Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I am letting you go

I am letting you go

I am letting you go

I am letting you go awry

…  

It was more a mirage

In sickness and health

I showed you a body

Like a cluttered garage

             - Haley Heynderickx

The incompleteness of one’s heart is sometimes enough to drive them mad. A shallow, burning feeling of emptiness causes the mind to corrode with every realization that something isn’t there. That something isn’t right. It causes headaches, outbursts, sobbing late into the night, and a desperate attempt to cling to the only other things filling the space that is not whole. The scratching and clawing at those closest to them often has a backward effect, causing those same people to shy away from the sudden onslaught of attention.

Jayce has lost a lot of friends in the past few years.

Jayce has lost almost everything in the last five.

Maybe it was his need for closeness, his need to be seen, or his constantly souring personality. He felt himself becoming more of a bitter man with every passing conversation. People were pushed away by it. He hated it. The only people he could find himself being truly kind to were those who wanted to stay close to him. His kind-of-a-sister, his mother, and-

“Welcome back,” Mel caught Jayce entering their apartment, a gentle smile perking at her lips as he shrugged off his coat. Winters in Piltover were not often as brutal as those in Freljord, but for the few days closest to the winter solstice, they were damn near close. Jayce smiled back, leaning in to give her a gentle kiss on the lips.

“How was your day?” He asked as Mel walked into the living room. He slid his gilded wingtips off and placed them gently within an entry closet. As he hung his coat, he heard her humming.

“Lovely.” Mel answered, “I got to speak with Elora this afternoon. She was visiting in the city with her wife.”

Jayce beelined into the living room where Mel was currently lounging on a couch. He placed his keys in a dish next to some photos and undid his tie. “She’s been doing well?”

“Yes,” Mel hummed. “Ever since she’s been relieved of Medarda house duties, I’ve never seen her so… uniquely herself. It’s fantastic.” She reached her hand up as Jayce rounded the couch, catching his hand and gently pulling him down. Jayce followed, kneeling beside her. Mel stroked his cheek before pecking it. “How was your day?”

Jayce melted into her touch. “The night-ops are giving me a headache, three different squadrons are asking for Hextech upgrades, and the Council is on my ass for not knowing exactly what the Chem-Barons are going to do and when they’re going to do it.” He sighed, trying to release the knot of frustration and tension he felt in his chest.

The council was weighing on his mind. Mel knew each of them personally; their name, rank, and relationship to their old house while Jayce was still trying to distinguish them apart. She was their leader, having taken on the position of heading them without a second thought.

Jayce, having forsaken his spot on the council the same night as the First Strike, had taken a secondary position. To his own dismay, he was now Chief Engineer of the Piltover Hextech Core. He didn’t necessarily plan strikes, investigations, or responses to Zaun attacks, but he had total control over the usage of Hextech and its direction. With that came some flexibility for his own use, of course, but what use would it be to Jayce? He didn’t need an army, and yet, one was laden in his weary hands.

But with an army comes oversight. The council had been at his heels for the past week and a half, asking for updates and new inventions. Jayce would snap back that nothing was done, ready, or new. They were stagnant, for the time being. But Zaun changed every single day; a rapidly evolving beast with new heads popping up, all with their own venom. Silco left a power vacuum so large, no singular baron could fill it so far.

Maybe it was part of the cosmic dance Piltover and Zaun had. Both lost their strongest leaders on the same blood-moon. It left both city-states fumbling to recover. Recovery for Piltover started with the survivors.

Jayce flinched to remember. The first time he’d spoken to the public about the First Strike: it was Mel and him on the stage. Grasping each other’s hands with such fervor as they spoke, as if the moment they let go, either one would dissipate into dust.

Two sole survivors.

Mel spoke confidently, although her hand trembled in his grasp. She was always so much stronger than him. He would carry the world for her. She would keep that weight steady.

The two years after the strike were some of the worst of Jayce’s life. He imagined Mel felt the same way. The city felt unsafe, the citizens demanded action, and the Houses mourned. The Kiramman’s grief was the closest to Jayce, with countless nights working out plans to keep them afloat without their matriarch, and being a shoulder to cry on. He felt it with the other houses too; the new council being primarily made up of spouses or children from the previous group. The depressive weight of each council meeting was enough to suffocate a hundred men.

Jayce knew he exuded the same pressure. His own grief threatened to split him at the seams daily—sometimes it did. His lungs would pulse with a sharp pain as he spent hours screaming, and his eyes threatened to burn through his skull as they wept hot tears. He would never let anyone see him this way, except for Mel. His usual respectable, yet goofy, composure would be questioned. But there was no other way to let the grief out. Especially as his brain forced him to catch glimpses of a ghost.

His philosophical face. His articulated, calloused hands. His endearing, yet guarded, golden eyes. The smirk he’d wear around like a prize. The deftness of his words. His brilliant, brilliant mind.

If he thought about it too long, the grief would threaten to overtake him again.

Mourning took its presence in different forms. Sometimes, he and Mel would cling to each other and just hold on—as if they would unravel without each other’s grasp. Sometimes, they would be incorrigibly rude to one another, spitting acid that devolved into shouting matches. Often, that would devolve into a stream of apologies and the request for forgiveness. It was always granted.

On occasion, either one of them would disappear. Mel would be in her private studio, locked away, and painting a gentle yet angular portrait of a muse she’d studied extensively. After one was done, the grief often snuck up on her again, and she'd wash out the portraits with anguished lines of gold and red until they were unrecognizable.

Jayce would find a place to hide, either in the ghostly shadow of his partner’s old thinking spot or at the foot of his partner’s likeness. A statue: something Jayce had funded out of pocket with Mel. Every so often, they’d visit together. She would bring coffee, pastries, and a blanket while he would bring a book to read aloud. All while their lover’s gentle, bronze irises stared out onto the city. Immortalized in stone.

In their mourning, there was also a soft-spoken solace. They were still alive. Their hearts still beat, and air still filled their lungs. Jayce had admitted to himself long before how much he loved Mel. It blossomed and flourished in her presence, and ever persisted when they were apart. It was more a question of when, then why, for Jayce to propose. It was a quiet summer evening when he did so. A moment so usually dripping with affection and happiness quickly turned into a bittersweet mess. Mel had said yes, a hundred times yes, but her gentle laughter into his shoulder turned into a muffled cry.

At first, Jayce was confused. The stress and planning of the moment led him to frantically second-guess the entire affair—until it hit him like a bullet. He started to cry, too. Arrangements were to be made.

No one questioned when on the day of their wedding, there was a long moment of silence after Mel walked up to the altar. No one questioned why there were two sets of rings, or why after placing the first set on their left hands, the second set was placed on their right. No one dared to utter a word when the happy couple went to take their first dance together, they kept one hand free of each other. Leaving space between them while also being undeniably entwined.

Jayce thought about the moment as he snapped back into reality. His wife–calling her such made his heart flutter every time–was stroking her hand through his hair. He put his weight down, taking a full seat on the floor next to her. As she stroked her fingers close to the back of his head, he leaned forward and rested a hand on her belly.

He felt a gentle kick on his hand. He couldn’t help but grin brightly as he leaned forward to kiss her pregnant stomach. She was already so far ahead; it would be in the next coming weeks that Jayce Talis-Medarda would become a father.

As his life progressed, he would get better, he thought. His heart would start to heal, his voice would start to soften, and his mind would finally be free of the pressure that persisted in it. And maybe, he thought, his kid would be the first step to that.

“How are you feeling?” Jayce questioned, rubbing a gentle thumb over her belly.

“Better today,” Mel commented, “Other than craving some of the most scandalous things, she’s been quiet.”

“She?” Jayce smirked, “Are you sure?”

“No,” Mel chuckled. She thought for a moment, “Her name… what would it be?”

Jayce propped himself up to better look at his wife, “I don’t know, what were you thinking?”

“Something familial,” She bit her lip in contemplation, “Something with history.”

They sat in a brief silence; Jayce could see the gears turning in Mel’s mind. “It sounds like you had one in mind.”

“No,” Mel admitted, “I didn’t. But it feels more genuine to name someone after someone before them.”

“How about your brother, Kino?” Jayce cautiously asked; he knew she didn’t like talking about her family most days. However, maybe this was the path she was leading to, “Something starting with K? Kinara, maybe?”

Mel huffed, not necessarily upset, but not content either. “No. I don’t think I want any Medarda to hold that history in our lineage–” she gave him a genuine smile, “-but thank you for suggesting that.”

“No ‘A’ names either, then?” Jayce joked.

Mel smirked, letting a small chuckle out from beneath her breath, “No, no A names.”

Jayce let his mind wander until he came upon a familiar face. “Could we think about… Giulia?”

“Giulia?” Mel repeated, “Giulia… why that?”

“My father,” Jayce explained, “His name was Giovani. Something with history, yeah? Something connected.”

Mel’s smile broadened, bringing her hand to her husband’s cheek. “I love it.”

“And if it’s a bo—“ Before Jayce could finish, there was a rapid knocking at the door. His brow furrowed and a sharp breath shot through his nose.

“Who could that be?” Mel questioned, “Surely not work?”

“I don’t know,” Jayce admitted. “But if it is, I will have several heads to knock into walls-“

“Jayce Talis-Medarda,” Mel chided before the rapid knocking returned. “Just answer it. It must be urgent.”

“And if it’s not…” Jayce rose from his seat, rolling his head back and forth with a shrug. The ambiguity of what he’d do was analogous to violence, frankly. He would have choice words with their interrupter if the world wasn’t literally burning to the ground.

Jayce strode across the room, the rapid knocking becoming louder and louder. He almost didn’t want to answer the door, with how intense the person behind it was. With a brief hesitation, Jayce reached for the doorknob.

As the front door unlocked, Jayce was shocked to find Caitlyn Kiramman breathing hard and heavy right outside.

“Cait?” Jayce asked, incredulous. “What’s the matter?”

“Urgent,” she croaked, ruffling through her coat for a small envelope. “We have to talk.”

“Is now the best time?” Jayce protested as she entered their home. Mel peaked over the couch, waving gently at the Sheriff.

“You need to sit down for this,” Caitlyn warned, straightening her posture as she caught her breath. “Please.”

“Sure,” Jayce conceded, closing the door behind him. He trusted Caitlyn with his life, so her urgency spoke great importance to him. This could be any number of things, from some factions he’d asked Caitlyn to investigate to a couple of new sightings of the elusive Jinx… but the reason for her arriving to their home confounded him. All those things could be addressed tomorrow when he was in his office.

Jayce led her into the dining room outcropping. He took the seat opposite of her, leaning forward in anticipation. Caitlyn placed the envelope on the table, took a deep breath, and looked Jayce straight in the eyes.

“We have reason to believe that your personal collection has been broken into,” Caitlyn revealed. “And taken from it were… some choice books.”

“What do you mean?” Jayce asked, a lick of annoyance in his voice. Caitlyn had always liked leaving some room for speculation, an air of mystery, when they talked.

“We think that…” Caitlyn’s eyes flicked from Jayce’s to where Mel was lounging, “…a Zaunite has stolen some of Viktor’s old lab books. Someone is using schematics and designs of his.”

Jayce didn’t take his eyes off Caitlyn, but heard Mel’s soft gasp from the other room. He pressed on, “What designs?”

“Physical aides that surpass the boundary between human and machine,” Caitlyn responded, opening the envelope. “And while noble at first glance, there is a more pressing issue.” She placed three photos on the table in front of him.

Children. Piltovian children. Each one of them had a small, but noticeable augment. One child stuck out their finger, which was replaced with a metal device the same length and width as his others. One child had a device placed near his ear and into his skull. The final photo was of a small girl with a device on her ankle, keeping it stabilized.

“We have a boy who lost a finger from a wagon accident, a partially deaf child, and a girl with an underdeveloped ankle. All the parents confirmed their children to have these attributes, and all of them admit to no crime,” Caitlyn sighed. “Their parents didn’t bring them to whoever did this. They went themselves.”

After the surge of physical enhancements created in Zaun appeared, from artificial limbs to full-body mechanics, stricter laws were put in place across the river. The people of Piltover were to protect themselves from this kind of tampering unless a Piltovian doctor approved, and it was especially illegal to perform on children. It went directly against the Ethos.

Jayce felt his stomach squirm as he looked at the photos. All these procedures could’ve been done in Piltover. For what reason did these children, anywhere from ten to fourteen, seek out help across the river?

“What do we know about who did this?” Jayce asked, “And why bring… him… into this?”

Caitlyn’s face softened with Jayce’s reserve. She reached forward, cupping his hand with her’s.

“We have photos of the mechanics, and according to the students Viktor had worked with, they match some unique qualities of his.” She reached back into the envelope and drew out further close-ups.

He recognized them almost instantly. Viktor had a unique mechanism style. It was almost inherently artful, the way he visualized the gears and components falling into place. Gentle curves and sharp edges made anything he built exquisitely him. Whoever had his journals was using them to a tee-- nothing felt remotely different to what Viktor would build himself.

It enraged Jayce.

“What are we doing about this?” he asked, his voice dangerously laced with animosity.

Caitlyn huffed. “Well, we didn’t learn about the designs being Viktor’s before this evening. That’s why I had to bother you. Which, by the way,” Caitlyn turned to where Mel was laying, “I apologize profusely, Ms. Talis-Medarda.”

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Mel’s voice responded from over the couch, “This is important. I’m glad you came to us so quickly.”

Jayce pinched the bridge of his nose, “Okay, then what can we do?” His mind raced through the options they had. “Could we get a night ops team together? Full secrecy, just to scout out who this doctor might be?”

“I already have a team in mind,” Caitlyn conceded. “Vi can go as their lead. She knows Zaun like the back of her hand. We’ll have them all disguised. And if we do find the doctor responsible?”

“Take back the books,” Jayce rose from the table, knocking on it gently, “And burn their lab to the ground. If you’re not able to, then just get me intel. I want to know who it is.”

Caitlyn rose from her own chair, taking back the photos. “Of course. I will keep you informed; you two will be the first to know what happens. We will set up a scouting party this evening, while the element of surprise is still high.”

Jayce turned to look at Cait, “Wait, why wouldn’t it be a surprise at any other time?”

“When we went to retrieve the photos,” Caitlyn answered, “there was an increase in suspicious activity connecting the families to Zaun. We think whoever did this was tipped off… or at least, will be. We need to act fast.”

Jayce nodded, walking across the room to pat Caitlyn on the shoulder. “Thank you. You know how much this means to me. Our pneumatic tube line will be open all night; send us a message whenever you need to.” Caitlyn smiled.

He led her back to the front door, bowing lightly as she left. She chuckled, to which he responded with a playful wink before closing the door behind her. Once the door had been re-locked, Jayce heard Mel rise from the couch.

“What an… insult.” Mel’s voice was spiked with anger. “To use such a brilliant man’s work— it makes me sick. I wish the best to Caitlyn’s team.”

“As do I,” Jayce agreed, walking to meet her. “It’s infuriating. But we have Piltover’s finest to deal with it.” He looked out through the archways that lead to their large veranda, now confined by glass for the winter. It was pitch black. “Are you tired?”

“I’m getting there,” Mel responded, yawning. “You know, we didn’t finish our conversation.”

Jayce took Mel’s arm with his own, linking them together as they walked towards their bedroom, “Oh yeah? What conversation?”

“If he’s a boy…” Mel gently brought her hand to her stomach.

“Ah.” Jayce nodded. “If he’s a boy.” He thought about it as they entered the bedroom. There were already the workings of a nursery being set up nearby their bed- with a crib and changing table being half-built and boxes of gifts waiting in anticipation to be unpacked. A couple of baby blankets were folded neatly on top of one of the boxes, colored in deep reds, blacks, and golds. A thought bubbled to the surface of Jayce’s mind, and as it broke water, it popped.

Mel noticed Jayce’s breath hitch. “What are you thinking?”

“If he’s a boy,” Jayce could barely bring himself to say it, “Vincent.”

“Vincent?” Mel parroted, sitting gently on the bed’s edge, “Vincent…” Her eyes lit up with realization. A small, sad smile parted along her face.

“Vincent.” Jayce confirmed, leaning forward, kissing her gently.

Chapter Text

Protecting you

Protecting me

I throw the evidence into a trunk and drop it in the sea

…

Lie awake

I sleep awake

I go to bed with all my lights turned on

So I don’t slip away

I stay awake

                       - Mother Mother

The cushions beneath Mel shifted as she was roused from sleep. The sheets were soft and silken against her skin. A deep indent of weight at the foot of her bed had woken her. She brought her hand to her eyes, rubbing the exhaustion from underneath them as she turned towards the light.

The bed was small for her stature, layered with light, airy sheets colored in deep maroons and blacks. There were large, open windows to let the salty-sweet ocean air waft through. Noxian tapestries hung from the walls like curtains. A frail easel took up space in the corner. It was battered with dried paint and knicks. Her old bedroom in Khworez, she thought. It was early dawn; her mother had conditioned her to wake around this time. Very rarely did her mother ever come to wake Mel herself.

The room looked like it was painted with watercolors. The light refracted off surfaces a bit too much like everything was made of sculpted glass. While she knew the Noxian crest was on the tapestries beside her, along with the Medarda house symbol, she couldn’t distinguish them from the fabric. The walls looked like they were breathing. Ambessa Medarda gently reached down to touch her daughter’s shoulder.

Mel felt a shiver run down her spine; something wasn’t right.

“What are your plans for the day, child? After you’ve done your lessons and exercises.” Ambessa asked. Her voice was strained and older, not like it was during Mel’s youth. The thundering voice that so often flooded her mind with memories was war-torn and scarred.

“I have none. Kino offered to take me into the gardens one last time before we set sail, but I don’t want to.” Mel felt her body respond, her vocal cords straining without her direct intention. Her voice was young. Why was her mother asking this, anyways? She never had free time in her youth, unless it was in the wee hours of the night.

“Why not?”

“It’s too sad…” Mel’s voice trailed off, “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

The sunlight grew brighter, blinding her before she could raise her wrist to deflect it. As she attempted to blink away the scorched spots behind her eyelids, she felt the heat on her wrist grow hotter. So unbelievably hot in almost an instant, that she shrieked and sunk down into the bed. A desperate attempt to dodge the brilliance.

It burned through the sheets; the white heat engulfed her room until she could only hear her mother’s chortle.

“It is a garden, Mel.” Ambessa chided, “It won’t care if you say goodbye to it or not. You took rose clippings for your paintings, didn’t you? Will you also apologize for stealing? It is only a garden; there are a thousand more like it.”

Burbling and churning, she could feel the imagery around her shift. She was not a child. Her mother was not the rising head of her ancestral family name, she was not in Noxus… but she wasn’t home either. She was everywhere and nowhere. Her desperate cries to break free of a tumbling spiral that rattled her bones only made her vision burn at the edges. Shadowy figures lurked just out of sight, voices converged and split apart in horrific amalgamations, and she could feel phantom shudders along her body as if there were hands clawing at her from every direction. They pulled her. She felt herself get tugged along by her own consciousness down a rabbit hole, plummeting into a white blaze.

For a brief moment, everything stopped. Mel caught up to her own thoughts; the realization of where this was leading… oh god—she grappled onto anything she could feel physically. She tried to focus on what she could hear outside of her body, anything from the quiet hum of the wind against her bedroom or the gentle snores from her husband. She tried to bite her own tongue to taste the ichor and blood to snap out of it.

But her body was frozen solid, snapped up at the joints like a children’s toy placed under the sheets for the night. She could dance her irises behind her eyelids but couldn’t see beyond them.

A life of betrayals, backstabbings, and mind games… and her own psyche turned on her. Forced to relive the worst moments of her life. The nightmares began when she was young, just new clips would be added to the repertoire. This was the worst of them, unequivocally so.

As her mind descended back into the rabbit hole, Mel’s vision unclouded and revealed the Council room. It was bathed in an eerie red glow, almost complementary to the heated debate that had been strung along for hours now. Finally at its apex, an agreement to relieve Zaun of her ties to Piltover, Mel thought bitterly about how finite the moment was. It felt like a resolution, at long last.  

Mel had barely spotted the bomb when it hit the large, glass mirror behind her.

The same brilliant heat that scorched her younger self touched her back for only a moment, but her vision was blinded instantly. Her recollection of the event should’ve stopped there. She should’ve been dead on impact, but a cool wash fell over her eyes and she was able to look out from her guarded arms. She was alive. Her feet were glued to the ground beneath her, and she was blanketed in a sparkling-gold hue.

The first person she looked to was Jayce. He stood over the Councilor’s table in horror. His entire body was enveloped in a frail envelope of gold. Magic . Impossibly, they stood still and safe as the room around them imploded.

The table and chairs were hurled and ripped apart, with the wood incinerating on impact with the sheer heat. The roof almost immediately started to collapse with the floor, crumbling like dried sand. The glass windows above them shattered, the pieces flying outwards rather than downwards. It was two hundred years of Piltovian architecture, not wavering from any other threat that approached it, collapsing like a frail deck of cards.

The visual of the room imploding could’ve almost been artistic with its near-symmetric destruction of pristine marble and tile, Mel thought. It would’ve been a sight to marvel, even mournfully so, if it weren’t for the gut-wrenching horror at the center of it all. Mel’s stomach twisted violently as she recalled the vision of that day.

She’d seen soldiers killed on the battlefield. Their deaths were swift, sharp, and relatively controlled. Blades could only slice through flesh and bone; their forms would stay whole as they died. The councilors did not have the same mercy.

Their bodies were almost immaterial as skin melted off flesh, muscle and sinew tearing from bone, and limbs being flung back like branches in the wind. Hair caught fire as their bodies were flung backward, disappearing into the chaotic downpour of stone. Mel only caught glimpses of poor Councilors Kiramman and Shoola when it happened, but as time went on, the others materialized in her mind as sick imaginations.  

Sometimes she could hear them scream. Sometimes, her mind granted her this one relief. Not this time—no—she heard them echoing in her mind. Painful howls of people being completely torn apart, something she’d never even thought to contemplate. It lasted for a mere second, but it was pure agony.

As the memory ran its full course, she prayed it would not continue down the road it would. She didn’t have control over her neck and vision as she looked back towards Jayce’s direction.

No.

Please.

She couldn’t actually see Viktor when it all happened. He’d been sitting behind Jayce. She had to crane her neck to see him only a few minutes before the blast. But as her dream self turned towards him, Jayce was gone. Viktor was in his seat. 

And she watched the same excruciating experience happen to him.

Mel woke up near-howling. A long, deafening cry was already escaping her lungs as her brain snapped back into consciousness. Tears fell hot and fast down her flushed cheeks. She clutched at her arms for stability as her chest heaved, pulling herself up from the stacked pillows behind her.

Her skin was burning, flecked with Solari gold that was shielding her from an invisible threat. The curtains and porch doors were drawn, so the usually pitch-black room was draped in the golden light that suffocated her. There was a ringing in her ears, unfamiliar to her until the protective spell activated for the first time.

“Wha-“ Jayce mumbled, shifting on his side of the bed. Not much could wake him from slumber, but the heat that radiated off her must have been stirring enough. His concerned, almost fawnish gaze scanned her face.

No words formulated on her tongue, she just cried silently. Jayce reached over to brush away a tear but winced as the heat hit his fingers. Mel swiveled, ready to apologize or continue to cry or burrow into Jayce’s chest and never leave—but stopped. Jayce held up his fingers in awe, a golden glow encircling them. It burned even brighter than the glimmer on her own skin.

“Even when you’re hurting, you’re still protecting others,” he continued, reaching forward, now protected by Mel’s own magic to gently caress her cheek.

“You know I can’t control it…” she sniffled. As he comforted her, as much as her abilities would allow him, the implants in her skin cooled. The light around the room dimmed until the golden tendrils retracted entirely. Jayce’s fingertips were the last to lose their protection.

“Another one?” Jayce asked, bringing his arm around her lower back.

“Yes.”

“Which one?” He was all too aware of her nightmares, and that she had multiple recurring ones, she feared. A page of her book she hadn’t expected anyone to access.

“The worst of them.”

“I’m sorry.” She let Jayce access them. She let him in when at first, she’d only allowed him so much. Unsure of where their relationship lay in those early days, Mel was all too keen to keep herself locked tight, like a child’s precious journal.

Mel laid into the raised pillows, sighing as her lower back was supported by the softest one. Jayce moved over gently, raising his arm only slightly to ask for her permission. She huffed, taking his wrist, and guiding his arm across her. He accepted the gentle nudge, bringing himself closer to hug around her waist. He nestled his head next to her side, exhaling in one long, shaky breath.

For a long time, Mel felt as if she was at sea. Like she’d been with her mother and the Noxian army—ready to attack another corrupt kingdom and relieve them of their monarch. Except that she sailed alone, manning the deck, and adjusting the sails to her own liking. Every once in a while, a gust would spawn against her sails, and she’d have to make quick adjustments to stay on course. A hurricane, in its rarity, would completely undo any progress she’d made. On her lonesome, the boat was manageable. The resetting and planning were doable, so long as she kept her head straight.

When Jayce had put his head into her lap, expressing his discontent and grief over their future partner’s prognosis, completely letting his own book flutter open—Mel felt a weight behind her. He’d placed himself on her boat. It wasn’t her choice at first, not in its entirety, but it soon became welcome. She kept head of the ship, but Jayce helped her with the small upkeep. He never pushed to steer or change her tempo, at least not in their personal affairs.

Mel started to allow him closer. Each time he proved himself to be as honest and genuine as she knew him now, she’d let him learn a little more. About her past, her present, and what she wanted for the future. He let himself open up, too, and to her surprise—it led her to another man.

One who… who… she couldn’t bring herself to think. Not right now. Not like this. She brought her hand up to Jayce’s hair and stroked gently, caressing in long strokes from the base of his neck to his hairline. As she did, she noticed the color differences between her fingers.

“You’ve got grays.” She whispered, twiddling a lighter-colored hair between her thumb and pointer.

“And that’s a surprise?” Jayce scoffed from below her, “… how are you feeling?”

“A bit nauseous, and my throat’s burning.” She admitted, touching her hand to her neck.

Jayce began to stir, groaning as he rolled out of bed, “Let me get you some water.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, although she doubted he could see her in the dark.

Always considerate , she thought. It only took him a few minutes to return with one of her crystal decanters and matching glass. She accepted the full glass, sipping the cool water to let it run down her scratchy throat. As she finished, letting out a relieved sigh, Jayce went to refill her cup. Mel stopped him, placing the cup on the table beside her, and took the decanter to place next to it. Jayce crawled back into bed, returning to her side, and taking up her hand. He threaded his fingers against hers, holding her thumb in place with his.

Mel let herself breathe. Although her armor had cooled off from her nightmare, she could not say the same about herself. She focused on the rise and fall of her own chest, while also being in tandem with Jayce’s. She expected to see him fall asleep but caught his gaze. He was trying to hide underneath the sheets, but she spotted the glossy sheen off his amber irises.

“Are you not going to sleep?” Mel questioned, reciprocating the same intrigued stare.

“At some point, yeah,” Jayce mumbled into her skin. He crooked his neck up, “… What are you thinking about?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Jayce nodded towards her.

“Ah,” Mel sighed, “I’m not thinking. I’m… still recuperating.”

Jayce squeezed her hand, “Take all the time you need. I’m here.”

As if the question opened the floodgates, Mel did start to think. She had replayed this moment time and time again. It made no sense and total sense at the same time—her Solari abilities had worked. Blessed by a priest that her mother had called for, implanted at such a young age with a strong protection spell, she would be saved from danger.

At first, Mel thought it referred to any danger. Although she quickly disproved that as her magic didn’t stop the wind from getting knocked out of her or bruised during sparring matches. It confounded her, as when she suffered her very first panic attack in the haunting hours of the early morning, the gold shimmer sprung forth from her back, enveloping her entire body. She sobbed and couldn’t control her breath. This thing finally made its appearance and protected her from, what, the thought of being exiled by her mother? The thought of bringing shame to the Medarda name? The thought of losing the people around her who saw her as a person, not a Medarda? Not her family, but the servants and soldiers that did her small kindnesses. The ones who had been fired or killed for even insinuating the wrong thing.

After the strike, one word landed on Mel’s tongue, “ Fatal .” The innate arcane ability that resided within the implants would only shock to life when it feared fatality. Her nightmares and panic attacks spawned on the very feeling of dying in their progression.

The unintended effects were something she didn’t expect. She’d gone back to Noxus only twice now, traveling once to Mount Targon to figure out why. The priest who’d done the ritual was apparently long dead, but his primary disciple tried to make sense of what’d happened. This ability, something she’d grown with and cultivated for so long, became an extension of herself. She didn’t just protect herself from a fatal blow—she protected those she loved as well.

She bit back a sniffle, scrunching her nose to keep the emotions in. The emotions always did better when they stayed inside. She’d already let them leak enough, tonight. Jayce must’ve heard, or felt her react, as he stirred next to her.

“Are you alright?” His voice had dipped quieter like he was just on the brink of sleep.

Mel rolled her jaw, letting it drop back down into a quieter expression, “I still don’t know why it didn’t work for him.”

“… it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t,” she agreed, “How many years of counseling can be done before that’s realized? But… I just don’t understand.”

Jayce pulled her tighter.

“I just want to understand,” she shook her head, shrugging her shoulders before falling deeper into the pillows in a defeated slump.

A noise from the living room caused Mel to tense again. A familiar thwump was nearly silenced by the closed door—but it rang through her ears like clashing symbols.

“Did you hear that?” Mel questioned, prodding Jayce.

“I did.” Jayce sighed, rolling once more out of bed. As he did, the machine began to ding from outside of the room. He leaned to the side, rubbing his back as he shuffled on a pair of slippers near the bed’s edge.

“Hopefully good news,” Mel said, a sarcastic lining to the edges. She watched as Jayce exited the room briefly and returned with the pneumatic tube. It was sealed as official Sheriff documentation. “Turn on the light,” Mel gestured to his side lamp.

The electric lamp was quick to power, unlike her old oil ones. Hextech never ceased to amaze. Jayce undid the tube, sliding out a stark-white document.

“Here, let’s uh…” Jayce sat against the backboard, “I’ll read aloud if you’d like?”

“Please,” Mel turned on her side to listen.

He unfolded the paper, and his brow furrowed, “It’s… brief. Jayce and Mel Talis-Medarda, I’ve returned with the night-ops recon team. Three out of six are injured. We have crucial information, too sensitive for a paper line. Please inform me if you are still awake. I will come immediately with the rest of the responsive team to report. Urgent. ”

Mel had strained her eyes on the paper as Jayce read, waiting for the final note of what had happened. The ending left a sour taste in her mouth, “That’s it?”

“Yeah…” Jayce flipped the paper over, “Cait, you’re killing me. What do you want to do?” He offered the paper to Mel, but she sat up instead.

“Might as well have them report now. We are awake. The sensitive part… that intrigues me.” She placed a finger below her lower lip, rubbing her chin, “Sensitive for our own private line?”

“What time is it, even?” Jayce craned his neck over her to spy the clock. Mel picked it up and brought it into the light. “5 AM. Cait wants us to get dressed and invite enforcers into our home at 5 AM.” An incredulous chuckle split from his lips.

“Just get dressed,” Mel urged him, “I can make you coffee. Will you even be able to sleep without knowing and having to wait until tomorrow?”

“… No,” he admitted.

“Then get cleaned up, I’ll put on the percolator.” Mel twisted her hips to dip off the bed, exhaling as she lowered the weight of her stomach onto her knees. Her pajamas were a nicer set, she thought, so she wouldn’t have to change. She did retrieve an incredibly soft robe from off the crib’s side to wrap around herself, just to keep warm.

Jayce had retrieved a pen from his side table, scribbling a note at the bottom of Caitlyn’s letter in his scrappy handwriting. He placed the paper back into the tube and closed it shut.

“Mind taking this back to the output?” Jayce asked, holding it out as Mel passed by him. She took it, leaving the room to allow him the space to change.

The stone floors of the living room were ice-cold as Mel stepped out into the space. She eyed quickly across the floor for a pair of sandals she’d worn earlier until she noticed them placed neatly next to the couch. She slid them on, then approached the pneumatic lines built into her apartment.

The tube clunked into the receiver, and with a flash of green light, was sent off to the mail sorter. The seal of the Sheriff would direct it to the young Kiramman. Mel stood for only a second, watching the line as if a response would be sent back only mere seconds after her own.

She turned on her heels, padding towards the kitchen to prepare the promised coffee and her own kettle of tea. Maybe she should make enough for the handful of people coming over, she thought. Maybe she should place out some of the desserts that had been gifted to her over the past week.

Her attention changed to how many cups she had available and if they were running low on cream. After all, they were about to host guests.

This was not the time for tea cakes or coffee or tea. Mel discarded the idea the moment Caitlyn entered their domain with Vi and four enforcers in tow. One was injured, her eye covered in a brown-bloodied patch. The apartment turned cold, the pressure exuding off all six of the newcomers being entirely too oppressive.

Jayce had already consumed enough caffeine to keep him up for three days straight and had guided all parties into the foyer. Mel couldn’t help but wince as dirty clothes sunk into her white couch and chairs but did away with the thought quickly. They were there to help. They were injured. Couches and chairs could be cleaned.

Mel had sat next to Jayce in one of the lounging chairs. It took her a moment to get comfortable, but she positioned herself as upstanding as she could. These were still her patrons, and she was still a councilor. She hadn’t worn the mask of one in a few weeks, but she melded into the role effortlessly.

Caitlyn was the first to speak above hushed whispers, her voice croaking, “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Mel stopped her, “Please. We called you here because you said you had information.”

“Sensitive information,” Jayce added, “Which I’m not sure either of us understands. Sensitive on a private line? What happened out there? Cait–did you go out there with them?”

Caitlyn scrunched her face as she nodded, as if the truth was digging a knife into her chest. The four enforcers, none of them older than thirty, waited for one of their superiors to talk first. Vi looked… rageful.

“What happened,” Vi started, turning to Caitlyn to get an approving nod, “was that we got ambushed. We found ourselves in one of the alleyways of the Entresol level and got pummeled by some augmented, shimmer-addicted goons.

“We didn’t even have time to react.” She continued, “They caught us by surprise and my men, Havoc and Delta, got wiped out. Both are getting medical attention but—” the corner of her nose wrinkled, “—they won’t be in the field any time soon again. Maybe never. It was brutal.”

“And the lab?” Jayce urged on. Mel spotted the enforcers' recoil; Jayce was persistent, and it steamrolled over their sustained injuries and fallen comrades.

“We confirmed its location in Emberflit Alley. We couldn’t reach it but… we believe we confirmed the identity of the person behind the augmentations,” Caitlyn explained, fiddling her thumbs. There was no pinkness in her face like she'd been blood-let. Mel felt the urge to comfort her like she’d done so often after the First Strike.

“Who?” The word flicked off Mel’s tongue like a bullet.

Caitlyn shut up again. The anger fell from Vi’s face. The enforcers didn’t seem to stir much, but they respected their superiors and looked down. Mel glanced at Jayce, then back to the ensemble.

“You’ll never believe it,” Vi spat. Less of her anger being aimed at the councilors, but towards the culprit themselves.

“We don’t know how—” Caitlyn followed up but Jayce cut her off.

“Cait.” He raised his voice, “Just tell us.”

“It’s Viktor.”

The room around Mel began to sink as the name fell out of Caitlyn’s mouth.

“We don’t know how, but he’s alive.”

Mel’s lip trembled once. The mask she’d put on cracked down the middle and fell to her sides.

“He approached our group, fully augmented,” Vi began to explain, “He introduced himself. He had a mask but…”

“It was his voice,” Caitlyn confirmed. In those early days, she would’ve been in the lab with him and Jayce long enough to have known it. “He introduced himself as a father of Hextech. As Zaun’s son, who was raised and discarded by Piltover. The one who brought clean water to his people. It has to be Viktor. ” 

Jayce rose from his chair, Mel heard it before she saw it, but she was quicker to her voice than he was, “No. It wasn’t.” She punctuated her words, “I think it’s time for you to leave. I apologize that your welcome here was so short-lived. We will discuss the matters when clearer heads prevail.”

“Mel—” Caitlyn was reaching her hand forward but stopped as Mel looked up at her. There was a lick of betrayal; how could Caitlyn say such a thing? Before she could continue, Jayce huffed. Mel glanced at his expression and doubled back to reaffirm what she was seeing.

Hope. Hope glistened in Jayce’s eyes as tears pricked at their corners. It was dangerous, Mel thought, too dangerous. Too much pain led down that road, and they already had gone down it so many times before.

“He’s gone.” Mel tried to reason, throwing up her hand, “Jayce, he’s dead. You know that. This isn’t—they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Cait—” his voice was so gentle. She wanted to believe it, too, at that moment. She would give the world to believe in Jayce, Caitlyn, and Vi—just simply to believe there was a chance . But how many restless nights? How many aching hours talking to a therapist, who made it seem like she understood Mel’s emotions, but never in her life would she? How many days at sea to reach her old homeland to seek out answers? It killed a part of her. It killed a part of Jayce.

If Viktor was alive… was all of it for naught?

But it couldn’t be. He was incinerated like the rest of the Council. There were no bodies to find. Even with the rubble cleared, there was no telling who-was-who or what-was-what. It was an impossibility that stunned her in her tracks.

The rest of the conversation went on without her. Mel didn’t even hear the soft-spoken goodbyes until the front door clicked shut. She looked up from her fugue-like state to Jayce. Maybe he had the answers. Maybe his hope wasn’t misplaced.

Jayce’s head fell between his shoulders, and he wept.  

Chapter Text

I am a forest fire

And I am the fire and I am the forest

And I am a witness watching it

I stand in a valley watching it

And you are not there at all  

                       - Mitski

Good morning.

“…”

How do you feel ?

“Tired.”

Hmm. We could remove that, you know? Exhaustion helps a worried body know when it is time to rest, but you do not need rest, do you? It’s immaterial.

“I believe I’ve already talked to you about this. We will discuss that once I’ve completed the UV processor for the eye augments.”

Yes, but we could help. We could travel upwards and build ourselves—

“No.” The Herald cut off the voice whispering in his mind. “I’ve made it clear. That’s off limits.”

Hmm. Too bad.

There was a chime at the front door. It was about time; the sun had already been long gone past the horizon, and the winter chill was starting to leak through the cracks in the brick. The lab was always cold, but it didn’t matter to the Herald. He didn’t have to feel the nip—one flip of a switch and all sensation sapped from his body. His face was kept hot from his mask.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides, the metal of his boots clinking heavy against the worried stones. The shutter to the door was already slightly ajar; he only needed to lean forward to peak outside. The patient stood on the second step, caught off guard in the harsh yellow glow of the Herald’s eyes. He looked panicked, like this was the last place he wanted to be. He couldn’t have been much younger than the Herald himself, despite his juvenile demeanor.

How pitiful.

The Herald couldn’t blame him. Emberflit Alley was a dark and unfriendly corner of the Entresol level. Children dared each other to walk down the way or to peek into his abode. The worn exterior of the brick building was skinny and disheveled, not the best front for an augmentation center. And yet, the Herald reached forward and opened the door for the incomer. Most likely a Piltie, the patient bowed respectfully before entering the space.

“You’re the Machine Herald?” The man asked, gripping his hat between his hands like it was the only thing protecting him from imminent death.

He's scared of you.

“Yes,” the Herald’s voice was gravelly already, but choked even further by the voice modulator built into his mask.  

“Right, um,” the man said, shrugging his arm forward and lifting his sleeve to reveal that his left hand and lower arm were both chem-tech, “I’m having issues with pain. The man who built my arm told me to seek you out…?”

One of the doctors or one of the mad fellows?

“A constituent of mine,” the Herald said. “I was aware of your visit. Sit.” He gestured towards his medical bench. It was the only pristine surface in the lab; tools were scattered across every other outcropping or stacked with papers. The walls were even more busy, plastered with schematics and mathematical proofs. Over all the papers were large doodles in oil crayon, a colorful display of slightly terrifying cartoonish animals. The Herald knew this unsettled the patients who entered his lab. That was fine with him.

Jinx has gone missing for the past week. You should check in with her. Humans don’t do well alone for long periods of time. Especially not her.

The man walked through the space, hesitant with every step as he assessed the room. The Herald noted the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed grimly. The Herald’s eyebrow notched under his mask as the thought of the man’s appearance flashed through his mind; he was handsome, in the non-altered lower-level Piltie way, where his golden hair was slicked back with pomade and there was an attractive line of deep green eyeliner under his chocolate eyes. The Herald tsked; he’d have to fix that part of his neural modulator, later.

Yes. You will.

As the man brought himself up onto the table, the Herald asked, “Your name?”

“Uh…” The man fidgeted. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable—”

“Just your common name to keep you talking. This process will be painful, and I need you to be conscious,” the Herald said.

“Oh.” The man glanced around the room, “Oh… Alec.”

“Alright, Alec.” The Herald sat beside him, hooking a claw underneath his sleeve, and pulling upwards to reveal the augmented chem-tech arm. “Tell me. What kind of pain?”

Alec winced, pointing inwards. “It feels like the accident, but a constant pain. I lost my arm when two gears crushed it in the forge. I’m an ex-ironworker.” He brushed over the metal surface, the mix of shimmer and electronic fluid shining brightly through exhaust vents. “Sharp, crushing pains. And I’ve tried painkillers, but nothing helps.”

“Painkillers might work, but try different ones.” The Herald rolled his head from side to side. “Whatever you can purchase. However, this pain is in your head. It’s phantom. I dealt with it for many years, and there are a couple things we can do outside of medication.”

“The doctor said so,” Alec said. “Something with my spine?”

“Electrical therapy, with small electrodes to your back. Or neural reconfiguration. But no, I will look at your arm and determine whether I can add a nervous system component to the augments. If you recognize your new arm as your own—we might be able to remove that reaction from your brain.”

No brain augmentations today? Too bad. We quite like studying the cranium while you work.

“And the cost?” He looked nervous. Unlike a Piltie, the Herald thought. Maybe he’d mistook him, and he was from the Promenade level.

“No cost,” the Herald decided. “It doesn’t take much. And I offer my services to Zaunites for free.”

Alec perked up. “Why?”

“How many times have we been turned away from Piltover’s finest doctors for the most expensive of services?” The Herald questioned. “How many times have we been turned away from the most basic of care? I get patients from both sides of the river. They fund what I do here. The children of Zaun do not need to worry about putting bread on the table.”

Without stomachs, they wouldn’t need to fear starvation.

This seemed to calm the man, who relaxed as much as he could into the metal surface. The Herald got to work, undoing the main service panel adjacent to the elbow. The craftsmanship was crude, but in line with the augments performed by this designer. He rummaged around through the wiring, looking for enough free space for the new mechanism.

As he came upon the perfect nook for his own device, Alec spoke up, “So… uh. Do you have a kid?”

“What?” The Herald didn’t look up from his work.

“The crayon drawings?” he said, gesturing to the scribbles on the wall.

“No. One of my constituents. Potentially one of the brightest minds in all of Zaun.”

“Ah.” He quieted. The Herald lifted the Hexclaw from behind his back and shot a minute laser into the mechanics. In one brief shot, he melted the mechanism’s wire to the power source of the arm. Alec hissed.

“My apologies,” the Herald said, zapping the board once more to activate a new portion. “This is not the hard part, but it will be uncomfortable.”

“My luck,” the man chuckled. The Herald bristled; that laugh was too similar. Too hearty. Too much from the chest.

Oh dear.

A glimmer of a man’s face appeared in his mind like the spark from a match. Before the Herald could even begin to extinguish it, his mind caught fire. The neural processor only did so much to restrict his thinking. He’d designed it as such. The device wasn’t at its full potential, as he didn’t want to forget. Not entirely, at least. But remembering hurt so much.

We can help you.  

It was ablaze.

You just have to let us.

The inferno raged behind his eyes.  

Do you not see this as a weakness?

Maybe it never stopped burning.

In the most literal of ways, the heat of the sun itself sunk through his skin for a single moment.  

Jayce was the last thing he saw as Mel graced his ears with her posh, elegant accent. Their names almost made him croak under his mask. Jayce’s smile was broad and forthcoming; he’d succeeded in his plan. He recalled his own happiness in the moment, but it was shunted by the deep-seated shame that had been festering. He clenched his crutch with a gloved hand. Mel was about to praise the room for making the right decision, for straying off the path of war, but her voice was cut short.

The crash of glass was loud enough to puncture his eardrums, as he would come to discover. The brilliance of the bomb certainly blinded him as his already frail, imperfect flesh was hit by its power.

And how much less painful would that have been if you were free of your nervous system? If your eyes could handle the sudden brightness of an atom splitting?  

Shut up.

The voice in his head was right, but he couldn’t bear to hear that. He had already experienced the excruciating heat that breached his skin, even just for a mere second. He almost didn’t notice the immediate relief afterwards. He assumed that, if he did open his eyes, he would’ve seen the shine of a gold aura surrounding his being.

You assume.  

Except, there was no time to open his eyes. Before he could react, a large, stone pillar fell from around the council table. It hit him dead on, but he didn’t feel the swift mercy of death. He felt the pressure against the magic, the crack of stone beneath his back as he fell through two floors, and the fizzle of the heat against his skin as the magic disappeared from him.  

Temporary mages. Temporary magic. We are eternal. We are perfect. We saved you.

When news broke on the First Strike, the shining new head of the Council gave her explanation as to how she and the man of progress survived. He was unsure if he was included in their statement and had been shielded from the blast because of Mel’s magic. He wanted to believe he’d been protected by it, until he had fallen too far away from her and lost its abilities in the downpour of marble and stone.

It wasn’t and you know that. You called upon us and we answered. We saved you.  

The minute he lost the protection, the pain struck him. He landed hard onto a slab of stone. He was sure he’d be dead if it wasn’t for the lingering effects of the magic still dancing on his skin like static electricity. But he hadn’t landed completely safe; he shrieked—the stabbing pain from his lower abdomen made him look in horror. Metal rebar stuck out of his abdomen. It barely grazed his organs, he thought through pained gasps. He was surprised he could even assume such a thing; after all, one’s brain isn’t necessarily the brightest when its host is actively impaled.

Oh, how easily does human skin tear? How easily does human muscle shred? How easily does human bone crack?

It hurt. It burned. He thought he would die right then and there. He waited for something; to hear enforcers rummaging through the rubble, to feel the rainfall he heard so clearly on his face, or to fall into that eternal sleep that kept begging him to succumb.

He felt his eyelids flicker with each passing second. A voice bloomed in his mind, sultry and deceptive.

Listen closely. Do you want more?

Want more of what? Dying? This ripping pain through his chest?

More of everything. You know there is more to life than living. There is an ultimate goal; do you wish to partake?  

What are you insinuating? What are you?

You know what I am. Submit.

In his last breaths, he thought about Sky. Shame was the only thing keeping his brain active as his body began to shut down. No one would ever know that he was a murderer. There was a minute part of him that was relieved; it was just another secret that would follow him to the grave. They didn’t get to think differently about him, as there was nothing to change their thoughts.  

Another part of him was ashamed that he could even think that.  The part that screamed at him, that cursed his name in his mother tongue and in Common. It wanted to tear him apart, cell by cell like Sky’s violent demise. Poor, brilliant, starry-eyed Sky—who wanted to do nothing but help.

He should be dead. He didn’t deserve to be alive.

You don’t have to be either: dead or alive.

What do you mean?

Submit.

What was their left to do? He let his consciousness slip away with one final word on his mind.

“Okay.”

“AGH!” Alec screamed. This was the worst part, the Herald thought. He hated to see the man so distraught as his nervous system melted into the mechanism. It made the man jolt underneath the Hexclaw’s beam, making the weld work atrocious to look at. It had been hours of this. The man hissed and looked up, his voice shaking, “How—HAH…—how much longer?”

“Not long now,” the Herald answered.  

The sound of flesh melting and the gentle hum of the Hexclaw wasn’t very loud in the stagnant space, so the clatter from the alley reached his ears before the silent alarm got tripped.

“What’s that?” the man questioned. The Herald stopped the beam, shutting the access panel and pulling away from the table.

“Hide in here,” the Herald opened the emergency closet to his left. It was empty with the intention of stuffing patients inside in a pinch. Or corpses, depending on how the day was going.

The quiet clutter quickly turned into gunfire. There were shouts, some clearly human and some clearly not. The Herald retrieved a staff from his workbench. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but he didn’t know how long his associates would be able to hold off the assailants. Whether they were chemthugs or enforcers, he paid quite a pretty penny to station augmented humans along the alley. A few of them—to his dismay—were nearly un-human. Shimmer had riddled their bodies with over-productive muscle and purple, veiny skin. Their payment was different than the others, as the Herald promised them treatment over coin. He couldn’t help but pity them, one of the few emotions he left in his brain.

Pity is weakness. It may let you guide those lost souls to the glorious evolution, but it will also blur your vision. You will hesitate to help those who refuse you. It flows in both directions. You will falter.

As he went to open the door, a ricocheting boom caught his attention. From the dirt-stained window, he could see the flash of bright blue light pierce through the alleyway.

Ah. Don’t get hung up now.

The Herald kicked out the door, storming into the alleyway to spot the weapon. A Hextech pulse gun. One of the augmented thugs, a woman he’d hired not a week prior, was laying in the alleyway. Her lifeless eyes shone up towards the smog-filled upper layer of the Entresol layer. She didn’t even get to see the sky as she died.

The Hexclaw flicked forward, aiming its powerful focus at the gun. He shot off a quick beam, hitting the weapon and the enforcer holding it, directly into the side of his chest. The man cried out, crumpling to the floor as the concentrated light singed his wound. The Herald turned his attention to the rest of the fight, his presence still unbeknownst to the others further down the alleyway. He spotted four enforcer uniforms, although tailored in black fabrics instead, still stitched with symmetrical metal detailing like almost all other Piltie garbs. Night-ops.

He took long, booming steps down the stairs until he settled at the street. He leaned down to the woman, gently using two clawed fingers to close her eyelids. Before he could stand, a large force crashed into him. He didn’t fall but stumbled backward as another augmented thug was thrown into him. The Herald looked up to spot the most unwelcomed of sights.

Do not speak. They will know you.  

The girl from the Lanes. The champion of Piltover. His constituent’s sister. Jinx did not speak her name often, and it was currently escaping his memory.  

“HEY!” she shouted, stomping forward with heavy boots until she was sprinting at him. Her speed was incredible, even with the two Atlas gauntlets weighing her arms down.

The Hexclaw focused on her next, carving a hot streak into the ground to force her to halt. She slid on her heels—it was enough time for the Herald to retrieve a device from his hip, flipping it forward. It unraveled itself, arcing beams of electricity as it made the air heavy around the enforcer’s lapdog.

“AUGH!” She cried out as the device pressurized the air around her. Her fists slammed to the ground first, bringing the rest of her body with it.

“VI!” A voice from behind called out. The Herald saw the sheriff throw the blunt end of her rifle into one of his protector’s jaws, causing the man to sputter a mix of blood and purple poison. Her concern for the pink one made her misstep; one of his own patients flew down from one of the buildings, unsheathing dual blades from his forearm augments. She barely dodged, shooting her rifle into his shoulder, blowing out half the mechanics. The man screamed.

The other enforcers were alerted to the Herald’s presence. The closest, a blonde wielding two pistols, came flying at him. Before she could raise her weapons, the Herald did her a small mercy by not killing her. The concentrated light flashed across her arm. It cut through the armor, muscle, and bone like a knife into butter. Her limb fell to the ground before she did, a primal cry ripping from her lungs.

Another one just on the edge of his periphery charged forward. The Herald ripped the beam towards her, stuttering as she quickly pivoted direction. He didn’t want to kill her, not yet. A short burst of the beam hit her left eye, cauterizing it on impact with a gory sizzle.

“AAAAHAAUGH!!!” She howled as her knee buckled and her rifle fell from her arms.

The pink one was starting to stir—her fallen comrade’s screams fueling the rush of endorphins. The Herald caught the glimmer of rage in her eyes before he centered the Hexclaw at his own creation. With two blasts, the Atlas gauntlets were demolished. Red-hot holes pierced through the metal, just below where the girl’s hands would be. Her rage quickly flipped to disbelief as the Hexclaw focused directly between her eyebrows.

What is your plan here?

There is no “plan”. The girl will die. She’ll be the only one, and no one else has to. They’ll get the message.

Will they? Or will you kill Kiramman’s pet and have to deal with an army at your door? The enforcers still have power here, to some degree. They will slow your progress.  

What… What do you suggest?

Finally listening? Good. Introduce yourself.

What about not letting them know who I am? Won’t they recognize me?

Is that so bad? Think about what we are set to accomplish. The undercity will know us as the freer of souls, the savior of Zaun. People will worship you—but their worship will only do good to help spread the evolution further, faster. We were so protective of your identity because of your weakness. You are still tied to that man you once were; he has not died. But you’ve also become so much more. You’ve transcended the human condition because of us. You were saved.

Let them know who you are, and you can lead even more to evolution.

The Hexclaw powered on, illuminating the pink one’s eyes. The Herald could see the Zaunite in her, rebellious but frightened. He slammed his staff to the ground; the booming noise of metal against stone caught several fighters’ attention.

“No one moves,” the Herald spoke slowly and loud enough to echo against the narrow alley walls. “It would be a swift death, but I do not think you want to lose one of Piltover’s finest.”

His voice quelled the shimmer patients, who lowered their fists and backed away from the defensive enforcers. The others tended to the wounded, pulling the dead and injured to the side while the Herald addressed the Piltovian party. The masked enforcers looked like they wanted to pounce on their adversaries as they maneuvered past them, but the Sheriff whistled and shot them all a look of ‘stay put or I’ll shoot you myself.’

“Why are you disturbing my practice?” the Herald questioned. He eyed the sheriff as she straightened her back.

“We have reason to believe you have stolen documents and have been using them to illegally augment children.”

“Illegal in Piltover, maybe.”

“They were Piltovian children.”

“And yet, they ended up here.” The Herald shifted his weight onto his staff. There was a burning in his leg. He could see Kiramman's brow arch.

“So, you admit to the crimes?”

“No. I do not create augmentations for children. However, my colleagues often use my schematics. I believe I know the doctor you are looking for.” The fool Harlow had mentioned stray children entering his lab—Piltovian children was a far stretch from that descriptor.

She noticed.

Noticed what?

“ Your schematics?” The Kiramman spat. “They’re stolen schematics from a brilliant man.”

Ah.

Will you proceed?

The Herald shook his head. “Caitlyn Kiramman, for someone so bright, you often miss that which is standing right in front of you, don’t you?”

Caitlyn stepped forward, “What does that mean?” She was seething. The Herald pressed the Hexclaw directly onto the pink one’s forehead. The sheriff stopped, attempting to remain completely still.

“It means that you have a poor memory. It means that the camera you so dearly loved served its purpose; to help remind you of the past when your mind betrayed you. It means you don’t recognize me.”

“Who are you?” She already knew, by now. The Herald saw it in her eyes. She could see him. She could hear him. She so desperately didn’t want to believe it. She was praying to Janna, a God she didn’t even serve, that she was wrong.

“I am Zaun’s son.  

I am Zaun’s son, who betrayed her and fled to your precious capital, hoping for something more. I am Zaun’s son, raised by Piltover.

I am Piltover’s discarded memory. I am the bringer of clean water. I am one father of your precious Hextech.

I am the Machine Herald.” The words flowed clear as day from his voice box. With every passing sentence, he heard it whispering closer into his ear until the specter was practically talking through him.

Good boy.

Caitlyn’s eyes had gone wide. The Herald recalled the same fawnish look from days long ago, when she would watch him work with such gentle intrigue. The same quirk in her brow she’d don when she smiled blissfully, asleep on their workplace couch, nestled into her half-brother’s arm. The same deep blue eyes that pleaded with her mother to go to conventions with them.

“Viktor…” Her voice was more akin to breath.

A dead man.

The Herald brought his knee up, strong and fast into the pink one’s jaw. She didn’t see it coming; she didn’t have time to cough or sputter as she was knocked unconscious.

“VIOLET!” Caitlyn found her voice.

“Take her and leave,” the Herald warned. “I have set charges along the entirety of the alleyway. It is the last resort, but I am not afraid to arm them.”

It was a bluff, but an effective one at that. Caitlyn, still wide-eyed and pained, flicked her wrist with a signal. The other officers set to retrieve their own fallen comrades. She walked forward to Vi. The Herald undid the gravity charge that held her down, allowing for the Sheriff to help Vi rise from the floor. She was still dazed, although coming back to consciousness. Caitlyn murmured something to her, then began her walk back.

As they retreated, Caitlyn turned around one last time. “Viktor. They think you’re dead.”

“Viktor is dead.” The Herald raised the Hexclaw in warning. Caitlyn didn’t flinch. She turned away and continued along with her group.

Once the alleyway was clear, the Herald let his shoulders drop.

You did well. This is the next step to becoming what they all fear.

“And what is that?” His voice echoed against the empty passage.

Something they cannot comprehend. Something greater.

Once you evolve, there will be no need for any of them.

Let them go.

Chapter Text

I never strayed

Let it bury you away

In all your blame, in all your pain

I will carry you always

                       - Novo Amor

The evening had stretched on for too long now, Jayce reasoned. Although he’d become accustomed to late nights from his university days, he was getting older and his ability to stave through the night kept dwindling. Viktor never seemed to lose his ability to stay up, but Jayce had met his limit. He rose from the lounge’s couch, gathering his armful of documents, before returning to the main lab.

“Hey V.” Jayce swung around the doorframe to catch the other man just rising from his desk. He was clearly exhausted, the bags under his eyes inching closer to the same shade of eyeshadow Mel wore. Viktor looked upwards, dazed.

“Jayce,” Viktor said. He smiled so gently; any normal person wouldn’t have been able to notice the subtle turn of his lip. The way his eyes sung more sweetly than his expression. How his shoulders just barely dropped into a more comfortable position.

It was all about the subtleties with Viktor. Jayce found you had to learn how to notice them; how to cherish them. Viktor wasn’t devout of outward emotion, entirely the opposite. He still raised his voice in passion, glared indignantly with anger, or scowled in annoyance. But his happier emotions, his loving ones, were quiet. Jayce was reminded how much he loved Viktor in those moments.

How much he still did.  

The stone was cool against his jacketed back. Even with the finest down filling his coat, the winter chill sprung through as he sat at the base of the statue. Viktor towered behind him, his immortalized arm extended outward, pointing towards the undercity. The usual creeping vines and plants that grew at his legs had shrivelled away, replaced by a deep packing of snow. Jayce had only needed to clear a spot for himself.

He’d waited until Mel returned to bed. He had half a mind to leave before that, after the two sat in the living room, not saying a single word to one another. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to be comforted. He wanted to smash every china plate in the cabinet and howl until his lungs were bloodied. Neither could muster up any energy towards anything else but sitting. Existing. Basking in the light of new information that only sought to confuse them with tears caked dry on their skin. He simply asked if he could take some time to himself, and she’d said, “Of course, you can.”

There was no way he could be alive, but the sting of hope—in its unfortunate timing—had carved a bloody gash into his chest. If the cold wasn’t going to get him, first, maybe he’d bleed out.

As the sun rose further on the horizon, a glimmer from above him caught Jayce’s attention. Viktor’s bronze eyes caught the morning light and reflected the warm, yellow tones down. A cropping of snow melted just below his eyelid, water droplets falling down the stone’s cheek and hitting Jayce on the forehead.

Jayce scowled. “Are you pitying me?”

The stone did not reply.

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck. “…What am I supposed to do, now? Your work is still out there and now there’s someone impersonating you. You! The fucking madman—” He grit his teeth. “—you’d get a kick out of it, I think. Apparently, the guy monologues. Like a supervillain from those comics I made you read.” Jayce peered back up at the statue. The snow was gone from the bridge of his nose.

“God, V… what would you do, right now?” The only answer the statue had was the eternal point-and-stare towards Zaun. Jayce followed its direction towards the other city but shook his head.

“Mel would kill me,” Jayce responded as if the stone’s focus was a beckon. The thought stuck in his mind like glue as he sat there. He had no more words for the statue, just questions. So many questions.

If he went to Zaun, then what? He would bring his hammer and try to destroy the lab. Kill the man who masqueraded as his husband. Have another human being’s life weighing on his consciousness. Jayce flinched to remember the dying eyes of the Zaunite child.

This couldn’t be overlooked, though. He needed to do something . Jayce peered back up towards the statue, as if it had a better answer than “Zaun”. When no answer was given, Jayce cursed and rose from his seat. If he didn’t leave now, he might lose fingers. He shivered as a cold wind blew from behind him.

He thought of the forge, with its warm, inviting presence. Everyone in his life had described it more like sweltering, oppressive, but it sung of comfort to his body and mind. Even the small singes he’d get on his skin from stray embers helped cool him off. It grounded him.

Zaun was not the answer, but maybe the forge was.

It took him an hour and a half for the forge to fully spring to life. For such a large furnace, it took a long time for the coal to catch and burn. Even then, he had to wait until he could steady the temperature until he did not need to monitor it like a hawk. Any wrong move and the heat could die in the first stages.

While the fire caught, Jayce set to warming himself up. Even within the forge, he’d installed a heater in case it was too slow to power. He had stripped his gloves and set to bringing feeling back into his hands and face. Once the furnace reached its minimal heat, Jayce turned the space heater off and returned to the centre of the room. He stripped his jacket and shirt, placing them neatly on the chair next to his desk. He rounded his arms, stretching them out as he let the heat permeate deep into his skin.

Jayce placed himself in front of the large pulley attached to the air duct. He rubbed his hands together before taking hold of the lever. The first pull was always the most difficult, but once he started the rhythm of pulling and releasing, it became easier to manage. As the furnace got hotter, flakes of ash caught fire and sprang through the air. A few caught his skin, singing the hair on his arms and chest.

At its peak heat, Jayce had enough time to retrieve the crucible filled with metal shavings and transfer it into the heart of the furnace. He lifted the stone with a grunt, barely lifting it off the ground until he got to the edge of the opening. With his tongs, he made the final push of the container into the fire. It would take a while until it was molten and ready to mould.

Jayce wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The sweat had made its way down to the corner of his cheeks, where he lapped away the salty brine. So far, the forge was having the right effect. His brain wasn’t swimming in thoughts but stood present in his body with him. He felt every fibre of his being pulsing from the exertion. Endorphins kept the thinking away, for a while.

He walked along his worktop, passing his fingers over the metal tools. Even with the heat of the air, the tools stayed relatively cool against his finger pads. He rested upon a hammer— the hammer —the one that his father had passed down to him only days before their fatal travel through the mountains of Freljord. The hammer had seen him through his best and worst; his highest achievements and his lowest pits of despair.

He was not the only one to hold this hammer. Countless Talis men had wielded the same one with the intent to build something greater than themselves. Jayce didn’t really remember his grandfather; the old man had passed away early into his childhood. Another accident; something steel-refining related. His great-grandfather, if he remembered correctly, was killed from a freak explosion in one of the very first hammer mills. Every Talis man had wielded this hammer—every single one died at the hands of something they could not control.

Jayce had thought about this before. It was one of his waking nightmares—to not see his death coming before it struck him down. He’d stared death in the face before. He even tried to dance with it. Some sick, twisted part of him wondered if he had gone through with it and stepped off the edge, if he would’ve broken the cycle of Talis men and seen his death coming.

He couldn’t have been more glad that Viktor had saved him that evening.

It had taken him years, but he finally felt the joy in living. Part of it, at least. The forge helped—the forge was physical and yearned for his strength. He never needed to hold back. He could just work and create something entirely his own. That was meaningful enough.

Now, he had something he’d created with Mel on the way—the thought alone made him stop in his tracks. Jayce Talis was going to be a father and every time he thought about that, it made him freeze. Part of it was anxiety, even fear. There were books, lessons, and long conversations about parenting, but no practice. Nothing practical. He had one shot at this, and that was horrifying.

Jayce retrieved the crucible from the furnace with the tongs and poured the molten iron into the watery basin and mould. The metal was easier to handle, in comparison. If he ruined the shape of his design, he could always remelt and remould it. There were ways to reclaim the material and make something new once more. Children were not like that. Children were sponges and could not be reset. Children were fully other human beings that would be inspired by Jayce and everything he did and will do.

Jayce’s life suddenly felt a lot smaller than it once had. The water bubbled over, rapidly trying to escape from the red-hot iron. The steam billowed around him and rushed over his skin, wiping away the sweat in favour of the new condensation. Jayce’s stomach turmoiled as the water did around the mould. He thought he might be sick if he hadn’t only had coffee for breakfast four hours earlier. His child would take after him. Maybe they’d just take after his enthusiasm for their passion. Maybe they’d be just as headstrong and confident, if not a little naïve. At least Jayce could say he wasn’t oblivious to his naivete. But maybe they’d take after his stubbornness and need to be correct. Maybe they’d take after his anxious personality. Maybe they’d be too much like him, standing at the edge of their own tattered apartment.

Jayce yelled as he kicked the side of the furnace. He immediately regretted it, dropping down and clutching his foot. He’d gone through this already—countless conversations with a therapist to help quell those nerves. He wasn’t going to screw this up. He cared too much to make a mess out of this. So many other parents just didn’t care. He cared. He cared so much.

The metal had cooled by now, ready to be mounted and heated once more until Jayce could shape it into something. Maybe a sword—Jayce had made tons of swords when he first learned to work the forge. He couldn’t retrieve it, not with his mind racing like this. If there was a part of this process to consider the most dangerous, this was it. He didn’t need to destroy one of his limbs just because he began fussing.

Mel was there. She’d always be there, and that thought always helped. From the very beginning, they agreed this was a joint job. Jayce saw first-hand how much his mother had worked as the only provider. He wouldn’t be alone in this task with Mel there, and he wouldn’t let her take all the responsibility of their child. Hell, their plan was for Mel to be the one to keep her job on the Council while Jayce stayed home, after the first eight weeks. It was calming to know that she’d also influence their kid, as Jayce saw her strengths in all their might. Their kid would learn to be resilient, knowledgeable, and self-persisting. They’d be able to take on any task they set their mind to. Maybe they’d also be as radiant as the sun, as she was. The flurry in his stomach started to decrease.

And their other father... Jayce hoped they would learn something from the countless stories he reminded himself of. They’d learn how to work through any problem they set their mind to. To look to help those in need of it, and to be mindful of those who grew up in worse circumstances. Jayce had already discussed with Mel his plans to introduce them very lightly to the undercity. He felt safe in the streets he knew, but only those. The ones lined with shops he used to get swindled in. He’d take Vi and Caitlyn, surely, and Mel, too, if she wanted to go. He just wanted them to know the place where their other dad grew up. He wanted them to remember the father they never had the chance to meet. Jayce had to slap himself out of it before his thinking ran too rampant.

Finally, he felt in his own body again. He rose from the floor, shaking out his shoe as the pain subsided. The furnace had dropped its temperature significantly through his spiral, so he set to reheating it with the air pump. Each strain of muscle elicited a groan as his muscles ached. Once the glow of the forge met his approval, Jayce stopped pulling. As he turned to retrieve the metal bar with the forge tongs, the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He turned around to catch a person entering the workshop.

“Of course I’d find you here,” Caitlyn called out, a knowing smirk gracing her face as she stepped into the orange glow of the furnace.

Jayce called out, a little too loud, “You were looking for me?” It was hard to regulate his volume with only the angry sounds of stone and metal echoing around him.

“I went back to your place,” Caitlyn started, leaning back onto Jayce’s workshop table, “You weren’t there.”

Jayce sighed, abandoning the metal to meet her halfway. He crossed his arms as he sat on top of his anvil. “No, I… I needed a moment.”

“I know. I figured. Mel was painting when I arrived. She wasn’t one for visitors, either.” Caitlyn pursed her lips. “I… I didn’t like how we left our conversation.”

“Me neither.” Jayce knew they meant for different reasons, but he let Caitlyn start. He watched her shift slightly, uncomfortable in the heat.

“Gods how can you stand this…” she mumbled. She met his gaze again. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I need you to understand that… I’m sure of this.”

Jayce tried to stop his lip from twitching but failed. “How can you be?”

“Mannerisms, tone, accent… even under a voice modulator.”

“The guy was using a voice modulator? You understand that doesn’t help your case—”

“Jayce,” Caitlyn shot back, “I’ve been doing this work for close to six years now. I’ve been trained to look deeper than the surface, use the facts presented to me, and find out the answer. That’s what made me the youngest Sheriff in Piltover’s history. Not my family. Not you. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t believe it outright myself.”

“I understand that.” Jayce bit back a snarl; he didn’t want to be cross with her. He didn’t want to shunt a further divide between them. Work was already accomplishing that. “What I’m saying is that it’s just… Do you know what V and I did for the first two years of Hextech?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “No, I think you’ve told me this one before. But I can’t recall.”

“Math. All we did was math. Nothing practical—the university wouldn’t allow it—until we had more concrete numbers under our fingers. Anything from empirical measurements to theoretical equations for how the Hexcrystals could work. And the biggest amount of time was spent on—”

“Statistics,” Caitlyn cut him off. “I do remember.”

“Yes.” Jayce noticed the forge was dying but continued onwards. “Statistics. I never took much time in the statistical courses I took. Viktor was a mathematical madman. I’ve never seen someone understand numbers so fluidly. It took me years to keep up with him… well, if I’m being honest, I don’t think I ever actually got to his level.”

The two shared a chuckle. Caitlyn sighed, “I do remember that; I think he helped me once with my math work for school. It sounded like he was speaking in tongues.”

“Yeah? How do you think I felt, working in the highest math available? He did complex derivatives for fun. The statistics part literally felt like a game to him. That’s all we did for two whole years.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“It was,” Jayce admitted, “but I would do it all over again. A hundred times over. But Cait—” He met her gaze again. “—there’s no way he could be alive. I’ve seen the improbable happen. This is beyond that.”

Caitlyn’s humour fell with her smile. She shuffled her feet. “I won’t be able to convince you.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” Jayce admitted. “This is still a problem, though. I think we need to discuss our next steps. The charges that were set in the alleyway—this man is dangerous. We need to protect our people.” Our people , he thought with a shiver. He thought he outgrew that language.

“That we can do. It’s nearly ten now—”

“What?” Jayce’s eyes flew open, peering over her shoulder. He couldn’t see the sunlight pouring through the hallway—the door must’ve been closed.

“What time did you think it was?” She scoffed.

“Time likes to get away from me—regardless. I should get back home.”

“Can I join you? I’d like to part ways with Mel a bit more positively.” She moved from the table, resting a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Even with everything going on, I want… I miss what we all used to have. You’re still family, and while I’ve tried to be professional I—” There’s a gentle mistiness in her eyes. “Mel is, too. We’ve been so formal for such a long time. I think we all need some normalcy. Something away from all of these… politics.” She says the last word with venom. Jayce can’t bring himself to vocally agree, but he certainly feels it too. It’s been biting through his chest for years now, even without a seat on the council. Even Mel, who seems to feed off it, is getting worn. Everyone needs a reprieve from their day jobs. They’ve been on the clock relentlessly.

Jayce just nodded and gathered his belongings. They waited until the forge died to a safe temperature, then Jayce put on his shirt and coat for their departure. As they stepped out of the forge, Jayce felt the inviting heat leave his body.

Reality rushed back to him like the sharp, winter air.

The forge was not far from the Medarda estate building. While they walked to Bluewind Court, Jayce and Caitlyn kept a comfortable silence between them. It had begun to snow again.  At the edge of the Court’s entrance, Jayce spotted a few children playing in the fresh powder. It was too loose to pack into snowballs, so they tossed handfuls of powder at each other in futile attempts to begin a war.

Caitlyn smirked, nudging Jayce in the shoulder as they passed. “Are you excited for your own?”

Jayce nodded, grinning sheepishly. “More than. Although, I think my mother’s excitement trumps both mine and Mel’s. Do you know she’s made us over fifteen hand-sewn sleeping swaddles?”

Caitlyn chuckled. “Of course she would! That’s the same woman who knit my whole family sweaters for the holidays. I still don’t know how you got those measurements to her—”

“You think that was me?” Jayce snorted. “Ximena Talis works in mysterious ways. I had no part in that.”

As they approached the bottom of the building, nodding to the doorman and stationed enforcers, Caitlyn said, “I still have mine. I wear it every Winterfest.”

“She’ll be over the moon to hear that one.” Jayce opened the door for her. “Do you want, maybe… gods, we haven’t done this in years—do you want us to host a Winterfest night?”

Caitlyn stepped into the entryway, knocking off the snow on her boots. “A famous Medarda soiree?”

“No, no.” Jayce followed her suit. “Something small, just for our families. You and Vi.”

“Families?” Caitlyn smirked, “Could you even call Vi and I a—”

“You’ve been dating for five years, it counts enough. And I meant for your father, too. My mom. Anyone you work with who’s close to you. I imagine Mel will want to invite her old assistant and her new family.” Jayce hit the penthouse button for the elevator.

“I’d like that.” Caitlyn bumped her shoulder into Jayce’s again. “A lot.”

“It’s a deal.”

The elevator ride felt slower than usual, matching the languid speed of Jayce’s thoughts. They came and went, not giving him much time to dwell on anything in particular. The off-tune ping of reaching the penthouse floor roused him from his thoughts. Caitlyn stepped out ahead of him.

“Your door is open,” Caitlyn said.

“What?” Jayce didn’t hear her.

“Your door, it’s—” Caitlyn stepped forward, “—would Mel leave the front door open?”

“No, she…” Jayce followed her and saw the front door of the apartment. The door wasn’t just open, there was splitting at the door handle. The hardwood was splintered and cracked around the handle, which Jayce couldn’t even think possible. He wouldn’t even be able to put a dent in the wood if he really tried.

His feet moved before he did. Caitlyn called something out, but it didn’t reach him. Nothing was reaching him. He didn’t know what he was doing or what he was thinking except for one thought—Mel. He needed to get to Mel. He needed to see her. He needed to see her all right. This was just some freak accident. This was her mother showing up uninvited and ripping their door open. This was something Hextech related. This wasn’t—it isn’t… Jayce flew through the door frame to find the apartment pristine. Mel was sitting on the couch.

She was fine. No injuries. No anger. No fear. She was looking off into space, towards the kitchen as if lost in thought. She’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine.

“Mel?” Jayce squeaked through his laboured breaths. She did not turn to him.

She’s not fine.

“Mel? Are you okay? Why is the door open?” Jayce rattled through questions, scanning over her. She was wearing shoes, which was odd. She chided him so often when he forgot to remove his own at the doorway. She glanced up at him with dull eyes. Her breath was steady.

Jayce heard Caitlyn close the front door behind her as he kept asking, “Mel, I need you to talk to me. What happened?”

Something glimmered in Mel’s open hand, folded neatly in her lap. Slowly, a look rose to the surface under her eyes. It was something Jayce had never seen before from her, an odd sort of acceptance and realisation completely out of her control. As if she’d been told a dark, forbidden secret of the cosmos. She was grappling. She was coping. So sturdy was the mental fortress of Mel Medarda, that when Jayce finally saw it disrupted, he did not recognize it. The world had been flipped upside down, and she was recorrecting it.

“He gave this back,” she murmured, reaching out her hand. Jayce opened his hand to receive it; it felt warm in his palm. Metal, being heated by her own grasp for however long she’d been holding it. Jayce sat down on the couch next to her, eyeing the piece in his hand.

At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Silver, familiar etches in the inner portion, and bright blue stones embedded into the outer ring clasped a cold grip over his throat. Every step he took in his mind to realise what he was looking at felt like wading through a swamp. His breath felt heavy in his lungs as it became harder to catch.

He thought he’d never see this again. It would’ve been melted and burnt into whatever grotesque corner of the rubble he’d pushed through. Whatever distinguishable traces were left would’ve been cleared and dumped by the mourning city. It shouldn’t exist.

It shouldn’t exist.

It shouldn’t exist.

“Jayce.” Mel’s voice pulled his attention upwards. Whatever solid ground she’d found before he returned was gone; she looked raw. Disbelief etched itself into every corner of her expression. Her body was tense and her grip unyielding on Jayce’s arm.

“He wanted to return this back to us, in exchange for something.” She explained, her voice slowly unravelling at the seams. The usually paced, refined cadence fell apart into a rough, patchy squabble.

He. Jayce found his voice had entirely evaporated.

“I thought it was destroyed , Jayce. I thought it was gone , and yet he said it called to him—that thing…” Her voice never raised, but Jayce winced at the anger laced freely through her words. “How long has that thing been in our vault?”

It took Jayce a few steadying breaths before he could ask, “What thing?” Mel just watched him, incredulously, waiting for him to connect the wires himself until—it struck him like a fray of untamed magic. He hadn’t thought about it in years. What turned into a sentimental reminder—Viktor’s last contribution to this world—scared him too deeply and was resigned to the confines of the Medarda vault.

He never meant to keep it a secret. Sometime down the line, he’d told Mel about his promise to Viktor. That he’d destroy it. He explained that he hadn’t, and Mel made him promise that he would. He’d keep his promise—in life and death. But every time he ventured into the vault, unlocked the chest that contained the writhing metal mass, he found himself incapable.

There was something alive within the Hexcore. It whined and slinked back every time Jayce raised his hammer and almost seemed to sigh with relief whenever he lowered it. He hated how desperate it felt. How human. How… how his mind seemed to conflate whatever was left of Viktor with that . It wasn’t him; it wasn’t even human—it was some horrid trick. Preying on whatever weakness still bound his wrists in steady iron.

Jayce felt those bindings tighten on him with Mel’s grasp. The implications of her words, the existence of the ring, and the persistence of the Hexcore—Viktor was alive.

Viktor was alive.

Something—maybe Jayce, maybe the Hexcore, maybe the will of an unforgiving universe—kept him alive and he was here. Physically in the space they’d shared so much love and longing years ago. Where he might’ve felt some joy or hope, like he had once before, was lost completely to his senses.

The way Mel looked at him at that moment, filled with desperate, apologetic contempt, made sure of it.

Viktor was alive; he had returned his ring.

Whatever was left of him didn’t want them.

Chapter Text

She felt like she’d been drained.

Stuck up to dry in the sun, completely shrivelled of life and understanding. Like one of the sweet grapes left on the vine for too long, forgotten as her brothers and sisters are sent off to make bitter wine.

The only thing more bitter would be the truth that befell Mel’s mind. She would have never believed that Viktor was alive. Jayce could break it down to a science; Mel could say she just knew. Intuition, reality, and years of reliving the trauma had cemented that fact thoroughly. The only thing that could possibly break that foundation would be if the man showed himself directly to her. Stood right in front of her, showed himself, and made it clear that of her suffering was a falsehood.

As Jayce turned the ring over in his calloused fingers, silently observing the impossible, Mel tightened her grip. The bitter ichor from her mind dripped down the back of her sinus onto her tongue, filling her mouth, throat, and lungs with putrid understanding.

“Jayce,” she said, mustered through the vile and sticky sap. As Jayce looked at her, he recoiled. He could see it—could see what she was feeling. The dread. The lies. The anguish. She could barely continue. “He wanted to return this back to us, in exchange for something.”

She bit her lip on the last word, something. “I thought it was destroyed, Jayce. I thought it was gone. And yet, he said that it called to him—that thing…” She saw a flash of purple. Of something mewling and hissing like a cat, but unlike anything she had ever seen before.  Revoltingly more otherworldly than it had ever been. At one point, it looked like a machine. Something easily identifiable as Hextech. Something even more identifiable as one of Viktor’s greatest accomplishments. It was masterfully crafted and artificed, elegant with its inner rings and immeasurably complex. At least to Mel, probably less so to Jayce. Viktor understood it the most out of anyone, and even then, he hadn’t.

Mel stopped herself. She looked into Jayce’s eyes, trying to pull the last strings together. Trying to parse the 'why'. He was allowed to keep things to himself and allowed the comfort of privacy when he needed it. But this was different. As much as they still had their private corners, they were confidantes. The metal rings adorning their fingers made that clear.

Not only that—he had lied outright and broken a promise. Viktor’s promise, and her own, to follow through with the act. Jayce said it was gone. Destroyed. That it fizzled out and he incinerated what was left.

“What thing?” Jayce’s reply felt like a punch to the gut. He knew… he must know, she thought. She scanned his face for any recognition until it clicked. The same bitter truth made him wince and bite the inside of his cheek. His eyes flared open, like a trapped rabbit. “Mel, I—”

“You lied, Jayce,” She croaked. She thought she might start to cry, but the tears never came. She’d run clear out.

Jayce winced. “… I did.”

“Why?” Why, why, why?

“Because it was a part of him!” Jayce said, exasperatedly, “It… it was so alive, I thought—if… If any part of him was still alive, it was that.”

“You saw that thing!” She removed her hand from his arm, covering her mouth. “Were you going to keep it there?” Her voice started to shake. “For how long, Jayce? How long until you would tell me that it was still in our vault? Our home?” Her chest hurt. She placed her other hand along her stomach. Jayce’s eyes trailed down to follow it.

“Not… not forever. Not with the baby. I was going to move it to the forge.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” she said, shaking her head, “This thing has been here for years, festering. What if something had happened?”

“I checked on it. Occasionally. If I thought anything would happen, I—"

“No, Jayce, we have NO idea what it can do!” She finally shouted, “You have no idea!”

“And, what, you do?” That stung. Mel snivelled.

“I saw what it did to him,” she spat. She could never unsee it. How flesh and metal mixed along his arm, pulsing with an inhuman purple hue. How his eyes had gone completely black, save for familiar golden irises. How little there was left of his skin. How it looked like he was breathing fire from the orange mechanics deep in his esophagus.

“You…” Jayce recoiled. “You did?”

Mel bit her lip. She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to consider the pain and anguish Viktor was likely going through. How her own skin screamed in pain just looking at it.

“Mel,” he said, reaching for her hand. She batted it away. She couldn’t… not right now. “Could you please tell me what happened?”

“No… no Jayce, I need—” Mel sighed, looking back at him. Just then, she noticed Caitlyn over his shoulder a few paces away, looking down at the floor.

“Please, Mel, please,” he practically begged. “I want to know. I… I need to.”

Mel grimaced. He didn’t need to know anything.

He didn’t…

He—

Mel had only gotten a cat’s nap worth of sleep. Her body felt sluggish after telling Jayce it was okay to leave her be. He could use some solitude; she could get some rest. Yet her body never let herself dip into slumber, just hovering painfully above it.

She had been made raw from what Caitlyn had said. Nothing was there to protect her from an impossibility. She only needed to remind herself that it was just that, an impossibility. Yet her brain had taken every liberty to be devout of fluid thought.

Time had surely passed. The sun hadn’t broached over the horizon yet, but a small ray of light broke through her curtains to indicate the arrival of dawn. She stayed in bed, determined to keep the morning’s approach at bay.

From below her hand, she felt a shift. Before she knew it, she felt a larger kick from within her. Even now, almost through her term, the feeling was odd. In fact, everything had felt slightly off for the past few months.

Mel’s emotions would come in waves. Some days, she’d be quietly blissful and excited. She knew there would come a time when motherhood would be expected of her, especially with such a large estate, name, and standing, but one of the greatest liberties her standing as the richest person in Piltover was that it was on her decision alone. Jayce only needed to bring the idea forth for it to be accepted willingly. Motherhood was something she was determined to do right. In her happier moments, this was easier to convince herself of.

When her emotions dipped, she wasn’t quite sure how to make sense of it. Feelings of resentment, anger, melancholy—even as deep as depression and rage filled her heart. Her midwife confirmed it was normal. Those feelings, while stemming from truths of anxiety, were hormonal. She offered the advice to not bottle it, to seek out counselling or confide in Jayce, but when those feelings became so rancid and unspeakable, she kept them closer than secrets.

In other advice, her midwife cautioned to avoid stress. Mel wanted to cackle—avoid stress? In the current political turmoil that was Piltover? And now, with Caitlyn’s insinuation, stress was unavoidable entirely. She stressed over the enforcers and how they’d recover, about the experimentation on Piltovian children, and over Jayce. Over herself. Over the man who disgustingly pretended to be someone else.

Mel knew what Caitlyn was capable of. The council recounted the story of her dealings in Zaun several times over, to analyze the past for Jinx’s current moves. Caitlyn was brilliant and capable, and on a more personal note, she was kind and caring. Mel didn’t want to be cross with her, but it was difficult not to. It had already been so difficult to cope with the fact that Viktor was truly gone. While Caitlyn’s intentions had been nothing but good, it did little good when her words left Mel so painfully devout of emotion.

The quiet patter of the room was starting to get to her. The walls were sturdy, there were no cracks in the windows, and there were no pets to be making the small noises that seemed to permeate the space. In the quiet, they became deafening. She’d gone so far as to make Jayce investigate, but he claimed he couldn’t hear the noises. Just the wind or the floors creaking, he reasoned. There wasn’t anything anyone could do, except force Mel to move when it became too uncomfortable.

Mel gently rose from the bed, being careful to shift the heavy weight off her back as she sat up. She slipped on her slippers, but paused, primed for her departure. The noises seemed to stop for a moment, matching her quiet mind in turn. An easy breath of air filled her lungs, and for just a moment, she felt oddly serene.

As the moment passed, Mel rose from the bed. She minded her knees particularly as she stood. The midwife had commented on how large her stomach was, and had easily dismissed it as a concern. A strong Talis-Medarda baby, she reasoned. Mel chuckled at the thought, but it was quickly swept by anxiety at the thought of a large kid making its way out.

If there was one medical discovery Mel could be grateful for, it was painkillers.

With one step towards the door, Mel paused. It couldn’t be hidden by the quiet din of the apartment: she heard a knock.

Jayce had taken his keys, she thought mournfully. This was someone else. Mel wanted none of it.

Almost in response, Mel sat back down on the bed. They would have to wait and come back later. It was still ridiculously early in the morning for visitors and Mel could lie and say she was out with her husband or asleep.

She waited. Another knock. She waited further. Once more, this time, painfully loud. Mel scrunched her brow and ran her hand along her face.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” she called out through the open door. Painfully, she rose to her feet again. As she began to approach, she stopped with a sudden CRACK.

Wood. The sound of cracking wood. Another CR-CRACK, until Mel realized it was coming from her own front door. It heaved outwards, pulled back with immense, incredible force. There was bickering from beyond the doorframe—almost chastising. The door slammed back into place, still inwardly concave around the handle. Another knock came.

Mel did not approach the door. She cursed herself that she even called out. Whatever was behind her door was dangerous and she questioned how they got past the building’s guards. In measured steps, Mel reached within a cabinet that she usually kept locked tight. Inside, she drew a delicate pistol built just for her. A weapon crafted special from the Kirammans. She only used it once when she was training years ago.

With easy precision, she loaded the gun and kept it at the ready. Mel watched the front door with growing fear, her legs just beginning to quake from standing too long.

The knocking had stopped but was replaced by clinking metal. Mel moved around the couch towards the kitchen, ducking into a dark enclave from the archway. She kept a steady, horrified eye on the door as the lock mechanism clinked open.

The front door opened. From the immediate darkness came an ominous orange glow.

“I’m armed!” She warned, calling out into the darkness. “Leave, this is trespassing and is in direct violation of Piltover Law and the Ethos. You have no idea what you’ve walked into.” Idiot house robbers, she hoped, but the pragmatist in her knew very well they weren’t.

The orange light grew until Mel could focus on two, glowing eyes. They scanned through the apartment until they settled on her.

“I think it would be wise for you and the others to disarm yourselves.” A robotic, intimidating voice came from the glowing spectre. Zaunite. Familiar.

Mel paused. “Trust me when I tell you I will shoot on sight. Leave, NOW.” She let her vitriol rip through her voice. She knew who she was looking at: the masquerader. The gall for him to enter her home… she thought to shoot him on the spot. But she was not a murderer; he’d have one more chance.

“Bullets will do little, Medarda.” The man entered her home entirely. He was armoured from top to bottom, save for a tuft of wildly, brown hair peeking from behind his mask. “And I am aware of your abilities. I am not here to hurt you or any others.” He was too tall, she recognized. It helped squash down the anxiety but doubled over into fear. A stranger had entered her home.

“Others?” Mel didn’t dare to lower the gun.

“I see several heartbeats over there, hm?” He questioned, walking forward. Mel swung from the corner, pointing the gun directly at him.

“It is only me. But let that be enough.” Mel hissed. “You are intruding.”

The visage stayed put. He seemed to be frozen looking down at Mel, almost entranced.

“Three figures, rising in the elevator.” A mechanical voice from the hallway warned. Mel did well to hide her smirk but was glad to know that her enforcers noticed something awry.

The figure seemed to shake himself free from his trance. “Blitzcrank, come inside and close the door.” His gaze turned back to Mel. “You want them alive, yes? I would tell them, when they knock, that you are perfectly alright. I am not here to hurt you, I am just here to make a… barter. And then I’ll be gone, yes?”

He stepped forward once. “Unless you’d like another building to come falling down? Cast out limited magic and only be able to save a few?” Her eyes flew open—the building. He must’ve set explosives somewhere as coverage. The thought of stone and ash crumbling around her again made her feint.

Mel snarled, “There are innocents in this building—”

“And you can save them. We just need to talk and make a trade.” The masked figure sat down on the couch, not bothering to check that it was behind him. Like he owned the place.

Mel seared with anger. As a large automaton, a metal monster, entered her home and closed the door, she exhaled sharply. The thing looked equally as dangerous, with spikes around its shoulders and large enough limbs to kill an enforcer just by swinging. It was too dangerous. She could, at least, protect herself if need be. Her magic could not protect every soul in the building.

Soon enough, there was a loud knock at the door.

“Yes?” Mel called out, keeping her gaze firm on the masked invader.

“Sorry, councillor! We saw the elevator rise to this floor, but we didn’t let any individuals through. Are you alright?”

Mel responded immediately, “I’m fine, thank you for checking. But please do a sweep of the lower floors. They may have exited before the elevator reached the top.”

“Yes, councillor!” A new voice called out. The retreating sound of footsteps left her and the intruders alone. The metal golem posted itself against the door, restricting any retreat.

“Why don’t you sit?” The masked figure gestured to her chair. “I did not realize you were pregnant. You should take the weight off your back.”

She kept the pistol’s dutiful aim on the man, but Mel complied. She felt like she might buckle if she stood for too much longer. As she sat in the chair, the invader crossed his legs. 

“How far along are you?” He asked.

“I don’t think it’s your place to ask that.”

“Please, Medarda. I am only trying to be friendly.” He offered out his hand in a sweeping gesture, his claws glinting in the muted light of his eyes.

“… I am due in a few weeks.” Mel bit her cheek.

“Ah.” The invader leaned back. “And these are your first?”

“Have you not been here very long?” Mel almost wanted to laugh. “To my own chagrin, my life has been publicized since I first arrived here. I feel like most people I meet already know these things.”

The invader stayed very still.

Mel waited, until it was a second too long, and responded slowly, “Yes, she’s my first.”

“She?”

“Just a guess.” Mel shifted, trying to get more comfortable. “Now, obviously you’re not here for small talk, so how about you get to the point and leave me be? My husband will be coming home soon, and you won’t get the same liberty I gave you with the enforcers.”

Mel became painfully aware of one thing as she sat with the invader. Being masked, she couldn’t read his face. He sat so incredibly still; she couldn’t even read his body language. He was a blank slate entirely, save for the lilt of his voice. Even then, it was devout of major emotions. The only thing she could tell that separated the man from machine was his hair. It kept her gun trained on him and her implants burning with uncertainty.

“Ah. Business. So very like you, Medarda.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Hm, interesting. So, you do not know who I am?”

Every cell in Mel’s body wanted to surge forward, to rise in anger and stare down the man who masqueraded as her love. “You are a liar. That’s who you are. You have no idea who he was, or who I am.”

The figure leaned back. “Maybe you are right. Maybe I don’t know you, Medarda. After all, we’ve had how many conversations now? I thought I understood you, I thought I broke down the woman who had the gall to ask for weaponry against my own homeland. I thought I knew her in the ways I thought I knew Talis.” Mel’s heart sunk. How did he know about… any of that?

“I have not heard about the serializations of your life, no,” the invader admitted, “I keep away from news and politics across the river when I can. I look to help the people of Zaun alone. With the states being divided, very little of your quarrels concern me. Unless, of course, they directly interfere with what I am trying to do.

“But you, Medarda. You are not actively involved. And yet you perpetuate the system, do you not? I thought I knew you, as a survivor of terrors beyond my own scope. Not by the trial of poison or poverty, but by war and death. You very well know how to manage a war. How to manage death. But do you not realize that your council has permitted atrocities that you have sworn against yourself. Surely you remember the catastrophic chemical explosion a few years ago?”

Mel did not need to rack her brain; she remembered the event distinctly. Slowly, she lowered her weapon and nodded. While the barrel still pointed towards him, Mel couldn’t seem to raise it anymore.

“Obviously you were not the one to make the fatal mistake that brought the factory down. You did not own the factory, nor did you invest in the chemicals being made there. But you were on the council, and what did the council do?”

Mel answered, “We sent supplies and doctors, as a diplomatic hand—”

“Barely anything. It was barely enough to help the children affected in the area.” The masked man cut her off. “You even agreed to this plan.”

“We thought it was enough, with the understanding Zaun was independent. We acted independently, too, but we still aimed to help.”

“Yet Piltovian elite had the factory built, staffed, and profited off. How can you claim our independence when you still feed off our product?”

“It was a horrible tragedy, and if this is where you stem from, then I am genuinely sorry,” Mel said, “but I am not understanding how entering my space and threatening my life will do anything to change that.”

The masked figure laughed. Even his laugh sounded too much like Viktor’s. “I am not here to threaten you, Medarda. I am also not here to debate politics. I tell you this story because I thought I knew you. I thought you had promised me change for my people; genuine, good, holistic change. Since you’ve not made good on that promise—”

Too far. He’d gone too far. Mel spat, “I promised you NOTHING. You act like a man who is dead and puppet his ghost around for, what, independence that’s already been granted? Money into a corrupt system that has barely any clear formation? Your state is run by barons who meet on their own will and barely string along a set of laws that they change on a whim. Your state is still young, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. Zaun asked for independence—this is the cost of that!”

“And even though Piltover has been established for hundreds of years, how different is it, really?” The figure leaned in, challenging her, “And you did promise me. In fact, I think it was in this very apartment.”

“STOP THAT!” Mel shouted, standing to her feet. She could not help herself, she could not stay civil when this… thing was clearly taunting her.

“Medarda, you shouldn’t make any sudden movements,” the man said. “I can see their heartbeats. They’re too fast. You’ll exert yourselves and them, and I am in no place to call a doctor or your midwife.”

“You are not him.” Mel spat. “How beyond disgusting that you could ever think to be anything LIKE him.”

“I am flattered you thought so highly of me—”

“You are NOTHING.” Mel stepped forward once more. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something along the man’s arm. Between the metal plating, there was a gleam of orange. A kink in the armour, perhaps. Mel stuttered, “Viktor… Viktor is dead. I will not stand for this charade. You will state what you so wish to state, and then you will leave.”

From the metal plating, it almost sounded like the man sighed. “So be it. I would like something of mine from years ago. Something unrightfully kept. May you escort me to your vault? And in return, I have something from your past that you might want.”

Mel paused. “What?”

The masked man met her gaze again. “I will give it to you once you trade me the Hexcore.”

“I can promise you, it’s not down here.” Mel restated as they walked down the basement’s winding halls. It was dimly lit, but the glow from the masked man helped illuminate the way.

“Then I will see for myself.”

“Gladly.” Mel was ready to be rid of this interloper. As they approached the vault door, Mel retrieved her set of keys from her coat. It took four separate locks to open, but it was the safest possible model. Even then, the most important of her belongings were stored within the Piltover reserve. As the door clunked open, the masked man pushed past her.

“It is a mess in there.” She warned. She bit back comments on his informality and rudeness, not wanting to upset him. Gods only know what he might be capable of.

Inside the vault, there was a litany of boxes and chests. Most were Jayce’s old belongings, things from the original Hextech lab that could no longer be stored in the university. Once he moved to more permanent lodgings, most of his equipment had been upgraded. Although, Jayce was sentimental and kept most of the old gear as well. Some things were Mel's, with a stack of old paintings and unfinished works-in-progress leaned against the back wall.

The man didn’t dwell on many boxes. Instead, he walked directly to a singular chest in the center of the room. It was unobstructed and clear of dust. Mel hitched her eyebrow—she didn’t recognize it.

“This is it,” the man confirmed. Mel looked between him and the chest.

“How can you be sure?” Mel questioned. Even she didn’t know what was in every box and crate within the space.

“I can hear it,” the man responded. “Can’t you?”

Mel took a moment to listen but found nothing. “No. It’s silent.”

“Hm. Maybe your arcane intuition is not as strong as I thought it was,” the man said.

Mel scoffed, “I don’t know why you think you can assume anything about m—”

“SHUT UP.” The man suddenly shouted, cutting her off.

Mel gaped. “You have no right to—”

“Ah, apologies.” He cut her off again. The man’s demeanour changed, shifting towards her. “I was not speaking to you. Do you have a key for this box?”

No one else had spoken; Mel shook her head while mulling that thought in her mind. Something was distinctly wrong with how he was acting.

“Ahh. Then please, step back. I will open it.” The intruder gently shooed her back. To Mel’s horror, he produced a third arm from his spine. It spurled from behind him, unfolding into a metal claw that filled with the orange Chemtech lifeblood. She followed his instructions, almost tripping over a box behind her.

A sharp beam shot from the center of the claw. Mel raised her hand to prevent it from blinding her, but it left her with a dizzying headache. As her eyes readjusted, she found the mechanism that locked the chest fully melted through. The invader pried open the lid with intense strength, popping the chest open with a loud thunk.

The air became stale with a putrid rank. Mel gasped, scrambling to cover her nose as it filled her senses. She coughed and sputtered as the intruder reached forward into the chest, with a thick, glowing purple smog pouring from the edges. It moved quickly, filling the floor around her in an instant and seemed to be climbing her dress.

She found her eyes itchy as the gas rose, clouding her vision. Once it reached her ears, Mel froze—it was whispering. It spoke in a language unlike the Piltovian she had become so used to, nor the Va-Nox she grew up with, yet the whispers were clear. They spoke of power, of thanks, of freedom… she recognized the source, being different than any language that was ever crafted by man. It was arcane.

“What is that?” She managed to choke out, until the intruder retrieved the object.

A memory.

A bomb going off.

Another building crumbling down.

Mel had painted the Hexcore before. Once while it was a machine—when it was a dignified example of Viktor’s ingenuity. Once more, when trying to cope with the fact that the device had turned decrepit. Jayce had shown her and shared with her the promise he’d made only months prior to destroy it.

Like so many things, it should’ve been dead and gone. Destroyed and discarded.

It wasn’t a machine anymore. The inwardly curved purple brackets had delved further into themselves, turning into spiked claws protecting a heaving, breathing center. It bellowed smoke into the space with each sigh. The interloper raised it to eye level.

“Hello, old friend.”

Mel moved before she thought, raising her weapon in a flash. The glowing opening on the invader’s arm called to her—begged her to act. The door was wide open behind her. He was distracted. Mel was known to make the quick, concise, and correct decisions in their darkest hours on the Council. They were not snap decisions, there was thought behind every move, but to the unknowing eye—she worked swiftly. Firing the gun was too easily one of those decisions.

The shot sounded through the space as the bullet hit the region dead on, piercing into the otherworldly flesh beyond the metal armour.

The trespasser stammered back, cursing at the top of his lungs as orange Chemtech fluid mixed with human blood spurted from the wound. The device fell to the ground, squealing as it collided with a squelch.

Mel moved as quickly as her feet would let her, groaning in pain as her knees buckled beneath her. The flash of yellow eyes was followed by a clawed hand grabbing her arm. Mel whipped the pistol back, shooting off two more bullets, ricocheting off his mask. It dented just below his eye. With a flicker, the yellow glow disappeared from his mask as a strangled gurgle erupted beneath the metal plating.

With a weakened grasp, Mel broke away and scrambled towards the door. The metal automaton stayed still as she passed—not long enough for Mel to dwell on why it wouldn’t stop her. She skidded outside of the door, grasping onto the metal handle and heaving the door to shut it. As she looked in, she saw the intruder clawing at his mask, gasping like a fish.

A single claw hooked behind the plating and pulled with such ferocity that the mask flew clear across the room with a thunk. As it was removed, the invader took in a long gasp, like he’d been drowning. His mouth glowed with the same ominous orange hue as the rest of the Chemtech that pulsed through his body. His scleras looked like they were bled with ink, leaving only golden coins for irises.  Brown, wildly hair—just shy of beginning to grey—swept forward beside his eyes. Right above his lip, next to the metal plating replacing his cheek, was a small beauty mark.

Mel could only pause to stare.

Viktor stared back at her with deep, profound sadness etched into every corner of his expression.

Mel stopped moving. The door stayed halfway open. She doubled over once, clutching her stomach as her heart began to race.

“Please,” he said, with the voice of a ghost, “He is dead. Do not be fooled.”

Mel felt herself sinking to the floor. Someone was shouting. The world went topside and dark.  

A songbird sang on her balcony, chirping a familiar tune. A lullaby she’d heard once.

“What tune is that?” Mel asked, twirling her fingers through her lovers’ hair. Jayce stayed soundly asleep, his breathing minute and slow.

“A lullaby. My mother’s lullaby.” Viktor responded.

“Oh? You’ve never sung before, dearest. I don’t think I’ve heard you.”

“No… no, you haven’t.”

“Oh…” Mel responded. The singing from the balcony continued, although it stayed oddly familiar. She almost felt she knew the lyrics, in Viktor’s native tongue, without knowing what the words meant.

The sunset cast the room in a calming, orange hue. A glowing dance of firelights. A deceiving glance. Mel let herself fall back to sleep, fall back into the black abyss she’d succumbed to.

When she awoke, Mel was laid on the couch. She groaned, stretching out her sore legs as she reached out into the air. She must’ve passed out when Jayce had left. Her pleasant dream left her feeling wanting and achingly lonely. Any of her more peaceful dreams often did, whether Jayce or Viktor was in them. She could almost feel Viktor's mousy hair between her fingers again.

As his face flashed through her mind, she saw it distorted. Older, malformed, half-metal. Her mind crept back to her initial nightmare. She flung her arm to her eyes, trying to wipe the pain from her face as she came back to reality.

“Take it slowly. You went down softly, backwards, but your blood rate is elevated from you fainting.”

Mel’s eyes flew open, turning to the side. Not a nightmare. His voice had regained its metallic quality as Viktor returned the mask to his face. The eyes of the mask were relit but still displayed a prominent gash below one. He sat in a chair from the dining room, brought close beside her. The metal automaton was nowhere in sight.

“You’re not dead?” Her throat hurt from dryness.

“Viktor is dead. The body is alive. I am not the man you once knew,” he explained calmly, as he did when explaining things in the lab. “My body is mostly metal and Chemtech, replaced by both myself and a few constituents I worked closely with. But another part of me is arcane. Surely you feel it?”

Mel twisted her eyes tight, “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Viktor, or whoever he was, sighed. He reached forward and used his other hand to unclasp his glove. It took a bit of effort, but he managed to remove it with one tug. The claws went limp as his true fingers were revealed. His skin, which Mel remembered to be fair and freckled, was purple and metallic. It did shine with arcane power, something unlike anything made in Piltover or Zaun, but Mel could not sense it. Viktor prompted his hand forward.

Mel was wary but reached out in kind. Just briefly, their fingers connected. Mel felt it, all in a moment, the suffocating presence of the universe. The dark nothing of death and the vast emptiness of space.

The void.

She had never felt anything like it before. It was only nameable because it was in every way the antithesis of what she was imbued with. The head of a coin understands that there is a tail behind it. Light only knows it is light because there is darkness to counter it.

As the magic fizzed away from their brief touch, Mel asked, “How did this happen?”

“The Hexcore unlocked the secrets of the void, not the arcane. I could not understand it because it was speaking in a reversed language. A sacrilegious one. It took a sample of my blood and gave me this hand. It takes the imperfect and makes it something more.

“It speaks in evolution.” Viktor retracted his hand, replacing the glove. “That is the language we share.”

“So, all these years you’ve been experimenting on yourself?” Mel asked, a growing pit of worry springing from her stomach.

Viktor did not shy away. “This was before the attack.”

Nothing could’ve prepared Mel for that. “How? When?”

“Days before the attack. A day before Sky went missing. Do you remember when Jayce and I had the breakthrough of the Hexcore and organic matter?”

“Of course.”

“I took measures and decided to use the device to transmute myself. Then once more. It was the worst possible thing I could’ve done and I…” Something crackled behind the mask, “I don’t regret what I did.”

Something heavy hung in those words. Mel could not raise herself to sit just yet but steeled her face when she asked, “Viktor. What exactly did you do?”

“Do not call me that.”

“What did you do?” Mel persisted.

Viktor leaned back in his chair. He sighed. Mel almost imagined a tremble in his arm. “Sky was there. When I tried it again. I could not save her. She died during the transmutation process.”

Mel inhaled sharply. “She didn’t die in the attack?”

“She went missing and never turned up. She was killed.”

“By you?” Mel asked. She needed to hear it. She needed some form of confession to even breach what Viktor was telling her.

“If you are asking if I am a murderer, Medarda, then that is beside the point. I have killed. Both intentionally and not.”

“I want to know if Viktor killed anyone.”

His reaction was instantaneous. He rose to his feet in a clamour, rageful, as he stared down at her. “He is DEAD. It does not matter.”

“Then why are you so perturbed?” Mel finally had the energy to rise from her place, sitting upright on the couch. “If Viktor is really dead—you’ll admit to me he was a murderer. Why can’t you say that?”

Viktor did not respond. He sat back in his chair.

Mel pulled a face, “He’s not dead, is he? Some part of you is still in there.”

“It won’t let me tell you,” Viktor whispered. It was almost lost to the silence with how quietly he spoke.

“What, the Hexcore?” Mel glanced around the space; the device was gone. “You’ve taken it.”

“Blitzcrank has taken it back to the lab. I told you I wanted to trade you.”

Mel narrowed her gaze. “What did you want to trade it for?”

Viktor moved slowly, reaching behind his tattered cloak and withdrawing a small, metal object. A ring. When Viktor extended his hand, Mel reached out with her own and retrieved it. Her matching one glimmering beneath it.

For something so minute, the statement rang clearer than any words he could’ve said. Mel recalled the evening Jayce had made his proposal—not one of marriage, but of a promise between the three of them. Even with their brief fall out that very evening, Viktor returned. He always returned.

“I never thought I’d see this again…” Mel whispered. She let the ring tumble out into her fingers, tossing and turning as slowly as her mind. Transfixed, it almost seemed to make sense at that moment. Viktor had survived, Mel had saved him, and he didn’t come back.

“You’re not dead,” Mel concluded. “You’re not dead, you didn’t die. But you never made yourself known to us.”

His head shot up, staring her down.

“Why?” She gasped, not noticing the sorrow creep up on her until it had leaped, “Why not tell us? We grieved publicly, I’m sure you’ve known, but do you know how much we’ve grieved in private? Jayce has been…” She let out a shaky, tear-filled sigh. “He hasn’t been himself. Not entirely. For years. I’ve mourned and toiled and counselled myself trying to make up for losing something so precious.”

His eyes did not leave her.

“And I’m angry!” She spat, “I was so upset, for so long! I convinced myself that it was my fault—I don’t even know how you survived! I thought I didn’t save you because I didn’t love you enough, which I knew wasn’t true.” She wished she could just see his eyes, really see them. “Did we not love you deep enough?”

“… I couldn’t bring myself to return.” His voice stayed at a whisper. “It kept getting harder.”

“Shame, then? You were shameful and bashful and idiotic?” Her temper kept flaring, “You made us suffer, especially after revealing yourself, and you tell me it was hard for YOU?”

Viktor sighed underneath his mask. He shuffled closer, bringing his hands together between his knees. “I was barely alive. I was told to keep living, I didn’t choose it. But I kept telling myself, once I get better—once my stomach was repaired, once my necrotized leg was removed and replaced, once I’d figured out how to cure my lungs and heart of years of breathing in gas and dust—I’d come back.”

“And you never got better?” Mel scoffed, rolling into a chuckle. A harsh, biting chuckle. “You never made good on your own promise to yourself?”

“It isn’t that simple.” His voice got dark. Mel watched in growing fear as Viktor raised from his chair. “You’ve done a lot to berate me, Medarda. You have all the claim to your own feelings and how you and Talis responded, but let it be known—it was my decision alone to not come back.”

He crossed the room, stopping at the edge of the veranda, which was covered with glass panelling for the season. “I didn’t just heal, but I found room for improvement. My quality of life could only be sustained if I took more drastic measures, and then I realized… I know my own body. I know how it ticks more personally than any doctor who ever dismissed me. The Hexcore understood this, too. So, I agreed to keep evolving, not just stay alive. After all, more people were in need of help.”

He put one hand on the glass, tapping his claws along the panel. “I’ve never seen the undercity in such a state of disarray. When I was young, things were bearable compared to now.”

“Bearable?” Mel asked, “From what you told me and from what I understood, it was anything but.”

“Then you understand how it has gotten immeasurably worse.” His glowing gaze settled back towards her. “To herald a child in Zaun today is to write theirs and your own death wish. Unlike up here.”

Mel’s hand floated to her stomach. “That’s not fair.”

“But it’s the truth.” Viktor turned, keeping his gaze locked on her. “You’ve been able to make that decision with Talis and now you reap your reward. They’ll be healthy and strong, and they’ll know nothing of Zaun. Like the rest of the seeds sewn by Piltover’s elite—they will not know the meaning of suffering. And now with this false independence… would they even have to know the state exists at all? Will you shield them from the horrors? Will you make false explanations at every terrorist attack?” He walked back to Mel. “Or will they seek out my constituents when their own bodies fail them and Piltover’s doctors cannot compare to what evolution has to offer?”

The words ricochet between them. Mel felt stunned—Viktor had thought this through carefully and concisely. “But you’re wrong,” she said.

“How so?”

Mel took a gulp of air, steadying her nerves. “They were always—always—going to know about you. It was the first decision Jayce and I made when discussing all of this. And with you comes all of you. Zaun, the fissures, what problems still sting like fresh wounds. I was never gifted a sheltered life. Jayce was, but he took the time to learn. And it wouldn’t make sense to give them, whoever they are—“ Mel clenched the fabric around her stomach “—an incomplete version of their other father.”

For the few moments that seemed to linger between them, Mel saw the crack in the armour. The slip of Viktor’s shoulders. The stuttering gasps that sputtered from his voice box.

“They were always going to know you.” Mel could feel the tears coming again. “They would’ve never been sheltered from the world they were born into. I thought you looked at us in higher regard than that.” The words stung, but he needed them to hear them. She thought he’d never be able to hear her speak that truth aloud. 

It took even longer for Viktor to respond. His shoulders rose back until he was at his full height again. Mel waited, with tears rolling down her cheeks as she sought out any sign that he was still there. Really there, not just a ghost of the man he once was.

Viktor finally spoke, long and droning, “If that is your intention, then I won’t stop you. But you should stop deifying a dead man.” The words didn’t strike until Viktor had already turned to leave, taking long strides towards the front entrance.

Mel swivelled, failing to grasp out and reach him. “Viktor—”

He spun on his heels, the whipping flash of his eyes burning like fire. He shouted, “DO NOT CALL ME THAT.”

Mel persisted, trying to reach out again, “Viktor, please…!”

Viktor took a step forward, but something had changed. Mel’s skin burned, flaring up with his approach. Golden tendrils sprung forth from her shoulders and back, whipping around her until she was dazzling in a coat of her own armour. Mel’s heart began to race, something had changed. Her own body deemed him as something dangerous. Something fatal.

He scoffed in return. “I am the machine herald, and you will refer to me as such, Medarda. I, at least, have the common decency to call you by your name.”

Between the shock and fury, Mel could only spit, “Talis-Medarda. I took his name, too.”

“…but you will always be a Medarda. And I will call you what you are.”

Mel only watched as the man left her apartment, not bothering to shut the door completely as he left. She took in a shaky breath, which felt like her first in the last few hours. It was shaky and tasted like iron. She probed her tongue in her mouth and found she’d bitten her cheek. She hadn’t even felt it.

The taste of blood. The lack of air. The staleness of the room. Mel could only sit and stew in it. The heavy, warm presence of metal in her palm was the only thing grounding her. She knew what she held. She knew what it meant. The golden shawl eventually fell from her back. She was left defenceless.

It had taken her days to tell the whole story to Jayce. She held back some parts, but only for the reason that she couldn’t yet explain them. She had no idea why she reacted to Viktor’s approach so negatively. Why his arcane energy was invisible to her until he touched her. That he touched her, at all. How Viktor sputtered under his mask. How he was most definitely still human, or at least, part of him was.

The turmoil alone had made her ill. A doctor was in and out of their home every day and her midwife took over the guest bedroom in their suite. Mel was told not to stress the baby, but all she could feel was stress. As much as she wanted Jayce there, Mel knew him. He was just as stressed and seemed to amplify it between them. After a week, it only made sense for Mel to move temporarily.

The Kirammans had been entirely welcoming to Mel’s arrival and stay. Jayce had offered his mother’s home, but Caitlyn knew more about the whole situation. It also gave Mel one of the most secure locations in Piltover, with a full security watch around the perimeters. She had been given Caitlyn’s old bedroom, a gorgeous, open-floored space with a large, plush bed and plenty of windows to watch the winterscape. Mel tried to convince herself that this was nice, it was almost a vacation. She could rest in similar luxury to her own and be treated like a queen in the last weeks of her term.

Mel found herself in silent tears every night. The bed was achingly empty. No warm bodies or reassuring words. No gentle grazes along her skin or nails through her hair. While the daytime was filled with easy activities and delightful conversations with Mr. Kiramman, the nighttime was her living nightmare of total loneliness.

On the fifth morning of this hell, Mel realized something.

Not a single nightmare had woken her since she'd seen the ghost.