Chapter Text
Viktor is nine when he almost dies.
It’s not the first time. Almost died, that is. Viktor is nothing short of a miracle for how many times he’s avoided Kindred. Either to have barely escaped the jaws of the wolf or slipped out of lamb’s careful sight. From the moment he was born, apparently, he had almost died, coming out with his leg twisted and umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, little face blue.
It’s funny, he almost thinks. He can survive that, the fissures. The enforcers who don’t mind kicking out his cane to have a good laugh at his misery. He can survive all of that, only to what? Die now?
The ground rumbles beneath his shoes, threadbare enough that Viktor can feel every vibration through the ground.
At least this way he’ll go quickly. A cave in at the mines wasn’t unheard of, in fact it was almost common to hear about, with the conditions they had to work in. It would be heard one moment, the death toll counted up, and a moment of silence observed.
He would be one of those numbers this time. A faceless person dead too young among the rubble, not even given a proper burial. They would board up the entrance to this particular mine and no one would dare to enter it again.
It almost felt comforting for a moment, to realize it would be over soon. He would get to join his mother, wherever her soul had ended up after finally succumbing to the illness that should have taken her weeks ago.
Viktor still isn’t sure how she held on so long. He likes to think it was for him, hopes deep down that he’s the reason he got more of that precious, precious time with her.
Someone’s shoulder slams into him as they sprint towards the entrance, hoping to get out before the rest of the mine collapses around them. The support beams crackle further into the mine, giving way under the heavy stone.
His father is still down there, deeper in the mines. Viktor takes a small, stumbling step forward, only able to hear the crack of stone and smell the dust in the air.
Viktor shouldn’t even be here. He’s much too young to be working in the mines. To be slaving away with a bum leg and a back that screams from the strain of trying to do this manual labor. They needed the money though, to put food on the table, to pay the rent on their small home that can’t be called anything better than a shack.
Someone else slams into his side, sending Viktor into the wall in time to feel another thunderous vibration go through the mine. It made his teeth rattle in his skull, his cane nearly slipping from his grasp.
The person shouts, says something Viktor can’t make out through the rattle in his own brain and body. A response doesn’t seem to matter though, a moment later the man grabs his arm, dragging him towards the exit of the mine.
Viktor’s seen this man before. In passing, typically with another man who seems to be about twice his size. They’re the type of men that his father warns him to stay away from, the ones who whisper in hushed voices about working conditions, about enforcer whereabouts, who spark unrest in an unfair world.
Right now though, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the iron grip around his wrist, tight and bruising as he is dragged towards daylight, away from the danger. There’s a hot flash of pain against his forehead, somewhere near his hairline, but it’s quickly forgotten about with everything else.
Viktor’s knee screams in pain, threatening to buckle with every step until he’s leaning more and more of his weight on his cane. Until the man dragging him forward is half carrying him, a frustrated groan leaving his lips at Viktor’s slowness.
Someone else appears, the large hulking man that Viktor has seen with the other man before. A moment later, and he’s hauled into large arms, and in quick steps suddenly the three of them emerge into the open, dust spilling around their ankles and breath wheezing from the strain.
“Silco,” the large one holding Viktor upright still chokes out, voice a mix of anger and relief. “What the hell were you thinking?”
He deposits Viktor on the ground carefully, giving Viktor an idle pat on the shoulder once it’s apparent that Viktor is more or less okay.
Silco, the other man, brushes off the larger man’s worries, wiping the sweat and dirt from his brow. Other workers mingle around, most of them trying to find friends or family to make sure that none of them perished or were stuck underneath the rubble.
Viktor can see it, deeper in the mine. Large stones and broken support beams. Viktor can’t look away from it, half expecting the stones to shift suddenly, for someone to appear under the wreckage.
Was his father still down there? Did he feel it first, being further down in the mine? Was he able to get out in time?
“I’m fine, Vander,” Silco snaps, though it doesn’t contain any real heat to it.
Viktor blinks heavily, forcing himself to turn away from the entrance to the mine. His father has to be around here somewhere, he had to have gotten out in time. Quickly glancing around, all Viktor ends up meeting is the pale blue gaze of the man who dragged him out of the mine.
“What’s your name?” Silco asks after a moment, voice quiet and tired.
The other man, Vander apparently, gives Viktor a proper look over for the first time. Confusion makes the larger man’s brows pinch together, like Viktor standing there is some kind of mystery.
“Viktor,” he eventually murmurs after a moment.
The two exchange a glance, but Viktor goes back to scanning the crowd. The mine will be closed after this for a bit, which means he and his father will have to find something else to do in the meantime to get by.
Viktor’s already going over the logistics in his head, the money that they had stored at home, the food they had as well. Mental lists and inventory that would need to be mapped out, more meals no doubt about to be missed.
“What’re you doing here, lad?” Vander asks, breaking Viktor’s concentration over thoughts of what he might need. “You looking for your parents?”
Viktor raises a hand, finding his hard helmet to be missing. It must have come off when Silco grabbed him to run out of the mine. Bits of debris and dust fell from his hair, leaving his fingers chalky and itchy to the touch.
Silco clears his throat, ridding it of the still lingering dust that make Viktor’s lungs itch. “I believe he works with us, don’t you?”
He nods, throat feeling dry, stuck, dust lining it without any care for his comfort. It feels the way the mouth of the mine entrance looks, rolling in dust and rocks blocking anything but the polluted air of Zaun getting in the way.
Someone touches his shoulder, blinking Viktor away from his thoughts and the feeling of dryness in his throat. Silco looks down at him with an expression that Viktor can’t interpret too well. It’s a look of concern, but confusion as well. But then he blinks and the details fade a bit, his brain wandering elsewhere.
There’s a rational, detached part of his brain that tells him that he’s in shock. That same detached part of his brain that takes everything one step at a time, like steps in his experiments, the pieces fitting together as he attempts to build a boat for himself with scraps left by others.
It’s that part of his brain that takes several facts in at once. The pain in his knee, throbbing and violent and making even standing a pain. The dust on every inch of his skin and coats the inside of his throat and lungs. The throbbing in against his head, where it was struck earlier, and subsequently the tacky feeling of drying blood against his skin.
“Vander,” Silco says quietly, just barely registering to Viktor, “give me your flask.”
“Not really drinking age, is he?” Vander asks, but reaches into the inner pocket of his vest either way, producing a shiny, if not slightly dented, flask.
Viktor’s own father carries around the same thing, always in his pocket or his hand, filled with a foul smelling liquid that makes Viktor’s eyes burn just to smell. Still, his eyes latch onto that before returning to the entrance of the mine once more.
There’s a small flame of hope in his heart. A stubborn little thing that he can’t bring himself to smother just yet. If his father isn’t with the crowd, looking for him, maybe there’s a chance that he still might emerge from the rubble, isn’t there?
Sure, he was several floors down, and the lift isn’t operating any longer, but there’s still a chance, isn’t there?
Silco’s scoff breaks him out of his thoughts. “I put water in it this morning, you useless lump.”
For a moment, Vander looks like he should be offended by the nickname, but then his expression softens, and Viktor can’t think of it anymore because Silco is pressing the dented flask into Viktor’s palms.
The metal is warm, the water even more so with the metallic taste that always seems to come across water found in Zaun, even if boiled. Viktor isn’t even aware he’s raised the flask to drink until water reaches his tongue like rain after a drought, healing and yet corrosive at the same time, carving paths down his throat through the dust.
He managed only two swallows before a harsh cough ripped itself out of his throat, forcing Viktor to almost double over with the force. An idle hand rubs his back, someone else taking the flask from his hand before he could drop it.
“There, there,” Silco reassures quietly, while Vander takes a quick swig from the flask and tucks it away again.
Viktor doesn’t feel any better. Or maybe he does. He’s not really sure, but he knows all he wants to do is sit somewhere, maybe even somewhere he can keep an eye on the entrance to the mine. One of the mine foremen is shouting, a loud voice that Viktor both can’t make out and doesn’t recognize.
Silco still has a hand on his back, a warmth that seeps into his skin that feels more grounding than anything. Viktor takes a glance around the crowd, but he can’t see past most of the people around him, barely reaching Vander’s waist as it was.
The next thing he’s truly aware of is Silco ushering him to sit down. The rock he sits on is cold, and hard, but it takes the pressure off his knee. His cane almost slips from his grasp before Silco catches it, and leans it against the rock beside him.
It’s not really a large rock. It’s the kind of thing that Vander would lift with ease, if his arms bigger than Viktor’s entire chest is enough to go by. Tentatively, he lets his arms rest of his knees, looking up at Silco and Vander.
“You alright, lad?” Vander asks him carefully, with a glance at Silco that Viktor barely catches.
Viktor nods, while Silco tsks, so quiet compared to the chaos that Viktor almost doesn’t catch it.
“I don’t think this will need stitches,” Silco says quietly. Viktor can’t even bring himself to care about it, not having given any thought to the cut.
Viktor only glances between the two of them. Vander is more restless than Silco, glancing around the crowd like he’s hoping that Viktor’s father might appear and save him from the responsibility that he’s suddenly been saddled with.
Viktor hopes for the same, at the same time that guilt bubbles hot in his stomach, an acid to eat away at him from the inside. They probably had friends they needed to get to, or check on, or maybe even kids of their own to look after.
“I’m okay,” Viktor murmurs, pulling back from Silco a bit. “I’ll wait for táta here.”
At once, both of them seem to relax. Shoulders slumping in relief, more looks exchanged. The guilt abides a bit with it, less acidic but still painful, but enough to enforce Viktor’s resolve to wait.
Wait, for what he knows deep down won’t be coming even if he can’t admit it to himself.
More words are exchanged, Silco says something about coming to check later, Vander mentions something about finding a Felicia and Connel , though those names don’t bring about any recognition to Viktor. Viktor doesn’t say anything more, only raising his hand up in a wave when the pair start to turn away.
That’s enough, isn’t it? Silco glances back at him, hesitating for a moment, so Viktor gives him whatever kind of smile he can muster, though he’s pretty sure he looks worse than he can imagine, covered in dust and eyes probably wide with shock.
Silco grabbing him saved his life. Viktor needs it to be enough, he can’t be any more of a burden to them, because then he’ll never know how to pay them back. All he can offer is his thanks, a polite wave goodbye, and a smile that hurts more than it brings joy.
Silco disappears into the crowd a second later, swallowed up by bodies, none of which were familiar to Viktor.
He’s not sure how long he sits there, eventually angling his body slightly to look at the entrance to the mine, half paying attention to that, half paying attention to the crowd. He pays attention to what he hears more than what he sees, waiting for a familiar voice or anything else that might signal his father is on the way.
Instead he hears the voices of others being reunited, of cheers and cries of relief. He watches the crowd thin slowly, as people meet with loved ones and head back home. The work was over for the day either way, and a body count would eventually be released once the foreman realized who hadn’t checked back in.
It takes a while to settle in. It feels like days, not truly hours as he sits there. His stomach hurts with hunger after a while, his eyes burn with the need to rest.
And still he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
His father never appears.
There is no work for him the next day.
Viktor hadn’t left. He had sat, curled up on his rock even when it made his hip ache and his spine hurt from curling over himself to protect what little warmth he had left in his body.
He watches a few workers board up the entrance to the condemned mine, and with it the last of his hope. At dawn, when workers begin to trickle back in for another day of dangerous work, there is a notice pinned to the board of assignments.
Those we’ve lost
And then begins the names, written in hurried script, the ink sometimes bleeding onto the paper. Viktor can’t bring himself to look at it. He doesn’t want to uncurl himself from the ground to look.
Other workers stop at the board, first bowing their heads in respect towards the list of names, a brief moment of thought or prayer, and then moving on to look at their assigned mine for the day.
Viktor knows he has to do the same at some point. His legs prickle with pins and needles when he finally hauls himself up, but his cane supports him all the same as he hobbles over to the board.
He tries to check the assignments first, in a distraction or an attempt to resolve himself further, Viktor can’t tell. His eyes skim the page, and just like he suspects, his name is not among the hurriedly written names on mine assignments. Viktor can’t bring himself to be upset about it, not when he’s already looking toward the much more foreboding list waiting for him.
His father’s name is twenty six names down on the list, the ink bleeding slightly on the page like whoever wrote it pressed too hard with their pen when they put it down. The air leaves his lungs all at once, the ground underneath his feet uncompromising and hard but also swaying and unsteady at the same time.
“Kid.”
Vitkor whips around, eyes blinking furiously to keep away the tears before they can even think about falling. It will be one thing tonight, to go back to the home that is barely a home without his mother and father there like before, but he can’t cry now, not in front of everyone.
The man standing behind him isn’t one that he recognizes. At the very least, it’s not one of the men he’s worked beside in the mine before, and it’s not one of the men his father will sometimes go out drinking with.
“Look, kid,” he says again, like he’s gathering something before he talks. “You can’t stay here, this place ain’t for kids.”
Viktor finally looks him up and down, trying to not bring attention to the hand that he raises to his face to rub at his cheeks. The man before him is older, probably older than Viktor’s own father. His clothes are nice, nicer than the ones Viktor or most of the other workers wear, there’s no patches sewn in, or seams falling apart. Viktor is pretty sure he’s got at least one hole in either of his shoes, but this man has the shiniest leather shoes Viktor has ever seen.
When Viktor doesn’t move, the man sighs. “Look, kid, you can’t stay here. You gotta leave.”
Neither of them move. A couple other workers eye them, sending looks of pity to Viktor while also not being willing to step in.
Viktor supposes it doesn’t take much to put two and two together. A kid like himself wiping his face while standing in front of the list of the dead. He feels their gazes more than he sees them, the pitying looks burning into his skin.
But orphans are everywhere in Zaun. There are more foundling houses than any other building, filled with children who had no families like himself.
All at once, a startling realization comes over him, one that probably would have made panic bubble in his skin if he wasn’t around people. He’s one of those children now, the ones with no one to look after them. Another orphan among the many nameless others.
“I work here,” Viktor eventually manages, because he has lately. His clothes even still have the dust from the mines of them, it’s even in the dirt under his nails.
The man in the too-fancy clothes sighs. “That was when Damek could watch out for you.”
Hearing his father’s name makes his brain stop for a moment, startled. Eyes glancing towards the collapsed entrance of the mine, Viktor tries again. “Táta was always put on a different level than me though.”
The man simply looks more annoyed with him though, instead of appreciating the fine argument Viktor was making in favor of his employment. Viktor tries to frantically think of why they’re pushing him out when before they were fine to have him underaged and with his cane.
He can’t come up with anything. His head hurts, a part of him does want to go home so he can cry in peace and private, the other stubborn part of him wants nothing more than to fight tooth and nail to not leave.
To not leave until they at least find his father’s body.
They never do retrieve bodies once the mine collapses though, once the entrance is covered in stone. It becomes a mass grave, a place where people can’t even come to pay respects because the mine is owned by people of Piltover, it’s private property, and the mine foremen are paid to keep out those who don’t work.
“It’s too dangerous for kids here,” the man ends up saying after a moment, hands on his hips. He’s got a potbelly around his waist, showing more meals than Viktor’s probably ever had in his life.
But it wasn’t a problem when I was working yesterday during the collapse, Viktor thinks bitterly.
Something must show on his face, because the mine foreman in front of him scowls down at him. “You need to leave.”
Viktor chews on his lips, eyes burning again. He does want to go home, to curl up under the one threadbare blanket they had that still had his mothers scent in it, to forget everything that’s happened today.
“Can I…” he somehow trails off suddenly, voice betraying his age, no longer someone who is trying to fight, just defeat.
He looks towards the collapsed mine entrance. The foreman’s face remains hard for a couple of seconds, not that Viktor can even see it, before it turns to disgruntlement.
“Five minutes.”
Viktor nods frantically, something crumpling inside of his chest. He can’t think to give it a name as he hobbles over to the mine entrance, his entire body aching. Everything hurts, now that he allows himself a moment to take stock of himself. His hip, his knee, his wrist from where Silco grabbed it to save him.
None of that matters as he stands in front of the mine entrance, the smell of dust still hanging heavily in the air like it’s going to suffocate him. Or maybe that’s just the weight of his tears on his cheeks, now that his back is turned to everyone else.
Gently, he reaches out to touch one of the stones. It’s cold and jagged underneath his fingertips, but grounding all the same. Viktor takes the deepest breath that his weak lungs will allow him, until his body feels like it might explode from all the air inside him.
“I’m sorry táta ,” Viktor breathes, for himself, for the spirit of his father, now held safely in Janna’s winds. “I have to go now.”
It feels like only seconds have passed when the foreman is behind him, telling him he has to leave. This time Viktor doesn’t fight him, turning and limping towards the exit with his head bowed.
If he had lifted it, he might have seen seaglass green eyes looking at him, a slender form next to a mountain of a man. He might have seen a jaw tightening and fingers clenching, a swift pivot to the foreman, away from Viktor himself.
Or he might have seen nothing through his tears anyway.
The next morning, Viktor understands why the foreman was so quick to rush him from the job site.
They come early in the morning, waking Viktor from where he’s laying on what could barely be called a mattress covered in his mothers blanket. His face is still tear streaked and swollen from tears, his leg hurts so badly that he winces with every step to the door and leans so much on his cane that he’s putting almost none of his own weight on his leg. His hip aches, and his wrist reveals darkening blue-black bruises when he reaches for the door.
If he had thought, been smarter, listened when táta said never, ever open the door, especially when he wasn’t here, Viktor might have bought himself a bit more time. The door opens under his hand at the same time that he remembers his mother had hid them under the same blanket that’s still wrapped around too thin shoulders.
They live in housing for the mining workers, and with no one working in the mine any longer, the housing is no longer Viktor’s to keep. It makes sense and it doesn’t. Viktor, for a single, desperate moment, looking up at two men who take up the entire space of the doorframe, that they might show kindness to a child who just lost their parent.
He’s proven wrong with brutal efficiency. Five minutes to pack whatever he can carry, and then it’s off to the foundling house.
Viktor can’t take much, he realizes. Not if he only tries to carry it. Quickly, he fashions his mothers blanket into a makeshift sack, tying the ends together as he places as much as he can inside. It’s hard when his entire body hurts, but the men in the door make it clear that their patience won’t last long.
He grabs his toolbox first, then the only photograph he has of his parents–the one of their wedding ceremony before he was even born, the clothes that he has, the small bit of money that his father hides under the floorboards for “emergencies only”, his mothers wedding ring which he slides over his own thumb, and—
“That’s enough, kid. Get out.”
The voice makes him flinch, breaking him out of his frantic thoughts of what to grab next. He turns to argue, mouth opening, only to freeze when one of the men steps up to him, hand raised.
Viktor flinches, nodding before he can help himself. The man looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to bring that first down, his knuckles are already split and showing blood, but after a moment he does.
His mothers wedding ring is loose around his thumb, but he doesn’t want to risk putting it into his makeshift sack and losing it. Viktor struggles to carry it out of the house, still trying not to put much weight onto his leg.
The men don’t follow him. The one who didn’t tell him to leave tells him where the nearest foundling house is, and who to ask for, but doesn’t look at Viktor. A Miss Maisey will apparently help him.
Almost as an afterthought, Viktor wonders with the collapse that happened just how many other families they’ve had to have this “discussion” with.
One day to mourn. Five minutes to gather belongings. Viktor’s entire life has upended in one day and five minutes, but to everyone else it’s simply another day.
It’s not fair, Viktor thinks as he arrives at the foundling house, knocking on the door and feeling tears spring up as he glimpses his mothers ring on his thumb.
It’s not fair.
Miss Maisey curses him when she brings him inside.
Viktor couldn’t say he was expecting a warm welcome, but to have the woman curse as she opens the door, staring down at him in disdain as she reluctantly opens the door wider, is not what he expected.
“Too many damn mouths to feed as it is, then they go sendin’ me ‘nother like I’m made of money,” she grumbles to herself as she opens the door for Viktor to enter behind her.
Besides a small kitchen that he sees behind Miss Maisey, there are only rows and rows of beds. Children already occupy most of them, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. They’re all young too, the kind that’s too young to go and look out for work on their own, toddlers and a little older who still cry for their mother if they ever knew them.
“Find yourself a place if there is one. Tomorrow you can join the others.”
Viktor nods, looking around the room. There isn’t a single bed that isn’t claimed by some piece of clothing or an item. The children still there don’t leave their spots on their beds, as if afraid that if they do, Viktor will rush forward and steal it. Even if he’s not one to do much rushing, with his cane.
He’s too tired either way. Viktor goes to the back of the room and finds a spot on the floor. It’s hard and makes his hip and back hurt, but no one else occupies the small space.
He lays his head on the bundle, more so wraps himself around it, his small toolbox pressing against his stomach, his clothes as his pillow, and fist in front of his face to stare at his mothers ring.
No one comes to talk to him. No one offers any food, later in the day. Viktor isn’t hungry either way. He only stares, twirling the ring around his finger.
It turns out joining the others means stealing.
Not in the traditional sense, at least. Viktor gets shaken awake rather roughly by one of the older children just after dawn. There’s a group of about twenty of them, ranging from a little under Viktor’s age to young teen.
Someone is kind enough to press a bit of bread into his hand, and Viktor takes small bites of it to have something in his stomach as he can’t remember the last time he ate. It tastes like ash in his mouth, he shoves the rest in his pocket for later.
The oldest lead the youngest. Viktor finds himself with the younger side due to his limp, though he’s not truly paying attention. That doesn’t stop the other younger children around him from glancing at him in concern, trying their best to make sure he doesn’t fall behind.
They head up to the Promenade, the walk alone enough for Viktor to be wincing with every step. His entire body hurts. The bruises on his wrist ache. His hip and knee feel like they’re on fire respectively, his limp pronounced.
The older teach the younger how to reach into pockets and purses without leaving a trace. How to bump into someone to hide the motion. Viktor doesn’t get it, only staring, throat dry and aching with thirst from the walk.
One of the children tugs on his sleeve. “You have to bring back something.”
Viktor tilts his head. She’s small, probably small for her age just like he is but Viktor thinks that they’re similar in age, maybe a year apart. Mouse brown hair that might be blonde if given a good wash. When Viktor doesn’t brush her hand away, she latches onto his sleeve.
“What do you mean?” he asks tiredly.
She squints, like he’s dumb for questioning her. “You have to bring something back.”
Well, that explains nothing. Viktor squints back at her, silent. They walk a little faster to catch up to the group.
“You have to bring something back for Miss Maisey, otherwise you don’t get dinner.”
Ah. There’s the explanation he needs. Of course being at the foundling house wasn’t free. What was he thinking? As though his life couldn’t get any worse.
“Oh. Thanks for explaining, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do much with-” he gestures down at his leg “-this.”
She grimaces. Viktor does the same. He can feel her grip tighten on his sleeve.
“I’ll try to get something for the both of us,” she says firmly. “If it’s coins, it’ll be easy enough to split. We’ll just have to hope Miss Maisey decides it’s enough…”
“Does the amount matter?”
She nods solemnly. Viktor never had the best idea in his head of the foundling houses, but this makes that opinion sour somehow further than it already has. He watches one of the older boys as he reaches into the purse of a woman with a hat that Viktor can’t make heads or tails of. It looks almost like a birdcage, a small and gold one, with purple birds bursting out of it. The cage rests against a couple orange flowers.
He’s so distracted looking at the hat he almost doesn’t see the older boy pull out a shiny silver watch.
The boy comes back to the group with a scheming, proud smile. A couple of the other kids come up to see his prize, watching as he turns the watch all different ways. It reflects the lights around them prettily, until the boy finally opens it and reveals the face.
The other kids ooo and ahhh respectively, some out of genuine admiration towards the watch, some towards the older boy. A leader amongst the ragtag group of orphans that don’t have anyone else to look up to beside a woman who uses them for trinkets to sell.
Still, the timepiece itself is nice. The silver is polished to a fine shine, which stands out even more against the older boy’s dirt caked nails. He presses the top and it opens, revealing the unblemished glass of the face and an engraving on the other side.
It’s been too long since Viktor’s been able to tinker. His heart doesn’t feel up for it, the same excitement that normally blooms is dulled, even as his fingers twitch all the same from habit.
The girl still holding his sleeve nods at the older boy. “That’s a really good catch, Axel.”
Axel smirks like catching such a prize and not being caught are both the same skill, and not the latter being pure luck. It’s the kind of smirk that says he knows he’s on top of things no matter what anyone else says, the pride that comes from being able to push around others to do his bidding.
Viktor doesn’t see it though, his eyes locked onto the hands of the watch. They stutter in place, not moving properly forward, as though something is caught in the mechanisms to keep it locked in time. It still ticks and tocks, an echo of the purpose it’s meant for, but no longer useful.
Still showing it off, Axel hasn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither have any of the other kids, if their tired looks of jealousy are anything to go by.
Not for the first time in his life, and certainly not the last, Viktor’s mouth moves before his brain can catch up.
“It’s broken.”
Everyone stops. Stares. Turns to him as though his cane is really an extra leg that grew spontaneously. The fingers in his sleeve tighten. Viktor can barely glance at her, eyes still locked onto the silver pocketwatch.
Axel breaks first, face darkening in anger. “Shut it, cripple. No one wants to hear from you.”
The insults don’t phase him. Viktor has been called worse, and knows deep down that he probably will be called worse in the future, maybe by people who mean more to him than another orphan boy picking pockets to get a meal.
It’s the pocketwatch though. Even with it closed, held tightly in Axel’s fist, Viktor is locked onto it. It’s useless as it is, at least not without repairs that would no doubt cost Miss Maisey more than she is willing to spend.
“It doesn’t work,” Viktor reiterates, ignoring the twist in his sleeve that presses against his bruises telling him to be quiet.
Axel snarls, lips pulled back in an ugly snarl to show off crooked, yellow teeth. Viktor doesn’t have it in him to be scared, he’s too tired for that.
It still feels like someone has carved out his insides, left him empty so that he could be filled with more pain. It still feels like this is all part of some horrible nightmare, that he will wake up to his mother and father shaking his shoulder to wake him from the nightmare of his new life.
The pain registers before anything else. His teeth dig into the flesh of his cheek, tearing into his skin and the taste of copper flooding his mouth. The ground meets him barely a moment later, the harsh street pavement scraping his palms and drawing more blood. His new… friend? Viktor isn’t sure what to call the girl who’s latched onto him, lets out a shout and kneels beside him.
Funnily enough, the pain is the first real feeling he’s had since Silco pulled him from the mine with enough force to make him feel like his arm was going to tear out of its socket.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Alex snarles, “or I’ll make you regret it.”
Viktor spits a mouth full of blood onto the ground. The scarlet stands out even against the dirty street. He brings his gaze up to glare at Axel, not backing down.
“Open it then. It doesn’t tell time. That’s probably why that lady brought it down here, for cheap repairs.”
Topsiders do that sometimes, coming down to the Zaun for cheap repairs that won’t be visible to the eye. That’s all they care about, after all, appearances and weird hats that have birdcages in them. Nothing about the function, or the practicality of it. As long as it works, as it keeps up with appearances, the latest fashion trends.
The other kids glance between Viktor and Axel as Viktor picks himself up off the ground with the girl’s help. Viktor wipes the blood from his chin, white knuckling his cane.
It would be easier to ignore it, to let it go and not say a word until Axel came back to the foundling house with them. Some of the other children would probably relish in a chance to see a bully like Axel fail with Miss Maisey, to watch him go without supper for the night.
It’s the pocketwatch though. Viktor can’t decide what should happen to it, but he can already form an idea of it if Axel brings it back to Miss Maisey while it’s broken. It’ll be tossed, never to be seen again.
Viktor doesn’t know what he wants it for. He wants to bring it back to his small toolbox and fix it in the dead of night. He wants to never touch it. He wants to never see it again. He wants to hold it and never let go. He wants it to be broken forever.
Broken forever like how he is.
Axel, flushing from the sudden attention on him and the pressure to prove something he was only just showing off, presses the button to reveal the face of the pocketwatch angrily. Other kids gather closer, looking for what Viktor knows is already there.
“He wasn’t lying, see!” the girl at his side says. “The hands don’t move.”
The scowl that crosses Axel’s face is one for the books. He snaps it shut hard enough to crack the glass inside, glaring down at Viktor like the watch not working is specifically his fault.
For a moment, Viktor thinks he might be hit again. Axel’s knuckles are white where he holds the watch like he’s using every bit of his limited self control not to throw it at Viktor’s head.
“Hey, check out that easy score,” one of the older kids says, with either the worst timing or the best, Viktor can’t decide. “Bet all of us could find something to snag there.”
Almost everyone in the group turns. Viktor and Axel glare at each other for a moment longer, before Axel lets out an ugly scoff and throws the broken pocketwatch down an alley.
“Useless piece of shit,” Axel mutters, and from the way his eyes linger on Viktor, he isn’t talking about the pocketwatch.
But that’s all he does. The watch clatters further down the alley, and the group moves on like the incident never happened. Viktor hesitates for a moment before he limps after it, picking up the watch.
There’s a new scrape on the side, but thankfully it’s not dented nor did the glass crack. The girl follows after him, her fingers once more latching onto his sleeve.
“You should go with the others,” Viktor murmurs after a moment, thumbing away dirt from the watch.
“I think they’ll be fine without me,” she replies, not upset, simply matter of fact. “I’m Sky. What’s your name?”
He hesitates. Her fingers don’t loosen in his sleeve, not even as they emerge back onto the Promenade, looking for the rest of their group.
Sky doesn’t look like she has any plans to leave him. Somehow, Viktor feels as though he’s made a friend without even trying.
“It’s Viktor.”
She smiles, a small, shy thing that does look like it’s gotten much use. Viktor can’t say that he’s had much practice lately with his own smile.
“Come on,” she says with a tug. “We might still be able to find something that works to bring back to Miss Maisey.”
And Viktor, without much thought on what else to do, follows after his new friend.
Life changes, it moves on, whether or not one is ready for it.
Every day, he walks with Sky up to the Promenade, where they try to scavenge enough to satisfy Miss Maisey before they return for supper. More often than not, Sky will manage to get enough coins for one of them to be awarded dinner, and they’ll split that together.
The first night coming back, they didn’t have anything to show for their efforts beside the non-working pocketwatch hidden in Viktor’s pocket. Sky was one of the only kids who hadn’t been forced to share her bed yet, so she made room for Viktor and showed him where to hide his things under the bed so the younger kids wouldn’t go through it while they were gone.
They had curled underneath Viktor’s threadbare blanket, sharing warmth and a bit of security. Viktor apologized in the morning for not having a better blanket for them to share, and Sky, who apparently had no blanket before him, shyly told him that it’s the best nights sleep she had since arriving.
A week later though, and the lack of meals was getting to him more than anything else. Sky didn’t seem to be doing any better, the food she would get was barely enough for one of them, much less enough to consistently split with someone else.
They trailed behind the rest of the group as they took the elevator up to the Promenade, lingering behind just enough that they would have to take the next elevator. Viktor didn’t question it, too tired to really hurry his pace.
“Viktor,” Sky whispers when the others finally leave them. “Do you think you can keep a secret?”
He tilts his head back at her. “It’s not really like I have a lot of people to tell, Sky.”
Camaraderie built easily between the two of them, with no other people to talk to besides a woman who’s only job seemed to be to hand out a piece of bread in the morning to them and then hold her hand out for coins and trinkets at night.
The smile she gives him is a bit conspiratorial, as they turn and walk right back into the Lanes. Part of him is relieved that he won’t have to make the long walk up to the Promenade, the rest of him is burning with curiosity.
It doesn’t take them long to arrive at their destination, Viktor twirls his mothers wedding ring around his thumb as they walk. Sometimes at night, when Sky is asleep, he takes it off to admire the slim silver band, thumb feeling the groves of the engraved words when it became too dark to read them. It didn’t matter, he had them memorized a while ago.
Jakob and Elena forever.
The year follows the small declaration of love. Three years before his own birth year, one of the only mementos that he maintained.
“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Sky warns in a whisper. “Promise?”
Viktor didn’t even know they arrived , much less what she was talking about. All that stands in front of them is a wooden door much like any other that he’s seen in the Lanes. It looks one splinter away from breaking apart, with nothing of note besides a shiny bronze doorhandle.
“Viktor!” Sky hisses, tugging roughly at his sleeve, “Promise me!”
“Alright, alright!” he hisses back. “I promise!”
Thankfully she isn’t pulling on the sleeve that hid his bruises. They were fading from black and blue into sickly green and yellow. Thankfully, they weren’t too tender anymore, only when Sky got a little bit rough without realizing.
Glancing around like there would be another person at the back of the alley, Sky reached up and knocked lightly at the door.
The silence drags for a moment. Sky presses a finger to her lips when Viktor shifts uncomfortably, beginning to wonder if his friend is a bit less mentally stable than he originally thought.
Then shuffling, the sound of a throat clearing. A light clicks on, shining underneath the door and through the cracks before the door swings open. And Viktor can’t help his instinctive step back.
There’s a mountain of a man standing there, taller than anyone that Viktor’s seen before, and arms as thick as Viktor’s torso alone. His hand tightens on his cane, glancing at Sky for reassurance, but she just looks up at the large man.
“Yeah?” the man asks, voice deep.
Viktor pauses. He knows that voice, even if he can’t make out the face due to the light in the background. Where does he know that voice?
There’s a pause as the man shifts, the light no longer obstructive but revealing as it’s meant to be. It shines down on their two forms, and for a moment Viktor feels ashamed of how they must look. Sunken cheeks, exhausted from work, grimy nails and dirty clothes.
Vander stands before him. He looks the same as that day at the mines, a little less dirty from having survived an explosion. An apron is tied around his waist, and he looks a little frazzled. Viktor almost wonders if he recognizes him.
But there’s no recognition in his gaze when it sweeps over Viktor. Instead, he looks like he knows exactly why they’re there, even glancing up and down the alley much like Sky did. Then, he lets out a thunderous sigh, and steps aside to let them in.
“I swear, Silco is going to have my skin,” Vander mutters more to himself than to them. Viktor perks up a bit at the mention of the other man.
He doesn’t remember much of being saved by Silco. The whole day is a blur, and the next day of when he left home. He hadn’t given too much thought to how the other mine workers would have reacted to the explosion.
It doesn’t seem like Vander is just a mine worker though. He ushers them inside into what is a kitchen, the kind Viktor would expect to see in the back of a restaurant. There’s what is possibly the biggest stove that Viktor has ever seen, with a large pot sitting on top of it bubbling with something fragrant. There are boxes of other supplies as well, some food, but most of them bottles of liquor, the same kind of bottles his father would bring home often.
Vander brings them a bit further in, past another door and into what seems to be the main room. It is a restaurant, filled with tables and booths that line the wall. Vander brings them to the booth closest to the kitchen, then making a ‘stay here’ motion.
“Sky,” he hisses as soon as they’re alone. “How do you know Vander?”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “That’s his name?”
“He worked with my táta,” Viktor confirms. “I didn’t know he had this place though.”
“I heard about this from one of the other kids,” Sky ends up explaining. “They said if you come and knock there’s a nice man who will give you extra, if he has it.”
Viktor doesn’t get a chance to reply before Vander comes back out from the kitchen, two steaming bowls accompanying him, one held in each hand. Viktor and Sky both go silent, though Viktor can’t tell if it’s from nerves or the sudden screaming of their stomachs.
“Eat up,” the older man says, walking away again once more.
Neither of them need much more encouragement. It’s a rather thick stew, and Viktor is sure that he’s never had anything so delicious before. It’s filled with root vegetables, reminding Viktor of the stew his mother used to start making as soon as it started to get cold outside. It’s the opposite now, summer is about to begin and the heat will soon make this almost too unbearable to eat, but for now it’s perfect.
Though Vander could have set a loaf of moldy bread in front of Sky and Viktor, and they would have thanked him.
Somewhere above them, a door opens and closes, and Sky shoves more food into her mouth as footsteps come down the stairs. Viktor does the same, not wanting to have someone come to them and kick them out before they could finish their meal.
“Silco,” Vander greets as he returns with his own thunderous steps, setting down two glasses on the table, one in front of each of them. Viktor could smell the sweetness of it from here.
A laborious sigh greets them before Viktor hears a familiar voice. “Really, Vander. More strays?”
“This one isn’t a stray,” Vander argues, laying his hand on top of Viktor’s head. His whole palm seems to cover Viktor’s entire head.
Not a stray? Viktor supposes that’s true, as he shoves more stew down his throat like Silco might come and take the bowl from in front of him. Viktor wasn’t really a stray in every sense of the word. He’s not sleeping on the streets, but a small, cramped bed with Sky.
He’s not even alone with her. For once he has a friend to face the hard times with.
Silco appears on the other side of the booth, laying before himself a leather bound open on the table. He meets Viktor’s gaze with a bit of surprise from the other man, and then his expression quickly schools itself back into indifference.
“Ah, our little mine worker,” Silco starts. Vander finally takes his hand off of Viktor’s head to leave them once more.
“Hi,” Viktor returns shyly, after a long moment of hesitation.
Sky is almost done with her strew. Viktor does his best to match her, his spoon scraping across the bottom of the bowl. It feels like Sky is doing her best to try to disappear into the table to avoid Silco, but Viktor only reaches for the glass Vander set down before them earlier.
Silco watches him carefully, leaning forward slightly to rest his chin in his hand as he regards the two children. “Vander and I didn’t see you again after the accident.”
It’s a question without really being a question. Viktor winces as the sweetness of the drink makes his teeth ache fiercely. Silco glances him up and down, eyes lingering on Viktor’s wrist and the fading bruises he left.
“Got fired,” Viktor mumbles after a moment, when the silence lingers enough to be awkward.
Vander interrupts them before Viktor can speak more, setting down a bowl of strew for Silco as well. Upon seeing their two empty bowls, Vander scoops those up as well.
The hunger that continues to cramp Viktor’s stomach makes him wish he had enough time to lick the bowl clean. Alas, he’s too grateful for anything to even think of asking for a moment more.
Silco has bread with his stew. He tears off a piece of it to dip into the broth. Sky twitches next to him.
And Viktor, Viktor finishes off the rest of his drink, and let’s his eyes wander to the open book in front of Silco. It’s got two columns of numbers on each page, with annotations for each entry and totals at the bottom to keep better track.
“We’re opening the bar in about an hour,” Vander says when he comes back.
Two more steaming bowls of stew are placed in front of him and Sky. Neither of them waste any time in picking up their spoons to start eating immediately.
“Thank you,” Viktor mumbles around a mouthful of stew that’s so hot it almost burns his tongue. Vander gives him a small smile, sharing a heavy glance at Silco that Viktor can’t interpret.
The rest of the time is quiet. Vander does work behind what must be a bar, even though Viktor can’t see the same dark brown bottles his father used to bring home at times. Silco eats much slower than the two children, and either doesn’t notice the wary looks from Sky or ignores them entirely. At some point, he tears apart the piece of his bread and gives half to Viktor and Sky each.
Sky mumbles a thank you. Viktor nods his as well, trying not to notice that Silco, for some reason, has given him the larger chunk of bread. It makes for mopping up the remains of his stew much easier than constantly scraping it with his spoon. Maybe that’s why Silco gave it to them.
Viktor spends the rest of his time basking in the calm atmosphere, a full belly, and the numbers that are upside down across from him. Silco’s brows furrow as he looks it over, pencil scraping across the page as he tries to find his error.
It’s not hard to see it. At least not from Viktor’s point of view. Fourth amount down on the second column. The number glares at him from the page, as though daring him to speak up and correct the man who was not only gracious enough to save his life once, but now give him food.
“Sil,” Vander calls. “We need Benzo to take a look at this. I’m tired of the tap not working every god damned night.”
Silco waves a hand dismissively. With a flourish, he picks up the book, giving both children across from him what can only be described as a look. Sky immediately seems to understand this, rising up quickly as though Silco would grab her by the scruff and toss her out.
“Alright you two, this is no place for children any longer, hm? Head on back home.”
Viktor almost wants to correct that the foundling house is not his home. It’s never going to be his home. It feels more like a place to store his things for when they leave for the day, a place he has to deal with Axel at night.
Still he rises, making sure his cane is underneath him properly. Silco has tucked the pencil behind his ear, notebook under his arm as he heads to the bar.
The numbers though. The numbers still aren’t correct and the book is so nondescript that Viktor is sure he won’t see it again if he does ever get to come back here.
“Mr Silco,” he murmurs, voice so quiet he’s not even sure the man will hear him.
And yet he turns, eyebrow raised like he’s wondering why Viktor hasn’t scampered off after Sky, who’s waiting impatiently for him by the back door they entered through. Viktor bounces from foot to foot, twirling his mother’s ring on his finger.
“Yes?” Silco asks, more patience in his voice than Viktor thought he’d hear.
It gives him a moment of bravery, to think, to look the older man in the eye. They’re the color of seaglass, pale, but not judgemental.
“You’re adding the total incorrectly,” Viktor says after a moment, still twisting his mothers ring. “It should be nine hundred and forty three point zero six.”
Silco stops, even Vander gives him a look over. After a moment, perhaps not believing him, Silco smiles indulgently.
“Is that so?” Silco murmurs. “I’ll take a look over it later. Now head off, young man. Perhaps come and visit us another day.”
He has to resist the urge to tell Silco to check his math, if he doesn’t believe Viktor, but he lets it go. Once again, Silco and Vander had been kind to him when they didn’t have to, even giving them food when sometimes food in the Zaun is more scarce than clean air.
“Thanks,” Viktor eventually says, and he doesn’t just mean for the food. He waits to see if Silco will say anything else, but all the man does is look at the wrist that Viktor knows is still green and yellow with mottled bruises.
“You’re very welcome.”
Sky demands to know how Viktor knows them as they make their way back to the place they rest that Viktor refuses to call home. It is not home. Viktor doesn’t have one of those anymore, not since they left his father to be buried in the rubble.
Maybe he and Sky can go and see Silco and Vander again. Viktor, surprisingly, finds that he wouldn’t mind, even if there was no food involved.
Though the stew is definitely a bonus.
It’s hours later that a pencil has another chance to be put to paper, for calculations to be made, checked, and then rechecked.
Without fanfare, and only a note mentally in his head, Silco crosses out the incorrect total and writes in the number the boy–Viktor, if he remembers correctly–told him earlier.
He’ll have to tell Vander about this, and to tell the Hound of the Underground to keep an eye out for a certain child with a cane.
Just in case there are any other numbers to fix.
Miss Maisey’s palm is held out flat to him, waiting.
He has nothing to show for his troubles. The coins Sky managed to snatch had barely been enough for her to secure her own dinner. Even then, it was with Miss Maisey staring down at the coins in her palm with disgust, counting them out one by one until Miss Maisey reached a goal only she knew.
It’s not really different from any nightly routine. Despite not having anything to show for his time out, Viktor still had to go line up with the other kids and sadly report that he didn’t have anything to hand over.
Some, like Axel, would snicker at his poor performance. Most of the others looked on with pity, having been in the same position. Viktor could count his ribs in a way he’d never been able to before, even able to press a finger between them sometimes to feel the hollows.
His mother’s ring twists along his thumb as he twirls it. Miss Maisey’s palm shakes in front of him impatiently, as though he could magically produce something.
The watch he scavenged from Axel was probably the only thing he had worth anything to a woman like Miss Maisey. It still didn’t work though, Viktor hadn’t felt the tingle of inspiration in his fingers to create, or repair. Not when most of his day was spent thinking about survival and if he was going to eat more than a thin slice of bread in the morning.
Viktor shrugs. Nervously twists his mothers ring on his thumb. It feels like everyone is staring at him, waiting to see what might happen next.
“I couldn’t find anything,” he eventually murmurs. “Sorry.”
Some of the other kids wince, not bothering to hide it as they look away. It’s not the first time Viktor has given this excuse to Miss Maisey. This is the first time that it’s felt different.
Hesitantly, he steps to the side so one of the other kids can present their earnings of the day to Miss Maisey. Her eyes don’t leave Viktor though, looking him up and down before her eyes lock onto his hands.
Everything narrows down suddenly, as her eyes stare at his hand. Viktor’s breath stutters in his chest, his tired mind racing as he shifts his grip on his cane, hiding the ring from view.
“You have something right there,” Miss Maisey declares. “Hand it over.”
He shakes his head, a motion that makes his head spin from hunger and exhaustion. Viktor can’t give up his mothers ring, he can’t , not when he already has so little to remember his parents by.
“I won’t tell you again,” Miss Maisey says sharply.
Everyone’s watching them now. Stares that bore at the pair and no one says a word. None of the other kids do so much as breathe if it means that they won’t get Miss Maisey’s attention the way Viktor has.
“Come on, brat. You’ve been here a month and you’ve barely brought in enough to earn your keep.”
He shakes his head frantically again. “I’ll bring something tomorrow, I promise–”
Even if he has to repair that watch with shaking fingers and give that broken thing up. Even if he has to walk into a store and steal from the register itself. Viktor knows with sudden certainty, with bone tired exhaustion and determination, that he would give up most everything for his mothers ring.
Miss Maisey’s eyes narrow. She’s not one for grace, for patience. Viktor has seen it in the way she smacks the youngest around for not helping her fast enough with chores. In the way that she doesn’t hesitate to withhold dinner from even Axel, her favorite, and the one who brings in the most money out of all the rest of them.
Not even Sky will look at him. That one hurts more than it should.
“Axel!” Miss Maisey hollers, making Viktor jump out of his skin. “He’s hiding something in his hand.”
The order goes without being said, at least not directly. Viktor gets one stumbling step away from them before Axel is there, kicking out his cane and making him drop to the ground. A large hand wraps around his own, and for a moment Viktor fears that he might lose his thumb before he loses his mothers ring from the way Axel tears it from him.
His thumb might really be broken from the way it aches when Axel steps away and presents it to Miss Maisey. The silver doesn’t shine under the dim light, it’s nothing special to look at for anyone besides Viktor. Tears prick at his eyes as he watches Miss Maisey hold it up to the light, examining it with a critical gaze.
“Basically worthless,” she sighs. “Ain’t worth hiding it, brat. Get out of my sight.”
He does so, picking himself up off the ground and glancing at Miss Maisey just in time to see her slip the ring into the pocket of her apron. Viktor goes to join Sky on her bed, shoulders hunched and stomach cramping with hunger.
“I don’t ever want to see you come back here empty handed again,” Miss Maisey threatens, before she moves onto the next kid in line for supper.
And isn’t that just the cherry on top. Another night of going to bed hungry, and this time with one less thing of his mothers to comfort him.
Sky won’t meet his gaze. It feels like there’s a lump in his throat that Viktor can’t swallow past, a rock that refuses to leave him.
It is only hours later, when he and Sky are under his blanket, with her snoring softly on the bed beside him, and all the other kids sleeping peacefully, that Viktor comes to the realization that he should have come to a while ago. A realization that, once it comes, he thinks should have come the first night he arrived.
He can’t stay here.
Slowly, carefully, he slips out from bed. No one stirs as he tip toes into the kitchen, setting his cane down carefully with every step so no one hears him enter it. There is no shame as Viktor grabs the first thing he sees, some dried meats, and eats all of it in one go. The next thing he spots is a few dry pieces of bread, which he also eats as quickly as possible.
Immediate and ever pressing hunger abated for the first time since Sky took him to get that meal at Vander’s kitchen, Viktor takes the next few things he can find. A small bit of cheese that’s probably been sitting on the counter for too long to still be healthy, more bread, and a package of crackers that are in fancy packaging.
Sky blinks away when he comes back to her, and he quickly shoves his stolen things with the rest of his belongings.
“Viktor?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep. “What’re you doing?”
He grimaces, pressing a finger against his lips to show her to be quiet. The last thing he needs is for Axel to wake up and go get Miss Maisey.
“I…” he hesitates. “Can I have my blanket?”
Sky blinks again, before she’s pulling up the edge, waiting for him to get back under. After a moment, when Viktor doesn’t move, she pulls it off and pushing it towards him.
“Oh. You’re leaving.”
He nods, that lump returning to his throat. If he had more time, or if he paid more attention to where Miss Maisey kept all of the things they brought back on hauls, Viktor could have let her sleep longer.
Instead he picks up his blanket, and quickly makes the same makeshift pack that he had the first day he arrived. The only difference between then and now is a missing ring and the addition of food.
“I can’t stay here,” Viktor whispers to Sky, who has laid back down, curled up on her side to face him.
He could ask her to leave with him. Something deep, deep down inside of him tells Viktor that she would leave with him. Or maybe that’s hope, and only hope, because she does not move to rise, or follow him. Sky only wraps her arms around herself, and stares.
And she only stares. So Viktor does not ask.
“I know,” Sky eventually murmurs. “I’ll miss you.”
Oh, and how he’s come to hate goodbyes. Viktor hates the ones that are drawn out by sickness and a cough that won’t leave his mother. He hates the hurried ones with foremen standing at his back to rush him off sight so he can never visit his fathers grave again.
He can’t bring himself to say goodbye to Sky. He’ll never see her again if he does.
Instead he reaches over, bringing her in for the tightest hug he can manage. Sky hugs him back just as tightly, and that moment is something Viktor never wants to end.
He wants it to stretch on to infinity and then go even further. He wants to live in this brief moment where the sun hasn’t risen and maybe never will, where all that matters is the warmth of a friend and not having to wonder if there will be food for him today. This singular moment where all that matters is nothing but themselves.
“I’ll miss you too,” he eventually manages.
And he’s not really talking to her. Not completely, at least. He’s talking to his mother, and his father, and the life he could have had with them that he left so long ago.
In some other timeline, some other possibility, Viktor gets to stay with his parents. His father doesn’t work in a mine and isn’t crushed to death, and Viktor never has to listen to the awful rattle of death in his mothers lungs as she takes her final breaths.
Perhaps in that reality too, Sky is still his friend. They meet somewhere better than a place that’s only fit for survival.
Viktor likes to think they’d be friends in every universe.
He pulls back from their hug first. Sky lets him go, only watching with her large eyes as he slips out the door.
Silently, Viktor says goodbye to the foundling house. And that goodbye is okay.
There’s nothing left there for him to mourn.