leg to lighten slightly.

They started walking down the hall, Jayce setting a pace Viktor could manage without pain. 

After a minute, Jayce said, “you know... I can make you a new cane.”

Viktor looked over at him. “Jayce—no. You do not have to—”

“I want to,” Jayce cut in. “Really. I work in the forge. It’d be easy.”

“Easy?” Viktor echoed skeptically.

“Well, easy-ish.” Jayce grinned. “But I could make something for you.”

Viktor looked down at the floor, voice soft. “I... do not wish to be a burden.”

Jayce’s grip tightened just a little—enough to make Viktor look up.

“You’re not,” Jayce assured him. “You need help, so I’m helping. That’s what people do for each other.”

Viktor felt his chest twist in a way he couldn’t name.

Jayce continued, “I could make it custom. Balanced to your height. Better grip. Stronger base. Maybe even something that folds so you don’t have to carry it around everywhere.”

Viktor stared at him, caught between disbelief and something that felt dangerously close to hope.

“...You would do this for me?” he asked quietly.

Jayce froze.

Then rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Jayce looked away, cheeks warming slightly. “Because I care about you, obviously.”

Viktor nearly missed a step—not from pain this time, but from that.

Jayce kept walking, completely unaware he’d just shaken Viktor’s entire internal equilibrium.

“...If you insist,” Viktor finally said. “Then... alright.”

Jayce brightened. “I'll start work on it soon.”

---

They reached Lab Five and unlocked it, once they stepped inside they stopped.

Everything they could ever want was already waiting.

On the center table sat the box of crystals, each nestled safely in padded slots. Tools were lined up neatly on the wall— screwdrivers, welding gear, soldering equipment, measuring tools, metal sheets, and so much more. Even the lighting was perfect: bright overhead lamps that flicked on one by one as they entered, illuminating the space in a warm glow.

Jayce let out a low whistle. “Heimerdinger really hooked us up, huh?”

Viktor’s eyes lit up. “This is... much more than I expected.”

Jayce guided him gently toward one of the stools. “Here, sit. You shouldn’t be on that leg more than you have to.”

Viktor sat with a soft exhale, adjusting so his weight stayed off the aching side. Jayce hovered for a second, clearly making sure he was comfortable before moving away.

Then Jayce approached the box.

He lifted one of the crystals from its slot, the blue glow washing over his fingers. “Still feels unreal,” he murmured. “We get to do this. For real.”

Viktor leaned forward slightly. “It is... exciting.”

Jayce grinned at him over his shoulder. “We’ve got until the Innovators Competition. That gives us... what, five month”

“Roughly,” Viktor confirmed. “We will need something impressive. Something that displays stability and potential.”

Jayce placed the crystal down gently, then grabbed a stack of blank paper and a handful of drafting pens. He dropped into the chair beside Viktor and spun it once before planting his feet.

“Okay,” Jayce said, tapping the pen to his chin. “Let’s brainstorm.”

He started sketching immediately—fast, energetic lines. Viktor watched for a moment as Jayce fell into the rhythm, his face softened unconsciously, just a little, watching him.

Jayce didn’t notice.

“Alright—what about a stabilizing stand?” Jayce began. “Something that can hold a crystal and keep it from overloading?”

Viktor considered. “Useful, yes. But not impressive enough for the competition.”

Jayce nodded and kept drawing. “Okay... what about a power source? Something that can fuel machines?”

“That may require more research than we have time for.”

Jayce scratched out the sketch and began another—something sleeker this time. “Okay, okay. What about tools? A Hextech-powered drill? A torch? A furnace?”

Viktor made a thoughtful sound. “We need something that changes how people think about invention.”

Jayce paused, tapping the pen then began to draw. 

Viktor leaned in closer to see.

It was an arm. On thehand was a crystal and on the forearm.

Jayce tilted the page for Viktor to get a better look at. “Powerd by Hextech. The crystals would be used for energy. You can have a weak arm and this would be used to strengthen it.”

Viktor perked up. “A prosthetic.” 

“Yes!” Jayce said, pointing at him. “Something to help the people.”

Viktor nodded slowly, the idea settling into place. “This is what our project should be. To prove that we will use this to help.”

Jayce grinned, then went back to sketching, refining the shape. Viktor joined him, offering ideas, adjusting proportions, suggesting mechanisms. Jayce drew fast; Viktor added corrections, pointing out potential stress points or inefficiencies.

The hours slipped by without either of them noticing.

Papers piled up. Diagrams overlapped. Crystals lined the table as Jayce examined them from different angles, holding them to the light. Viktor read through some books on prosthetic arms. Occasionally jotting something down and sliding it Jayce’s way.

At some point, Jayce had taken off his uniform jacket and thrown it over the back of a chair. Viktor had rolled up his sleeves. The lamp above the table burned bright, casting a sharp glow over their work.

Jayce was in the middle of a new sketch—hands smudged with pencil dust, hair sticking up at odd angles—when he finally paused.

He blinked.

Then looked at Viktor.

“What time is it?”

Viktor glanced toward the small clock mounted above the door. “Nearly four.”

Jayce stared at him. “We’ve been working for hours?”

“Yes.”

He set down the pen, rubbed his eyes, and groaned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I hadn’t looked.”

Jayce exhaled, leaning back in his stool. “Alright... are you hungry?”

Viktor froze for a moment, considering the question carefully. Then, with a slight nod:

“I could eat.”

Jayce laughed under his breath. “Yeah, same.”

He stood up and stretched, joints cracking loudly enough to echo.

“Come on,” he said, offering a hand. “Let’s grab something.”

Viktor looked at the hand, then took it.

Jayce pulled him up gently and they walked out. 

---

Jayce led the way, Viktor leaning on his arm whenever his balance faltered. It wasn’t a long walk, but he still needed the occasional pause—something Jayce didn’t seem to mind.

They stopped in front of a place Viktor had never seen before.

A small restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore, its sign painted by hand, a little crooked but charming. Warm amber lights glowed behind the windows, and the smell drifting out when Jayce opened the door was immediate—fried spices, grilled meat, fresh bread, and something sweet Viktor couldn’t name.

Inside, a row of mismatched tables sat along one wall, each one scratched or stained from years of use. The wooden menu boards were handwritten in chalk, half-erased in places, with colorful doodles around the edges. There were hanging plants—and a small counter where a bored-looking teenage girl chewed gum and flipped through a magazine.

A ceiling fan hummed lazily overhead, the blades wobbling just enough to make Viktor question its structural integrity.

Jayce sisn’t seem to mind and Viktor suspect he’d been coming here for years.

“This place is the best,” Jayce said as he helped Viktor into the booth.

Viktor looked around. “It is... charming.”

Jayce grinned. “Just trust me.”

They settled in. A server walked over—an older man, hair tied back, apron stained.. Jayce didn’t even need the menu.

“Spicy chicken sandwich. No pickles. And a large order of fries. And coke.”

The man nodded then turned to Viktor expectantly.

Viktor hesitated, looking over the menu. His eyes flicked to the dessert section. “I would like the banana choclate bread. and tea, if possible.”

“We’ve got mint or black.”

“Mint, please.”

The server nodded and shuffled off.

Jayce leaned back in the booth, sighing. “You ordered so little compared to me.”

Viktor shrugged, “I am not very hungry.”

“I must look fat.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, but fondly. “You do not,” he assured. “You are bi—” he quickly stopped himself from saying “big”. “—Taller than me. So it makes sense you would eat more.”

A pause settled before Jayce reached into his bag and dragged out his sketchbook.

“While we wait,” he said, flipping to a fresh page, “tell me what your cane looked like.”

Viktor blinked. “You are serious about this?”

“Yeah,” Jayce said simply. “You need it. I can build it. Why wouldn’t I?”

The earnestness in his voice scattered whatever resistance Viktor still had. He let out a breath.

“It was... simple,” Viktor began. “A straight metal shaft with a reinforced tip. Nothing remarkable.”

Jayce frowned. “I can do better than “nothing remarkable.” What did you like about it? Weight? Height? What would help the most?”

Viktor considered. “The balance. And the grip needed to be angled. My wrist aches otherwise.”

Jayce nodded and began sketching. “Angled grip. What about material? Metal again?”

“I do not wish for anything too heavy,” Viktor said. “Light metal, perhaps.”

Jayce flipped the page sideways, drawing a sleeker version. “Metal, hollow center... I could reinforce the bottom with steel. Maybe add texture to the grip so it doesn’t slip.”

Viktor watched him work, the sound of the pencil soft against the paper.

“You are... enthusiastic,” 

Jayce smirked. ”If I’m gonna make you something, I’m gonna make it good.”

“Jayce—really, I do not wish to trouble you.”

“You’re not.” Jayce glanced up, meeting Viktor’s eyes. “I want to do this.”

Viktor looked down, his cheeks going warm.

Jayce missed it entirely—too busy flipping to another page, drawing a cross-section of the interior. “Okay, so maybe I can put a stabilizing rod inside so it absorbs more impact. Or maybe—oh! What if it folds?”

“Folds?” Viktor echoed, bewildered.

“For storage! Or travel. Or—look—here.” Jayce angled the book toward him, showing a hinge mechanism. “It’d snap into place when extended. Strong, secure, but compact.”

“That is... ambitious.”

Jayce grinned. “Yeah. But that’s the fun part.”

Just then, their food arrived.

The spicy chicken sandwich practically steamed, crispy edges spilling out the sides of the bun. Jayce’s fries came piled high, golden and perfectly salted. Viktor’s pastry was small, round, warm, dusted with sugar that glittered in the light. His tea sent ribbons of mint-scented steam curling upward.

Viktor closed the sketchbook gently. “You should eat.”

“After you tell me what you think of the designs.”

Viktor gave him a flat stare. “Eat.”

Jayce sighed dramatically, then grabbed the sandwich and took a giant bite, nearly groaning at the spice.

“Happy now?” he mumbled around a mouthful.

“A little.”

Viktor picked his up, though the first bite made him close his eyes briefly in appreciation.

Jayce nudged him with his knee under the table. “Good?”

“...Very.”

They ate for a while, talking between bites—brainstorming designs, laughing at Jayce’s awful doodles of stick-figure Viktors, debating materials and balance and durability.

---

Viktor rode the lift down into Zaun with a stiff jaw and a tight grip on the railing. Without his cane, every shift of the floor made his balance wobble, and he hated how obvious it must look.

When he reached the Last Drop he went into the side door to get down to the basement. 

Powder sat cross-legged on the floor with Rio curled around her. Vi, Mylo, and Claggor stood by the crates pretending they weren’t nervous. Silco leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

And all of them went quiet.

Viktor blinked. “What happened?”

The silence was thick enough to chew through.

Then Silco straightened. “Upstairs. Now.”

That tone alone made Viktor’s stomach drop. Whatever this was, it was bad.

He hadn’t even done anything to get yelled at yet.

He followed Silco to the stairs. Each step was awkward—he had to brace the wall with his palm to keep steady. He knew Silco noticed. But he didn’t comment, but Viktor could feel the man’s eyes on the uneven rhythm of his gait.

They went up the first floor, past Vander shouting drink orders, then up the second, into Silco’s office. Silco closed the door behind them with a hard click.

Viktor opened his mouth to ask again, but Silco cut him off.

“They broke into a dorm at the Academt.”

Viktor froze. “Silco—”

Silco’s voice was clipped, furious in that controlled way of his. “They claim they caused an explosion.”

Viktor’s eyes went wide in realization and tried again. “Silco—”

“Those idiots!” Silco snapped, pacing. “I can’t believe them! Me and Vander warned them time and time again not to go up to Piltover!”

“Silco!”

Silco stopped mid-step.

He hesitated. He didn’t think that would actually work. “They broke into Jayce’s dorm.”

Silco’s eyes squinted. “Jayce? The same boy the council expelled?”

“Yes.” Viktor shifted his weight, trying not to sway. “He was doing illegal magical research. He has these crystals which are filled with magical energy.”

“Magic?”

“ They must’ve dropped them to cause the explosion. He swallowed. “We found a way to stabilize arcane crystals—”

“Together?” Silco’s eyes go wide.

Viktor paused, his stomach dropping. Shit. He should have known Silco wouldn’t like this.”

“He’s... using them to create this thing called Hextech. We’re working on it together now.”

Silco stared like he’d been slapped. “You’re doing what.”

“Science,” Viktor repplied. “A bridge between magic and science.”

Silco slammed a hand on the desk. “You’re trusting a Piltover aristocrat. Do you hear yourself? You think he won’t turn on you the moment it benefits him?”

Viktor flinched at the noise, then glared back. “Jayce isn’t like that.”

“Oh?” Silco’s voice dropped to a razor-thin edge. “And how long have you known him? A day? You are brilliant, Viktor, but you are young. And to trusting.”

“It isn’t like that!”

Silco stepped closer, jaw clenched. “You expect me to believe this boy isn’t dangerous?”

Viktor’s breath stuttered. “Jayce is my partner. He wants to help people. He wants to help me.”

“And that,” Silco growled, “is exactly what I don’t trust.”

Viktor’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t get to decide who I work with.”

“And you don’t get to bring Piltover trouble into my city,” Silco shot back.

The air between them burned hot for several seconds but Viktor wasn’t backing down.

Finally Silco exhaled sharply and looked away, gripping the back of his chair until his knuckles whitened.

“Fine,” he said. “Then bring him here.”

Viktor blinked. “...What?”

“If you trust him,” Silco said coldly, “then I want to meet him and see why. I will not let him drag danger into your life and harm you or my other children. Bring him here, and let me see what kind of man he is.”

Viktor’s heart thudded painfully. “Silco—”

“That’s final.”

Viktor’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t agree. He didn’t like it. But looking at Silco—the tight jaw, the exhausted ange —he understood this wasn’t negotiable.

“I’ll talk to him,” Viktor said quietly.

“Good.”

Silco moved aside, letting Viktor pass. Viktor limped toward the door, he needed to go into his bedroom now and get his spare. He reached for the railing to steady himself.

And as he began to descend the stairs, he could feel Silco’s eyes stabbing into his back—not with anger this time, but with worry so sharp it almost hurt.

Notes:

I thought it would be interesting if they made a device used for, well, helping people as that’s what they want Hextech to be used for.

I know I didn’t really dwell on it but the plan is for the arm to go over your actual one. So it wouldn’t be for somebody without an arm. It would be used for those who, for instance, have myasthenia gravis.

I love Rio so I HAD to add her into the fic. I know in canon she’s with Singed but I’ll explain in the chapter where Jayce meets Silo.

So uhh next chapter.

Lastly, the fic has been split up into four acts!

Act 1 - it starts on chapter one and will end on the innovators competition
Act 2 - the seven year timeskip(I will be writing the timeskip btw)
Act 3 - the rest of season 1
Act 4 - season 2