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Chapter Text

A 'fixer-upper' is what the seller had called it. A shambly one-room cabin far outside the city limits on a plot of land hidden in the dense forest. It looked decrepit as if the only thing that had touched it in centuries was sunlight, snow, and rain.

Inside, it was similarly underwhelming. The living area and kitchen were separated only by a worn wooden dining table. The bedroom wasn't even a room but just an alcove.

Jayce had laughed when the seller had described it.

"That's me," he said. A fixer, an engineer. An upper, topside. No trenchers allowed.

He laughed again and the seller gave him a 'look'. People had been doing that a lot lately —giving him looks.

"Real beautiful out here," continued the agent, smiling stiffly, "A peaceful sort of life and with no nosy neighbors."

Right on cue, something howled in the distance. The agent winced, then played it off with a forced laugh. "Aside from the wildlife, of course."

The man was startlingly blonde and obviously nervous. Probably, there were very few potential buyers these days. In the city, longstanding shop windows had been boarded up and abandoned. It was a bad time to hold property.

"I'll take it," said Jayce. The man blinked back, dazed. "I–… that's– I mean-Splendid!"

He smiled with all his teeth, "I'll have my office be in touch with your office." He looked down at his clipboard, and squinted down at the name, eyes flickering up to his face. "Do we have you on file already, sir?"

At one point in time, Jayce could not walk down the streets without getting noticed. He had been the wonderboy of Piltover, the face of change and progress.

Now, he was nearly unrecognizable. His hair was long and greasy, a patchy beard covered his jaw. Caitlyn had long since given up getting him to shave. That had come rather quickly after giving up on trying to get him out of the lab where he had been sleeping. She didn't bother anymore, didn't have the time. Not since planning her witch hunt of Jinx.

Jayce looked down at the agent, eyes hard. "Probably not. I'm not really from here." Except something had broken down between his mouth and his brain. The words came out jumbled and rushed. I'm not really here.

The seller gave him a brittle smile. "I see. My mistake."

Jayce averted his eyes and turned back to look at the dilapidated cabin. "Is that all then?"

Again, the man gave him a look but handed over the key. "Congratulations." He felt the other man's eyes, probing the side of his face. Eventually, he gave up and looked back to the house, voice flush with relief, newly unburdened.

"She's not much to look at, but I assure you she has good bones," He gestured feebly at the worn wooden porch and the poorly thatched roof, "She'll survive an entire gut renovation."

Jayce blinked and for a moment he saw bodies –limbs crushed under rubble, intestines spilled out across the floor, and shards of bone.

"Swell," he managed to reply, before bending over and throwing up in the grass.

–

Caitlyn's reaction had been predictable. Stern, disapproving– it was the only two reactions she seemed to be capable of these days.

"But you already have a house."

She waved around them, at the foyer in Jayce's townhouse. It had been momentous when he first bought it with the money he had never dreamed of possessing. Now it was only four walls with nothing in between them, a hollow reminder that in the end, he hadn't amounted to anything.

Jayce shrugged, scratched his chin. "I'll sell it," he eventually replied. His jaw itched, he still hadn't shaved. Caitlyn saw the motion and frowned.

Jayce stared back at his old friend over his coffee table. Her appearance had changed too. Her hair that once fell over her shoulders was now pulled back into a cap, severe and tight. Her mouth was a slim line, forever displeased, and carved from stone. And yet, despite her cold exterior, he could see the trace of dark blue under her eyes hinting at long sleepless nights, there were creases along her eyes that hadn't existed before.

"How are you holding up?"

She rubbed at her eyes, clearly exhausted. "Sometimes I see her… right before I go to sleep. She talks to me." She said it with a thin voice, uncharacteristically soft, a daughter alone, crying for her mother.

Months ago, he would have told her to see a doctor. Now, he only nodded in quiet empathy. Grief could do that, it could burn a hole straight through you. Surrounded by dark water it was all too easy to see reflections.

Sometimes, when he spent nights in the lab he saw them too. A flicker of a cloak, the familiar sound of a cane clicking along the floor. He looked over her shoulder, mind far away. Then his eyes focused on something behind her, sitting on the floor. A plain but mysterious box.

He looked back at her, brow raised, "and what is that?"

Her frown deepened. "Something I want you to look at." She stood and opened the box, placing the contents on the coffee table. For a moment, he couldn't make any sense of what he was seeing.

"You brought me… half of a mannequin?"

Except even as he said it, that didn't seem right. The thing had a head and a torso, and only one arm. But when he took a closer look, the material was unique, carved from a pearlescent white material resembling opal and detailed with a golden filigree. He lifted the arm and examined the movement of the joints. It moved with no sound in a perfect arc. For a moment, there was a flicker of curiosity, that strange spark that had once guided his life so fiercely.

"Excellent construction," he murmured mindlessly.

"It's Viktor's."

He dropped it as if he had touched something hot. A cold numbness crept into place, he looked at the thing and then back to Caitlyn. "What?"

"He's setting up a commune of some sort. Our soldiers found these… things wandering the perimeter."

Jayce raised a brow at her and frowned, "And so you just… took it?"

She looked away, stood, and walked towards the window. Her reflection was a ghost in the dim glass. "Things are changing Jayce, faster than we realize."

She turned back to him, expression stony. She gestured towards the mannequin, "Take it apart and look at it. I need to understand how it works. If it's a threat."

He tilted his head against the couch, and stared up at the ceiling, once again idly scratching his chin. "It's funny, I don't remember joining the Enforcers," he tilted his head to look back at her, "I don't work for you, Caitlyn."

Narrowing her gaze, she peered around the townhouse —at the heaps of scribbled notes on the floor and old food containers.

"It seems to me that you don't do anything at all."

"Yes. Or that's the goal, at least," he replied breezily.

She stood above him, hands clenching angrily at her sides, eyes dark with fury. He looked up at her, at this familiar stranger. For a moment he was tempted to reach up and touch her face. He wondered if the skin would break open, if what was inside was as hard and brittle as the shell.

"Everything's changing, I just–" she bit her lip, and looked away, "I didn't think you would change too."

His hand twitched by his side but didn't move. The setting sun threw long shadows across the room. Eventually, she must have left because when he looked again, the moon had come out and he was alone.

The mannequin looked back at him from the table with unseeing eye sockets. The construction truly was a thing of beauty.

"Pathetic," he murmured to himself, before sweeping the whole thing back into the box.

–

Good bones, my ass— was Jayce's official assessment after the first 48 hours working on the cabin.

One of the porch steps had been rotted. When he stepped on it, his boot had gone straight through to the mud. Closer to evening, the windows let in a terrible draft. He'd need to look into insulating the walls and finding some sort of stain for the porch so that further rot wouldn't set in, at least enough to protect through the damp winter months. The to-do list piled up before he had even unpacked his belongings.

The weather wasn't helping. It had been drizzling on and off for the last week across the region. To top it all off, the roof above the bedroom alcove had started to leak as a cosmically hilarious sort of 'welcome home' gift. As a result, he had spent a good part of the day catching the water in a bucket and pouring it out.

But at the very least, he had cleared the chimney of its monumental buildup of old soot. His reward was a weak fire that crackled in the hearth. On top, a pot of water was boiling. It would be soup, or maybe his bathwater –he hadn't decided yet. Tomorrow, he would need to check the state of the water heater; he wasn't feeling very optimistic about what he'd find.

Around him, the four walls of the cabin creaked uneasily in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, wild animals started to howl.

Admittedly, he had idealized what this experience might be, entertained fantasies of being surrounded by nature, chopping wood blissfully in the quiet woods. Instead, he had spent hours arms-deep in rancid water pulling dead leaves from the gutters. A bucket sat next to him on the floor, it 'plinked' endlessly as water continued to leak from the roof.

It could not be more different than his townhouse, a posh three-story thing he'd acquired after becoming a councilor, fully furnished with wait staff and a butler. He could not lie and say he didn't miss the amenities. But the real reason he had bought it was the elevator. Operated via a pulley, it was one of the very few buildings near the lab with such a feature.

Jayce had been so excited about it, that he had invited Viktor over to show him not even an hour after the papers had been signed. "See?" he gestured towards the metal lever, "just crank it."

A smile had flickered across his partner's lips. "How appropriate," he had said in that special way of his. Wry, with a bit of bite. Teasing but with an ember of warmth buried underneath.

Later, they drank champagne from the only cups Jayce owned, two 'Man of Progress' mugs that Caitlyn had sent as a vindictive sort of prank gift.

"To progress," Viktor had toasted to him in the gleaming kitchen, mostly just to see Jayce squirm at his new pompous title. Outside, the Piltover skyline sparkled.

"To progress," echoed Jayce, now miles away from that same skyline, alone in the woods with a bucket and a hole in his roof. The fire provided no response except for a few crackles. A few seconds later, the pot boiled over.

–

The drizzle became a downpour. It delayed any planned work on the exterior and Jayce had to switch out his bucket for a larger size. The collected water got dumped outside or siphoned and boiled over the fire for baths or cooking.

His actions were machine-like —empty the bucket, put the bucket back, stare at the wall, repeat.

It dawned on him, a class of problems that had not occurred to him about living off the grid –namely, that it could be terribly fucking boring. He took his time unpacking, arranging, and rearranging his sparse collection of things: a small subset of his tools from the lab, several changes of clothes, a few cups and plates, flint, his old switch knife, a small portable stove– he paused when he got to the last box.

The man-like construct stared back at him from inside the folds.

"Huh."

Strange. He hadn't remembered bringing that.

He settled the thing upright on the wooden dining table, and from a certain light, it almost looked like it was sitting there waiting for dinner to be served. The light from the fire flickered across the lacquered exterior of its face, and an uncanny sensation of being watched prickled along the back of his neck.

That was another side-effect of the boredom; an unused mind tended to stray towards paranoia. It was easy to imagine phantoms in the dark, and the rain along the roof at times felt like tapping fingers along his skin. His heart sped up at every creak and groan of the cabin. He brought out a bottle of brandy and poured it into a tin cup to calm his nerves.

Between taking sips, he fiddled idly with the switchblade. Mindlessly, he clicked it in and out of its sheath, pausing only when a bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating black tree branches and shadowy corners. The liquor had a sweet smoky taste on his tongue; it dulled the senses but intensified the edges of his memories which, once forgotten, now swam to the surface with quick strokes. His mother's hand on his face, the solid weight of a hammer in his palm, his first discovery of the hex gems. The boundary between them felt hazy and they blurred together, one memory bleeding into the next like spilled ink.

He flicked out the blade, the edge was sharp. A single sliver of his face was reflected back.

When one was alone, it became apparent how little held a person together. A few blurry memories of childhood, a mother's lullaby, school assignments, project deadlines, a drunken get-together or two. Pain and loss. Love and affection.

"What are you doing?"

For a moment, he thought he had traveled back in time. He was in his lab, working over some theorems. Viktor was by his side, his profile highlighted by the rising sun after pulling another all-nighter.

It sounded so real. It felt real. And to his slow horror, the mannequin's head began to move, rotating slowly until it was facing him.

Fascination and turmoil gripped him in equal measure. "Well," said Jayce, "this is new."

The mannequin's fingers twitched on the table, making a dull clicking against the wooden surface. It rotated its shoulder in the socket as if waking from a bad sleeping position.

For a moment, it felt like the gods were playing a prank on him. "Leaky roof, poor maintenance, and haunted," he counted them off on his fingers, "now that's just false advertising."

The creature had no eyes and yet Jayce felt that it was gazing through his soul.

"Do you think I'm a ghost?"

He couldn't help the shiver that ran through him, the bumps it raised on his skin. He'd never thought he would hear Viktor's voice again. Or at the very least, not like this, he hadn't.

The lightning flashed again, it sounded like a wicked cackle. Jayce took another sip of his drink. "What's the alternative? Telepathic communication?"

The construct didn't speak. It could make no expression and yet its silence felt distinctively guilty. Jayce laughed, he couldn't help it. It burst out of him, manic and unhinged.

The mannequin, or puppet more accurately, cocked its head.

"Jayce," it said, voice noticeably subdued, "you don't seem well." Out of everything that had happened —Cait's blatant disappointment in him, the leaky roof, the surprise guest— this was the worst. The concern in Viktor's tone. It pierced through him like a blade.

"Oh really," he drawled bitterly. He took up the switch knife once more and examined the point in the firelight. He was suddenly reminded of an old party trick he'd seen at the pub.

"Would a 'not well' person be able to do this?"

Balanced on his finger, the upturned knife stood up for two glorious seconds before wobbling and falling towards the floor. Belatedly, he noticed the perfectly aimed trajectory towards his foot. The puppet's arm shot out, white fingers closing around the blade. It was fast, almost too fast for his eyes to follow.

The knife's tip glinted in the firelight. A second later it would have embedded itself in the tendon.

"Nice catch," Jayce rasped, all of the air suddenly gone from his lungs.

For a moment, he overlaid Viktor's expression on top of the construct's empty face. His narrowed eyes, his pursed lips. It was nothing at all, a flicker of the senses, and yet he felt it with a throbbing ache in his chest. Even in his imagination, nothing about Viktor was ever gentle.

The mannequin raised its arm to drop the knife into Jayce's still-open hand.

"You're drunk," it said.

"And you're a talking puppet."

For a moment, he was mesmerized by the thing's fingers, how pale and thin they were. They could have belonged to a harpist or a painter.

"Go back to the city, Jayce. You don't belong here."

Suddenly, he felt all the brandy in his stomach. His head felt inexplicably heavy and he pressed his cheek to the cool grain of the table, eyes fluttering shut.

"Then where do I belong?"

Overhead, the rain battered against the roof. He wondered if the whole thing would cave in under the pressure, if the surge would wash him away and he'd wake up somewhere else.

When he opened his eyes again, the rain had passed and it was morning. He was alone, except for the nearly empty bottle of liquor, a vicious headache, and the puppet.

"Hello?" he rasped, leaning closer to examine it in the morning light, but taking care not to touch.

He waved his hand cautiously over its face but received no response.

–

Two weeks later, Caitlyn came to visit. Although it felt more like an inquisition, thanks to the two security details she left at the door and the awful cape she had somehow acquired. Her figure cast a long vulture-like shadow across the floor. She looked around the cabin with badly concealed distaste.

For a moment, her eyes darted towards the bedroom alcove. Hidden behind the frame was the puppet which he had stashed back into the box. Logically, he knew she couldn't see it, but still, he felt his heart speed up in his chest. He hadn't done anything wrong but for some reason, he felt oddly guilty.

“Jayce, you don’t belong here.”

He had been in the kitchen, boiling water for tea. He paused, hand hovering over the kettle handle. For a second, the words rooted him to the floor. He blinked twice.

"So I've been told."

"What?"

"No, nothing." He removed the kettle from the stove and poured two cups.

She cast a dubious look at the tea when it was set on the table before her. "Where's the water from?"

Somehow, he managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. "There's a deep water well a few meters off." A discovery he had made a week ago.

The previous owner, it seemed, had at least done him some favors. Despite the disrepair the cabin had fallen into, the well was in good condition. The pump was creaky, it desperately needed some grease; but when the water surged from the spout it was clear and sweet.

Now, Caitlyn looked into her cup apprehensively. "And you're sure this is safe to drink?"

Jayce gave her a hard look. "You worry about your contamination and I'll worry about mine."

Her nostrils flared, and for a moment he thought she would strike him. He knew it was she who had ordered the tampering of pipes to flood the undercity with the grey. Two days later, he packed up his things and moved. A few seconds of tense silence passed before she held the mug and took one prim sip.

"And what are you doing for food?"

His jaw ticked. Suddenly, he regretted telling her his new address. "I have reserves."

Although truthfully, he was burning through them at an alarming rate. Most likely, he'd have to make a trip back to the city for more. That is if there was anything left. Already, the nonperishables had been disappearing quickly from store shelves -doubly so now that the grey pervaded through the streets, poisoning everything in its wake.

Caitlyn arched a brow at him, "Do you know how to fish?"

"It's a string and a stick. I'm sure I can figure it out."

She pursed her lips. "And how about hunting?"

His knuckles clenched briefly around the cup. "That's more of a 'you' thing, isn't it?"

Again, the tense silence settled around them. Their past together seemed like a distant dream, the days spent pranking each other in school, laughing and chasing each other across the yard. And perhaps, she sensed this nostalgia in him. Instead of retaliating, her gaze went oddly soft.

"Jayce, are you sure about this?"

He looked down at the table, suddenly flush with shame. It had felt like years since he was really sure about anything. You and your principles, he had lashed out at Viktor when he left. But perhaps under the scorn, there had been a hint of envy too.

He didn't respond and Caitlyn sighed. She stood and motioned to one of the guards at the door.

"Leave one of the weapons caches here."

"Cait, no."

But she only waved him off with a dismissive gesture. "Throw it away if you want. This is for my peace of mind, not yours."

The enforcer did as she commanded and exited, most likely still guarding from outside.

She turned to leave too, but paused by the door.

"You're not coming back are you." Jayce couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement.

His voice had died in his throat, try as he might he couldn't explain it. The feeling of waking up in an empty lab every day, Sky's old notes still untouched on his desk. They were such small but killing things, and in the end, all he could say was, "Cait, I can't."

She looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled, but it was a subdued wilted thing. "It's funny," she murmured, "I thought I'd be used to it by now. People leaving."

For a moment, Jayce thought he'd be sick. A life was made of a million twisting paths, impossible to say if they'd ever cross again or simply diverge forever.

"Anyways, thanks for the tea." The smile was gone, in its place a battle-hardened sense of determination. Her mask had reformed and when she left, she didn't look back.

–

To his chagrin, fishing was a bit more complicated than a stick and a string. It was the art of waiting, one that took almost hours of standing in the frigid water for a single nibble. When he drew up the line, the hook was empty. By sunset, he returned to the cabin with only a small sickly carp after spending almost the entire day at the river.

The meat was old and tough. He had done a poor job of cleaning the scales and had to pick them out of his mouth afterward.

To combat the lingering hunger he tried to forcefully will himself to sleep. He stared intensely at the ceiling, ignoring the grumbles in his stomach and how the wooden grain tended to form nebulous faces and shapes.

From the corner came a familiar creaking noise. He sighed into the darkness. That morning, he had moved the puppet to the workbench along the bedroom wall. His tools were still littering the table. In the end, all of them had proved ineffective at taking the thing apart.

"Back so soon? And I was just beginning to miss our talks."

The shadow in the corner shifted. The moonlight from the window highlighted one alabaster hand.

"It stinks in here," the thing finally replied in Viktor's voice.

"That would be the fish guts," replied Jayce, wry. "If you had showed up earlier I would have shared."

Vaguely, it occurred to him that the puppet had senses despite missing a face. It could hear, see, and smell –although who knew what form its perception took. It behaved like a human, spoke like one, but thanks to his tinkering he knew now that it was only a hollow imitation.

The construct shifted in the silence. "How hospitable of you," it finally replied.

Even in the dark, Jayce had to close his eyes. It gave him goosebumps to hear his voice, the low rasp of it, the lilting drawl. It scraped over his skin like a tangible thing, claws into flesh. He exhaled slowly, legs shifting under the threadbare covers. It was madness, participating in this delusion.

"That wasn't sarcasm, by the way," he rasped, "I meant it."

"The fish guts?"

"Our talks, I miss them." The silence was unbearable. "I miss you," he finally added.

For some reason, Jayce thought of fishing —the fragile art of waiting, how easy it was to spoil the stillness.

"If this really is you, even."

A movement in the shadows. "You think I'm an imposter?"

He considered this for a moment. "I don't know what to think," he answered truthfully.

A rhythmic noise came from the dark. Fingers tapping against the wood, a habit of Viktor's when he was deep in thought.

"You didn't tell Caitlyn, about my capabilities," The voice paused again, there was more tapping. His tone had gone cautious. "I'm sure she'd be interested to know."

Jayce sighed. It was funny, how deeply tired he had grown of politics. "It doesn't have anything to do with me anymore."

By moving out here he had essentially erased his own existence. Jayce Talis could perish any second and it wouldn't leave a ripple. Which suited him just fine. He was tired of making ripples.

"I see," Viktor eventually replied, something heavy lingering in his tone.

For a moment, Jayce thought he might retreat. It was clear he wasn't always present, at times the mannequin was exactly what it appeared. An object, empty of intent.

"I was thinking about the last time I moved," for some reason, the thought frightened him. Viktor's leaving, or at least the illusion of it. He didn't want to be alone. "To the townhouse, after my appointment to the council. You were the first person to visit it."

Viktor's voice had gone thoughtful. "Yes, I remember. You didn't even have any furniture–"

"I had the workbench there. Our old one from the academy lab. And all your favorite tools."

At this, the puppet didn't respond. It left a heavy lump in his throat, the memory of all their things so carelessly intertwined. When he spoke again, it was barely the volume of a whisper.

"Did it hurt you at all when you said goodbye to me? Did you know all along that you were going to leave?"

It was a question that had kept him up at night. All this time, how long had Viktor known?

A single word echoed back from the darkness.

"Yes,” he replied. He didn't specify which question he was answering, the first or the second.

Suddenly, Jayce recalled Caitlyn's sad smile. She was right, he realized –one never got used to people leaving. Perhaps loss wasn't a one-time event. Every recalled memory, every inside joke, every rediscovered keepsake– he relived it again. Time passed, but the event never got any further. Every day, every moment, he lost him again.

Jayce contemplated this fact in the darkness. It was a terrible realization and yet for some reason, he was smiling. "You know, I think you might be the worst thing that ever happened to me."

Again, came that pensive tapping. "And you're the most selfish being I've ever met."

This made him laugh. It was painful, but for some reason he welcomed it. Perhaps because there was no bite to the words. Rather the opposite, there was some inflection point buried underneath; a hint of some forgotten ember that almost felt warm, almost tender.

That was the cruelty of it, of this wishful illusion. Almost.

"You're probably right."

"I'm always right."

This too, was a welcome kind of pain. The ache of lost familiarity. He laughed again, "You haven't changed." He didn't know if he meant it as a compliment or an insult. The voice huffed.

"Go to sleep, Jayce."

Jayce closed his eyes and slept without dreaming.

–

Caityn's men had left the weapon's cache by the door. It was a wooden box braced with iron beams featuring sharp corners that Jayce was prone to banging his knees against.

After one particularly nasty encounter, he finally dragged it onto the wooden dining table. For a few seconds, he didn't open it, only inspected the welder's craftsmanship. It was a clean soldering job, with some impressive metalwork in the gilded House Kirramman logo. An old flame sparked briefly within him; he missed his old tools, his forge. He missed his old mind. It was a bitter pill to swallow, how quickly he was rotting away.

He opened the box and from within, a deadly collection stared back at him. A long saber, a rifle disassembled into three pieces. Bullets, rope. Something metal and barbed that he didn't even know the name of. He took the rope and left the rest.

Perhaps fishing wasn't his forte, but building certainly was. It was a good material, thick and lacquered with a waterproof stain. He tied it into a net with a series of knots and submerged it into the river bed. He'd come back tomorrow hopefully to a bountiful catch.

By the time he got back, he figured he had just enough time in the sunlight to fix the broken front step. Above, the clouds sat uneasily over spiking pines, and an icy breeze rustled through the needles. It reminded him that there was an urgency to his repairs. Winter was approaching and the days were growing short. As he hammered in a nail, the cold made his muscles tight and painful.

He recalled how the cold often made Viktor's leg pain worse. Sometimes debilitating when the temperature dipped too low. Their lab had often turned into a stockpile of blankets in the winter. Despite the pain, he never stopped working. He would be busy soldering his circuits while huddled inside his cocoon of furs.

Suddenly, his thoughts flashed to the arcane shell that Viktor had miraculously emerged from. A decidedly different type of cocoon. At the time, he could not even think about what he was witnessing. All he could think was that Viktor was there, he was alive.

He did not consider that it would be the last time he would see him, did know he would not get another chance to explain to him, the fear, the horror he had felt when the council room's ceiling had shattered open, the world went white then dark and a single figure was crushed under the rubble—

His hand clenched on the hammer too tight. It missed the nailhead by a mile and struck the plank sending an unpleasant aftershock up his arm.

–

"Do you even remember it? What happened in the councilroom that day?"

The hard bed made all of his muscles sing with pain. His body was exhausted and yet he fought the urge to drift off, mind spinning in frantic circles. Some days the puppet spoke back, other days he spoke only to himself. He was just resigning himself to another night of silence when Viktor's voice echoed from the corner.

"What do you remember?"

It was so like him, to answer a question with a question. He had done it often at the Academy, challenging Jayce to finish his unfinished theorems, brow raised, as if he expected him to read his mind.

"The light, mostly," he croaked. "The pattern of it, almost a perfect fractal. I thought it was some vision of the gods. Only later did I realize it was the fire reflected in the shattered windows."

He could see it too clearly, the councilroom illuminated in the blast. The patterns of light thrown across the room, that was before the sounds of screaming, of the crumbling walls and all the broken glass. When the smoke had cleared, Jayce's gaze had zeroed in on a single figure buried under the plaster and dust.

Suddenly his throat felt thick. "I thought you were dead," it was painful to speak, like coughing up shards of glass. "I wanted to– I saw…" he shuddered in the dark, "I wanted to know if you remember feeling any pain."

“But why?”

“What,” Jayce didn’t know how to proceed, “what do you mean —why?”

"I question the relevance. My whole life has been spent in pain."

A ragged exhale escaped him. "All of it?" he whispered.

A careful pause.

"No," now Viktor's words were measured, guarded as if concealing something, "not all of it, I suppose."

For a moment, Jayce couldn't speak. There was a pain in his chest, something almost physically restrictive.

"This bothers you," Viktor's voice was muted but with an undercurrent of surprise. "My suffering."

"I–… Viktor, of course." He imagined for a moment that the pain in his chest was a physical weight. As if Viktor's hand was somehow there, pressing down on him from above.

"Curious. Do you feel it as if it is your own?"

He shivered in the dark, imagining the hand sinking through his chest and pulling out his heart. A frayed laugh stuttered from his lips, "would you believe me if I said it felt worse?"

Fingers tapped on the far table. "Likely not. Pain is not something that can be felt or compared in aggregate." He imagined what the puppet might be doing, whether its nondescript face was looking at him or away. "We can never truly quantify another's suffering."

Jayce contemplated this in the darkness. "Agreed," he finally sighed.

How could he quantify how it had felt when he had sprinted through the hall carrying Viktor's mangled body? Some days he still felt like he was stuck in that moment, like no matter how fast he ran he'd never reach the end of that dark corridor.

"I did not feel pain, Jayce. Or if I did, I do not remember it."

For some reason this caused him to exhale sharply. Ridiculously, his eyes were wet.

"I only remember waking up encased inside the barrier. I remember I felt… protected."

Jayce turned onto his side under the blankets. "You sound surprised."

"It is not something I've experienced often."

A knife to his throat would have hurt less.

"I couldn't protect you," he whispered.

"I never asked you to."

"I know," he swallowed, pained. "I know that better than anyone."

How many times had he seen Viktor shoulder all the weight of the world alone? How could he ignore it? The way Viktor imperceptibly flinched every time he put his hand on his shoulder. Over the years, it had lessened, but never truly faded. The way Viktor could never fully lower the wall between them, the infinitesimal pause before contact like an animal bracing for a blow.

Jayce turned onto his back. "Someday," he whispered to the ceiling and then beyond to the invisible stars above, "someday I had hoped–"

He couldn't verbalize the rest, and in a strange way, it was fitting. In the end, the sum of their relationship had been left unsaid.

Someday, I had hoped.

There came no response from the darkness. Jayce slept and dreamt of fractals.

–

The forest had a distinct smell in the mornings, wet and fragrant with rot and flora. He woke to a blank sky. A thick fog had settled overnight.

When he walked to the river, he was pleased to see that his net had stayed in place. When he hauled it up, fish wriggled inside the tresses. Blue river crabs clambered from the netting -enough for the day's meals and maybe even the week after. It was now cold enough that the meat might stay frozen left in a box outside. Of course, he'd need to secure it somewhere up high so the bears wouldn't come prowling. He was mentally designing a pulley system for the freezer when a high-pitched sound from the nearby brush startled him so badly, he physically jumped.

For a moment, he wondered if he was succumbing to auditory hallucinations. He dropped down to haunches next to the bush, inspecting the branches. A rustle came from the leaves. Only then, could he distinguish a brown furry coat.

Two yellow eyes blinked back at him, followed by a flash of teeth and a menacing growl.

"Shit," Jayce murmured, dropping the net and backing away. He moved slowly trying to remember if there was any protocol for encountering what appeared to be a small wolf hiding in the leaves.

From what he remembered, wolves could be as large as full-grown men. Clearly, this one was still a pup. He wondered where the pack was, looking around as if they might descend on him all at once and tear him apart.

A stray fish flopped by his feet. Again, there was a whimper. He raised his hands nonsensically as if to say he wouldn't be any trouble. Then, in a fit of either inspiration or insanity, he plucked the fish from the ground and threw it into the hiding spot.

For a moment, neither of them moved. He worried it'd be seen as an act of aggression rather than a peace offering. But then, the silence was broken by the unmistakable sounds of chewing. Aggressive chewing, he noted nervously. Clearly, the thing was hungry.

Taking advantage of the distraction, he gathered what he could from the net into a bucket and tossed the net back into the water. He left swiftly, with about half the catch still in tow. It was a shame to leave the rest, but worth it to keep all his limbs intact.

The fog had intensified while he was occupied with the net. Trees loomed from thin air like ships appearing on the horizon. It reminded him of the balcony of their old lab, the one that they would go to in the rare moments they took breaks. They'd lean against the railing watching the whale-like shipping vessels pass by. Even without speaking, he knew that they were sharing the same thoughts. That their science would change the world, that soon this entire city would bear their mark.

The visibility was poor. The fog was so thick he had to look at his feet to avoid stumbling over rocks and gnarled roots. Like this, it was easy to imagine that the whole world had faded from existence.

"I wouldn't go any further if I were you."

It was only when he was spoken to that he realized he wasn't alone in the grassy clearing.

The shock nearly made his stomach jump out of his throat. From the fog, appeared a large barrel-chested man whose shaggy hair was barely contained by a headband.

He was wearing an easy laidback expression, but Jayce couldn't help but notice the size of him, his scarred arms covered in thick bands of muscle. When he stepped back, the man came forward.

"Easy," he said.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" He flicked out his switchblade, which looked strangely pathetic compared to the size of the man.

The man looked down at the knife and raised a brow.

The look made him bristle. He stepped forward with the knife, "I said–"

"If you value keeping your leg, then don't take another step."

It was only then that he saw it. A thin glimmer of a metal loop, barely perceptible in the fog.

The man looked at the wire then back at Jayce. "A snare," he explained, "must've been left here by hunters ages ago."

The man leaned down to inspect the trap which was tied between an old tree stump and a bush. Even hunched over he felt menacing and huge.

"This here's the loop that traps the animal's leg or sometimes even its head. The more it struggles, the more the loop tightens. Real nasty piece of work."

From his small rucksack, he produced a pair of clippers. "This should do the trick," he murmured before neatly snipping the wire in two.

Jayce stepped back, mouth open. "I–you…" he stuttered uselessly.

The man stood up again and offered his hand. "The name's Loris," his grin was wide and toothy. When they shook, his hand was dwarfed in his calloused palm.

"Jayce, I–ugh," he looked down, embarrassed by how creaky his words sounded, "and I suppose I owe you an apology."

The man, Loris, smiled politely. "Then perhaps putting away the knife would help."

"I–right. Yes."

Jayce folded back the switchblade and pocketed it, shifted his feet, and looked at the ground. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting to see anyone out here."

Loris nodded. "I live up in the mountains. Come down here every once in a while to forage." He gestured to the basket he carried with two shoulder straps, loaded to the brim with bulbous mushrooms.

"Good time for it, 'specially after all the rain." He looked down at Jayce, obvious fascination gleaming in his gaze. "And why are you here?"

"I live here," answered Jayce.

The man blinked and for a moment there was only silence. "Ah," he finally murmured, "I see."

Jayce's face grew flushed at the concern in his expression. Thankfully, he didn't mention it anymore, only smiled kindly upon him.

"Perhaps you could take some weight off of me. Afraid I picked too many. It'll be a bit too much for the long journey home." He proceeded to load the mushrooms into Jayce's arms and whatever room remained in his bucket.

Jayce couldn't speak, only watched him in a daze. For some reason, the encounter felt surreal, as if he hadn't met a man but some sort of strange woodland creature.

"Do you happen to know anything about wolves?"

He blurted it out before he could think better of it. The man paused, mushroom in hand. His expression grew more concerned.

"I guess… well. I was just–" he huffed, feeling utterly ridiculous, "do you know if it's normal for a wolf pup to be on its own?"

Loris frowned, "it's uncommon, but not unheard of. The pack will leave behind runts if they're too sickly to survive."

Left behind. A lump lodged itself in his throat.

"I see," he said quietly as Loris wiped the dirt on his pants and stood up. He looked at him and cleared his throat.

"Not that it's any of my business, but how did a city man like yourself end up living all the way out here?"

For a moment, he wondered how he knew. But perhaps it was obvious how he didn't belong. He too, had left something behind. Or, scratch that, was it the opposite?

Jayce examined his hands, the scars and calluses there both old and new. "What's the difference between a survivor and someone who's been left behind?"

"Sorry?"

He shook his head, suddenly embarrassed. "Nothing, never mind." He averted his eyes as he brushed past the other man, "Thank you for the mushrooms."

Loris looked as if he wanted to say more but didn't, only waved at him with a small patient smile as Jayce traipsed off into the forest and disappeared in the fog.

–

Often, he had nightmares. Dreams of crumbled buildings and bodies crushed under the rubble. Sometimes it was the councilroom, other times it was a completely strange and foreign landscape. He woke at the bottom of a pit with walls so high he couldn't claw his way out no matter how hard he tried.

Sometimes, the pit was on fire, often faces looked back at him from the flames. In these dreams, he subsisted on bugs and rats to stay alive. Above the hole's edge, something sinister watched him with gleaming eyes.

Other times, his dreams were simply old memories looped on repeat.

The moment when Viktor emerged from his cocoon, the way his body had felt wrapped up in Jayce's arms. Strangely hard, whirring like a machine, breathing, awake. Brilliantly alive.

He was changed, he was something different. Sinewy and strong and emanating with a soft purple light.

"You must be cold," He murmured, averting his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he had been staring.

"Cold?" Viktor looked up at him through wet lashes. "No. I don't think so."

It struck him like an arrow, the sharp planes of his face, the prominent jut of his upper lip. Even on the brink of death, everything about the other man was a sharp bold stroke. When he spoke it was the volume of a whisper and yet Jayce felt the words deep and thundering through his bones.

"I sense a charge… A potential."

Somehow, Jayce had been backed against a wall. Viktor had followed, eyes nebulous and dark.

"A recursive impulse."

Suddenly, Jayce was all too aware of the distance between their bodies. How small it seemed, yet completely impassable.

"V-Viktor?"

"A marvelous concept, when you truly think about it. Impulse."

There was a strange look in Viktor's eyes, burning and swirling like oil across the surface of a puddle. He reached out a hand, and the fingers landed soft but reverberating on the center of his chest.

"How easily an object's momentum can change–" Jayce didn't dare breathe. The hand was simultaneously too hard and too soft against his stomach, " –when you apply enough force."

The hand moved lower. Jayce sputtered, then woke up.

The familiar walls of his cabin greeted him; outside, it was still dark. His gasps were loud in the small room. His sheets were wet, he had sweat right through them.

That was when he realized he was hard.

"Jayce, are you alright?"

"Fuck," he whispered violently.

A strange buzzing intensified in his ears. How long had it been since he was touched? A sound shifted in the night.

"Nightmares again? Or is it pain?"

Worse, he wanted to scream. So much worse. Desire was poison, he realized. It would burn a hole straight through him.

"Pain," he laughed, incredulous, as the sheets shifted over his sensitive skin. "Definitely pain."

The puppet made a clicking noise in the dark, "Where does it–"

"You know I thought you would kiss me eventually. Or at least, one day, I thought maybe…" Someday, I had hoped.

The clicking stopped. Silence settled between them with a distinct flavor of shock.

"Come again?"

"Kiss me. That day when we first figured out hextech. I thought you were going to. But you didn't. You never did."

"I see." The disembodied voice was firm, yet muted. "And this… disappoints you?"

Jayce huffed, halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "Among other things, yes."

For a long time, no one spoke. Jayce exhaled slowly, asked. "Did I scare you off?"

"I–" Viktor broke off, uncharacteristically at a loss. "I admit, I am… surprised."

Jayce sighed again, shifting against the covers. "I wasn't exactly being subtle."

How many times had Viktor caught him staring at his profile, at the way his hands worked over machinery and soldered wires? Too many to count.

"I did not know that I affected you that way."

An ugly anger reared inside him. "You said it first. It was affection that held us together."

The tapping had resumed. "Is it the same? I wonder. Affection and being affected."

"If they're different, which one did you mean?"

To this, Viktor had no answer. The tapping continued for a bit then puttered off into a contemplative silence. When he spoke again, he measured his words carefully.

"At times, you didn't seem human to me."

Jayce shifted in bed and turned over the words in his mind as if they were stones.

"I know how it sounds… But you felt to me, something like a muse to a sculptor. An ideal or a figment. Or maybe the sun would be more accurate. Something bright that I could bask in but never really touch."

Jayce felt the words pierce through him. They washed over him in surging tides, like tidal waves crashing onto distant shores.

"I… well I'm not–" his words came out scrambled. He shook his head and tried again. "I'm not a muse or a symbol, and I'm definitely not the fucking sun, I—"

He opened his hand in the dark, envisioning the network of veins running through his wrist to his fingertips. He clenched it until it was a hard fist.

“I’m a man, Viktor. I wanted things… I always—” he stopped, breathed out sharply through his nose. A heavy silence sat on his chest.

“I understand,” said Viktor.

Jayce laughed, feeling himself unraveling. “Well that makes one of us, at least.” Somewhere along the way he had lost the thread.

"And are you still?"

"Still what?"

It took a long time for a reply to come from the dark.

"Affected."

Suddenly he was too cognizant of his body. He shifted onto his back in the dark, cursing internally when it became apparent that his hard-on hadn't subsided at all.

He smeared a hand across his face and let out a miserable groan.

"Jayce, show me." There was a curious quality to his tone. Almost steely with focus.

Before he could stop, Jayce palmed himself through his underclothes, hissing at the sensation before biting it off into silence. “I…” he swallowed, “I can’t.”

A pause, and then that wretched tapping. “I think that you can.”

Something in his voice had changed again. It had a low sonorous quality, as if echoing through a cave. The sound that escaped Jayce’s lips was something between a desperate groan and a whimper. “This is lunacy,” he hissed, heart stuttering fast as he flipped down the blanket to reveal his bare chest and thighs to the cool air.

He should have felt safe in the dark, and yet he had the sneaking suspicion that Viktor could see everything. It felt too obvious, the tenting in his pants, the pounding blood in his veins, the thrashing of his heart –all of him felt like a raw nerve exposed to air.

"Looks uncomfortable," Viktor remarked, "perhaps you should touch yourself."

It didn't make sense, how compelled he felt to obey. Before he realized it, he had slid his hand into his shorts but stopped when he felt his heart about to beat out of his chest. He was just about to withdraw when the next command came, quick and curt.

"Don't be shy. Just do it how you normally would."

He cursed when his hand closed around himself, cock swelling urgently in his palm, a hot pulsing hungry thing. He was ridiculously hard, it had been far too long since he had touched himself. It only took two hard pumps till he was leaking in his palm.

"Feel good?"

He couldn't breathe, let alone respond.

"Jayce, are you with me?"

He groaned, a fine sweat breaking out all over him at the sound of his own name.

"F-fuck, fuck, yes, it feels good, okay? I—" he choked on the next movement, he couldn't remember it ever feeling this good.

"Is that all?"

Wrapped up in the fever, in that voice, he was defenseless in the dark. He couldn't do anything but answer.

"The— the tip," he choked, "it's sensitive, especially when I… when I use my thumb to circle—" He bit off another curse. For a second he imagined Viktor's expression, the way he could smile so seductively subdued.

"Good. Do that, but slow."

He squeezed his eyes shut, thighs clenching rhythmically at the buildup. He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive glans and the fingerpad came away embarrassingly wet.

"Jayce." He shivered at the low warning tone, "I think you can do slower."

He felt like he was dying. The tapestry of Jayce Talis was swiftly unraveling. And yet he slowed his hand, for some reason a willing participant in his own torture.

"Please," he gasped, "I need to come."

The other man's voice was calm, as unaffected as ever. It made Jayce want to kill something. "Yes. I can see that."

His voice was like a knife against his skin, glinting and sharp. "You must have wanted it badly. Would you stop if I told you to?"

Jayce hissed, agonized, hips stuttering on the bed. Yet somehow, he managed to still his hand. A pathetic noise tumbled from his throat, a barely held-back whimper. He shot a hateful look into the darkness.

"Were you always this cruel?"

He’d meant it as a jab, but for some reason it seemed to please the other man. “Finish,” he said with a self-satisfied air.

His orgasm hit him so hard that his stomach cramped with it, spurting in hot gushes over his stomach. He wanted to claw through his own skin, white lights flickered behind his eyelids. Something in his blood was buzzing. A charge, a potential, a recursive impulse. The room was quiet in the way it often was before a deadly storm.

"Feeling better?" the other man asked, infuriatingly self-satisfied.

"Viktor," he sighed, suddenly exhausted. "Please just shut up."

For once, Viktor seemed content to obey.

He was still breathing too hard. "I must be fucking insane," Jayce whispered. And yet, as he drifted to sleep he found that this fact didn't bother him as much as it should.

Chapter Text

He found the wolf pup in the same spot –a few paces near the river where its quivering body was bent beneath the tangled brush. The bush had thinned since the last time he was here revealing more of the animal's gnarled brown coat.

It growled at Jayce's approach, husking in surprised reproach when Jayce brought out half of a salmon from the pouch at his side. The flesh was pink, freshly caught this morning. The other half was stored with the rest of his provisions in the icebox tied to the top of a tree, primitive compared to his other creations, but crucial for surviving the long impending winter.

He lowered the meat carefully to the ground, backing away in slow measured steps. The wolf's pupils were two pinholes, its breath came out quick and sharp.

The thing was afraid, clearly terrified out of its mind. Despite this, the pup ventured out of the brush. Inch by inch, it revealed itself –its mottled pelt, its hind legs, its tail, and its claws. It moved slowly, favoring its right leg. Surrounding the other limb was a ring of crusted dried blood. Jayce thought of the old hunter's snare he had encountered in the meadow, the gleaming metal loop concealed against the long grass and the tangled branches.

He was shaken from his memory by the 'snap' of the wolf's teeth around the pink flesh.

"There we go," murmured Jayce before casting his net.

Predictably, this did not go well. The pup went berserk, howling and writhing, flashing limbs and teeth. But the rope was strong, made of thicker material than the one he used for fishing. The more it panicked, the further it got tangled in the mesh.

He scooped the writhing mess up, careful of being swiped by a stray claw. For some reason he couldn't stop apologizing, muttering sorry, sorry, sorry as he awkwardly maneuvered the animal onto a flat metal sheet.

What followed was an awkward procession of dragging the wolfling back to the cabin on his makeshift sled. Progress was slow and by the time he made it back to the cabin, he was thoroughly exhausted and covered in sweat. He stumbled into the living area and for a moment he only sat there on his knees, head bent over, chest heaving. The wolf paid no heed to his delicate state. The thing had gone insane, yowling and wailing in a manic high pitch.

Something clacked from the dining table.

"Your friend doesn't seem to like me very much."

Jayce exhaled, hot breath puffing up fumes in the frigid cabin air.

"He's a hellion," he grunted, standing and stumbling off to grab the dented medical kit. He removed some gauze and antiseptic from the container and sniffed distastefully. "He doesn't like anybody."

"I believe it is a she, Jayce."

He turned to the voice, "How do you–" then flinched, unable to look at the puppet's pearly face for too long.

It had been two whole days since The Incident and yet, still, the sight of the construct's blank face made his cheeks heat with shame.

I think you can do slower.

"Whatever–" he bristled, "never mind."

The hellion snapped its—or rather, her— teeth, bucking and spasming when he applied a wet cloth to the wound on the leg.

"Tsk," he hissed when her claws nearly gouged his arm, "I'm trying to help you, you dumb beast."

"She can't understand your intentions," murmured Viktor from behind, "absent understanding, all animals fall back to instinct."

Jayce tightened his fist around the roll of bandages, he frowned and didn't respond. Quickly, he fastened a length around the pup's leg, tying a knot and stapling at the base. It was easier now that the hellion had seemed to exhaust itself. She made low unhappy sounds at the base of her throat, and when he tried to tempt her with another fish the only response he got was a baleful glare and bared teeth.

"Alright, I can take a hint."

Ignoring his protesting muscle aches, he dragged the sled back out into the yard and slashed open a section of his netting with the switchblade. For a moment, all he saw was a blur of fur –he braced for attack— but then the pup loped off into the woods, leaving only a rustle of branches in her wake.

He watched after her for a few seconds longer before coming back inside. The puppet was staring at him with empty sockets, head tilted in soft contemplation.

"I'm not sure this is the kindness you think it is."

He sighed, placing the switchblade he had used to cut the bandages on the table. The edge of it was growing dull with repeated use, now the metal glowed blue-silver in the dim light. The puppet's gaze followed the movement but continued speaking.

"Even if the wound heals, it's unlikely she'll survive the winter alone. Stranded. Away from family and connection, cut off from the life she's become accustomed to."

Jayce sat heavily in the chair, huffing a stray piece of hair out of his face. He massaged his jaw, fingers scratching through the stubble, frowning.

"Are we still talking about the wolf?"

The puppet tapped its fingers against the table. "Both of them, yes."

Against his better judgment, this made him laugh– a harsh gruff sound. He stood to look at his reflection in the tin kettle. Overgrown beard, rough skin, and scars, tangled hair that tickled the sides of his face and neck. In this lighting, his eyes looked muddy. Understanding or instinct?

For some reason, his canines looked sharper, and there was a knick on his bottom lip that he didn't remember acquiring. He bared his teeth experimentally in the warped reflection. Perhaps the resemblance was a bit uncanny.

From the corner of his vision, he saw the puppet's head move, sunlight glinting off the pearly surface and gleaming along the golden edges.

"You don't know what it's like to starve in the cold. When even the lightest breeze feels like a knife's cut," His voice turned hard and hollow.

"Tell me, Jayce. Have you ever tasted rat meat? What about shoe leather or an unlit cigarette?"

A frigid silence settled in the cabin. Jayce said nothing, only touched the switchblade handle, flexing his fingers along the hilt.

"That's what I thought. You have no idea what's coming. You can't even begin to imagine what that sort of life looks like."

An old but vivid spark of anger flared within him. This too had been a common pattern in their interactions –an undercurrent, or sometimes a torrid wave, of resentment from Viktor at Jayce's supposedly privileged upbringing. That because he had not experienced 'true' suffering, it negated his opinions and invalidated his entire existence somehow.

"Maybe I suffer from a poor imagination," he bristled, "After all, there was a time when I couldn't imagine a life without you either."

The puppet froze, clearly caught off guard which filled him with a devilish sort of pleasure. He laughed again, but the sound was ugly and harsh.

"At times, I felt like we shared one mind. As if we were two synapses in a network, a collective consciousness of sorts."

How many times had he passed Viktor’s tools to him before the man had even asked for them? How many times had he found his equations finished on the blackboard, the latter half of them written in Viktor’s cursive scrawl?

Intertwined, he thought. In the end, he had never stopped to wonder if he would survive the separation.

"You were not alone in that feeling," Viktor finally responded, voice so low that Jayce almost didn't hear it.

The chair screeched against the floor as he pushed back from the table and stood. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard through his nose.

He raised the switchblade to eye level and positioned it in his field of vision so that it perfectly vivisected the puppet's head in two. The white face gazed up at him, tilted its chin, almost expectantly.

He imagined flinging the blade forward, how it might embed itself perfectly in the center, how the edges might crack and shatter around it revealing a gaping hole underneath.

"Helluva thing, isn't it?" he rasped, "Affection."

The puppet didn't respond. He looked away, then flicked the knife back into its sheath.

–

Since their foggy meeting in the clearing, he had bumped into Loris several more times in the woods. The man was always cheerful, humming a song or whistling, with arms full of edible plants foraged from the woods. Inevitably, the other man would stop him to chat. Inevitably, he would come up with some reason to unload his goods onto Jayce.

It felt pitiful to accept but admittedly, the gifts had often saved him from the brink of malnourishment. Which was why, despite the embarrassing state of his home, Jayce finally invited him over for a meal.

Thankfully, he was getting better at cooking. With a few pointers and additions of herbs from Loris, the potato stew bubbling in the pot actually smelled and looked appetizing.

For once, he didn't feel cold thanks to the insulation he had managed to add to the walls and the warmth circulated from the wood stove sending a fragrant heat throughout the cabin. For a moment, Jayce simply watched the flame in the hearth feeling a quiet sort of marvel. He looked down at his brown calloused hands, clenched them into fists. Somehow, he had done it, he had carved out this pocket of warmth from ice and stone.

Loris was too big at his table, his knees bumped up against the underside, tipping over cups and plates. He had cleared away Viktor's puppet, once again hiding it in the box behind the bed. Still, he felt it burning a hole against his skin. He could ignore it as easily as he could ignore a live coal in his pocket.

"How have you been faring?" asked Loris after most of the stew had been finished.

Jayce explained the renovations on the cabin, the results of his fishing escapades as well as some of the mechanisms behind the pulley system he had devised for the tree-top ice box. Loris contributed tidbits here and there, but mostly nodded with that signature quiet patience he always seemed to exude. Eventually, they lapsed into comfortable silence.

Loris contemplated the fire. "I'll be leaving the mountain soon," he suddenly stated out of nowhere.

Jayce looked up from where he had been clearing away the plates. "To do more foraging?"

Loris looked back at him and in the dim light, his eyes appeared watery and black.

"No. I meant that I'll be leaving for good."

Jayce froze, hands clenched around the dirty dishes. "I… see." he finally managed, "I didn't know you wanted to move."

For a moment, a troubled look flickered in the other man's eyes. It was, Jayce realized, the first break he had seen in his jolly exterior.

"There will be war in the capital. They've sent out a call for soldiers."

Understanding flooded him. "I see," Jayce nodded, "it'd be best to get far away then."

Loris stared at him hard, "I'll be going to enlist."

This made Jayce drop the spoon in his hand. It clattered onto the floor with a dull thud. For a moment, he couldn't speak. A lump had formed in his throat making it hard to swallow.

"Have you considered that you might die?"

Loris nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. "A necessary side effect of living, I'm afraid."

Jayce contemplated this for a moment. It seemed to him that there were only a few ways to live but infinite ways to die. He thought of Caitlyn, of her dull blue eyes. War, as well, could kill you in a million ways, either on the battlefield or in the endless quiet aftermath.

He retrieved the spoon and went to the cupboards to pour them both a glass of brandy. There were still a few fingers worth left in the bottle from his first embarrassing drunken night in the cabin. They clinked cups, but neither could think of anything to toast to and so they drank in silence by the fire watching the wood go black and crumble.

After the fire had died down to red embers, Loris stood from his seat and stretched. He looked out towards the window, at the barren black trees outside. "It will be a long winter," he said.

It occurred to Jayce that he needed to thank the other man –for the company, for the food, for possibly saving his life, but instead, he looked out the window and said, "Hard to believe it'll ever end."

He could feel Loris' gaze shifting to rest on the side of his face. He thought he would ask him something, but then he turned away to pluck his coat from the wall hook.

"It's getting late, I should probably be heading out."

Jayce nodded, feeling oddly dazed. He still hadn't moved from his chair when something landed on his shoulder, Loris' hand, so unexpected that he almost flinched. His palm was warm on his shoulder. "It's choice, by the way," he said.

Jayce looked back at him, silent, uncomprehending.

Loris only smiled. "The answer to your question," he finally replied, "you don't choose to get left behind but you can choose to survive."

For a moment, Jayce still didn't understand, and when he did, it was painful. It hurt, the fond gentleness he found reflected in the other man's eyes. It hit him between the ribs like a sledgehammer.

Now, Loris had turned back to the entrance, except Jayce caught his arm before he could leave. It took several seconds to clear his throat before he could speak.

"Thank you," he finally croaked, "for everything."

Loris didn't say anything, only nodded. In his eyes was an all-knowing look, a few fragments of light containing the ancient secrets of the universe.

When he opened the door it let in a frigid burst of air. Loris barked out a laugh, caught off-guard by the gust. He looked back at Jayce over his shoulder, cheeks red, face beaming and flush with gleeful surprise. His breath puffed white into the chilled air.

"Let's meet somewhere warmer next time, eh?"

Later Jayce could not remember what his response had been. He would only remember the other man's easy smile lines, the deep bellowing echo of his laugh before he thanked him one last time for the stew and left.

–

One night, he woke up with a start. The sky was black velvet draped over his windows, no matter how long he lay there and wished for sleep to come it seemed to elude him. Eventually, he climbed out of bed and put on his clothes and boots. Outside, the sky was dark but clear. The moon was a pale and swollen fruit amongst the scattered stars.

He stepped over old roots and ducked under branches guided by moonlight and memory. It was strange how easy it all felt. Somewhere along the way, this forest had become familiar to him.

For a long time, he walked in that dream-like fugue state. He couldn't tell if seconds or hours had passed when he blinked and suddenly found that he had come to the outcropping of a rocky ledge.

The sun was now just rising over the horizon, illuminating the wide valley underneath. Constellations–Cassiopeia, Pegasus, Orion— once stark, now faded into the vivid pink hues of dawn. The land spread out like a tidal wave of canopied treetops and sprawling vistas underneath. He swallowed, finding the sight hard to look at. What was the point of such beauty for one person?

Without realizing it, he had walked even further onto the ledge. It hit him with a startling sense of deja vu–his feet stepping onto the window ledge of the academy, the cold grey pavement underneath, a square of light appearing from behind, an open door, and the click of a cane across the floor. "Am I…interrupting?"

He tried to remember the expression Viktor had been wearing the first time they had met. Had it been curiosity, irritation, or fondness? He examined the past like a graverobber scouring through old bones, looking for evidence hidden in his old memories. If he had just paid more attention would he have seen it? Had their foundation always contained cracks?

Even back then, as complete strangers, the connection between them had been a raw, palpable thing. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder if his mind was playing tricks on him, revising the past until it was a version of events that couldn't hurt him.

He left the ledge and walked back to the cabin. Without stopping, he pushed open the door and dragged the puppet outside onto the ground by the arm. It was strangely sacrosanct, to see its pale body laid out against the dirt and the grass. The axe he used to chop firewood was leaning by the doorway; when he held it, the weight of the handle was a cold comfort in his hands.

He wielded the axe head above the puppet's torso, right above where the heart would be.

This is what it was to lose someone: an act of endless revision, a bastardized translation. You edited the memory of them until it was a variation you could bear.

He imagined raising the axe above his head. One swift downswing and he could crack the torso clean in half. Next would be the arm —the head, the neck, the lower spine. He wouldn't stop until he was left with rubble. It was a violent fantasy, a vengeful dismemberment. Undoing, he thought to himself, dizzy with adrenaline. He wanted Viktor to know what it was like to be left in pieces.

Instead, the axe landed on the ground, discarded. He gathered the puppet in his arms and stalked off into the trees. Its white exterior was cool against his skin, it reminded him of the inside of oyster shells, startlingly smooth and striated with iridescent color.

The construct shifted in his grip but did not struggle. Rather, it seemed to settle deeper into his arms, like a weary body might settle into a soft bed. An odd chirping noise came from its chest. The thing looked up at him, voice thin and laced with curiosity.

"You've carried me like this before."

Jayce closed his eyes and swallowed.

"Yes," he whispered, pained.

He had carried Viktor's body just like this, heart collapsing in his chest, as he ran through the halls after the explosion. Viktor had been so small in his arms. Somehow he was still so heavy. It was the heaviest feeling he could imagine and yet Jayce had not ever come close to dropping him. A typhoon could have torn the building down and he still wouldn't have let go.

But this artificial body wasn't heavy –it was hollow, it felt like nothing at all.

He stopped when he reached the river's edge and looked down. A beast of a man and his synthetic companion stared back. A strange pair, although hadn't they always been? As quick as it came, the image warped and dissipated on top of the dancing currents.

Some parts of the river were shallow, but this section was deep and cloudy below the surface, so murky Jayce couldn't see through to the bottom. The puppet, too, seemed mesmerized by the water. It craned its head down, gold joints stretching in its neck.

"I used to play often by the river as a child," he said, voice soft and far away. "I was attached to one particular toy. A small clockwork boat."

Jayce closed his eyes and focused on memorizing his voice. He had always loved listening to Viktor speak –the rich reverberating quality to his tone, the sharp husk of the consonants.

"What happened to it?" he asked, if only to hear that unique warbling melody once more.

When he opened his eyes, the puppet was staring up at him, almost childlike.

"I… I'm not sure," said Viktor, oddly vulnerable, "I can't remember."

Cogs and salt and water. Most likely, a demise of rust.

Jayce looked into the shimmering ripples, to the invisible dark currents below. "Maybe it sailed away."

It was the last thing he said before dropping the puppet into the river.

For a moment, it bobbed along the surface. He thought he would have to fill the body cavity with rocks to weigh it down. But slowly, water ran over the torso, the shoulders, the neck, and finally its face. Two hollow eyes stared up at him before dipping under the current. Finally, it sank into the dark depths.

Jayce watched the water for a long time before walking back to the cabin alone.

–

It was quiet around the cabin. Jayce spoke to no one and no one spoke to him.

He had attached a makeshift ladder onto the side of the house in order to hammer new shingles onto the roof. Progress was slow thanks to the cutting wind and the icy patches that had formed overnight. That, and he was too easily distracted. The quiver of bare branches in the breeze, the dark scattered flecks of migrating birds up above, he felt them like a tangible force against his skin, as if he was coarse wood being sanded down into dust.

At night, he slept without dreaming. Once, before the sun rose, he woke up to a strange sound. At first, he thought it was the cabin, which often creaked and groaned when the wind blew in the night. He had almost fallen asleep again when he heard it again, a bone-chilling sound from the darkness, a low menacing growl.

He stumbled out of bed, pulling on his jacket, pausing at the doorway before turning to the chest in the corner. Caitlyn's left-behind weapon chest sat innocently against the wall. The sound came again, raising the small hairs on his neck. Cursing, he opened the chest and brought out the rifle.

It was cool and sleek in his hands, well-constructed out of steel and red oak, humming with quiet power. He stood on his porch and listened. For what exactly, he could not say. Something rustled in the bushes. He cocked the rifle, raising the scope to his eye.

Then, a familiar silhouette emerged into the light streaming from the open door.

He flinched, then lowered the gun.

"Well," he grunted, "Didn't think I'd see you again."

The wolf pup snapped her teeth but shuffled closer. For a moment, she circled in place, pawing at the dirt in what felt like a childish complaint. She was no longer favoring one leg over the other, the wound had healed and the bandage had fallen off after the staple had disintegrated.

Jayce went inside to put the gun away. He emerged with some scraps from his dinner –some bits of meat and bone that he had been saving to make stock.

The pup gobbled them up as soon as he threw them on the ground. Eventually, she sat back onto her haunches, licking her teeth and looking back at him expectantly.

"Hellion," he gruffed. Nevertheless, he went back inside and came back out with more scraps.

The wolfling chewed happily at the bones. Jayce sat on the porch, watching her teeth work, observing how soon they'd be long enough to puncture through his wrist.

Idly, he wondered if they'd survive. Would they live to see the forest in spring or would some wayward hiker find flowers sprouting from their bones?

"What do you think?" He asked the pup, voice creaking from disuse.

The wolf looked back at him curiously before spitting out shards of bone at his feet.

–

A few days later, Jayce was returning from the water well. The sight of boot prints in the dirt made him stop in his tracks.

"There you are, I thought I was going to freeze my arse off."

He cocked his head at the familiar figure standing on his steps. "Caitlyn," he murmured, surprised.

Nonsensically, he wondered if she had grown taller since the last time he had seen her. There was something sharper, elongated about her, something heavier in her gaze. Her silhouette looked oddly imposing in her military cape, the padded shoulders gave her the look of a predatory hawk.

She looked down at the bucket of water in his hands and arched one dark brow.

"Have enough in there for two cups of tea?"

Wordlessly, he let her into the cabin, ignoring the speculative looks she cast around the room. Probably, it looked different than the last time she had been here. Various nets and tools hung from hooks on the wall, and the windows and ceiling had been heavily reinforced. A pot of stock was boiling over the fire.

She blinked twice. "You've been busy, I see."

He looked at her military jacket, the star glinting on the lapel designating her as commander sheriff.

"So have you," he finally replied. He brewed two cups and put them on the table.

For a while, no one spoke. Caitlyn clasped her hands around the mug, letting the heat warm her palms. She looked down at the table.

"This smell. It reminds me of my mother. She always loved jasmine tea."

Something twinged in his chest. "Yes, I remember," he said quietly. Caitlyn's mother had never let him leave the Kiramman estate without inviting him to chat around a cup of tea.

He looked at his old friend, taking in the tired grooves of her face, her thin lips, and the hardened weary look in her eyes. It was difficult to say if she seemed better or worse, only different.

He looked down at his mug before taking a sip, "But I'm guessing you didn't come all the way out here to reminisce."

Her eyes shot up to him. "And what if I did?" she murmured, thoughtfully.

She clasped her hands around the cup but didn't drink from it. Instead, she stared over his shoulder, at the wall, or perhaps at some point in the distance. "You're the only person left who knows me from my past. Everyone else is gone."

She said it more to herself than to him, and yet the words hit him like a punch to the gut. Jayce put down his drink, trying to catch her distant gaze. "Caitlyn?"

But something in her expression had shifted. When she looked back at him, it was with the hard look of a soldier.

"It's Viktor," she said, "he's controlling the automatons somehow. We think they’re heading towards the hexgates."

Jayce looked away, swallowing his guilt. "I… I'm sorry Caitlyn, I am. But what do you expect me to do?"

Anger flared in her eyes, "Help us, Jayce. Help us help him. He'll listen to you, I know he will. He always did."

The mug tipped over as he pushed away from the table, standing up. The puddle spread, dripping off the table and onto the floor. It left a stain on the wood, dark like old blood. Catilyn's eyes followed the trajectory, something in her steely expression shifting into resignation.

"You really won't change your mind?" She asked.

Jayce moved to the window. When he reached out to touch the glass it was ice cold.

"My partner died in that room that day." He felt her stare digging into his back. And maybe I did too.

He didn't say it, but he sensed that Caitlyn had heard it anyway. Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood too. When he turned to look at her he was taken aback at the vivid fury in her expression.

"I wonder," she grit her teeth, "just when did you get so self-centered?"

Her knuckles were white, fingers clenched so tight they dug crescents into the skin of her palm. She spit the words at him as if he was lesser than a dog. "I lost someone too, you know? And I didn't use it as an excuse to run away."

He looked at her and swore he could almost see the hatred rising off of her like steam. He wondered what would happen if he laid a hand on her, if his skin would melt away in the fire.

"No. You'd rather use it as an excuse to hurt people."

Jayce saw white when she slapped him across the face. It left a stinging outline on his cheek, a crackling pain he felt all the way to the soles of his feet. She was breathing hard now, like a bull rearing to trample him in the ring. When she spoke, it was barely the volume of a whisper, strangled with emotion.

"I wish it had been you instead."

He didn't need to ask what she meant. How many times had he thought the very same?

She let herself out, and Jayce watched silently by the window. Eventually, the handprint he left on the window frosted over and faded.

–

Four days later, it began to snow.

It happened while Jayce was walking back to the cabin with two bundles of firewood in tow. The water had been half-frozen at the well that morning. Soon, he'd need to resort to boiling rainwater once again.

It started as a light sprinkle then quickly grew into thick clumps that floated down from the sky. He didn't have time to linger; the days had grown short and already the sun was starting to dip below the trees –and yet, despite the urgency, something about the gentle fluttering made him stop.

He reached out a hand, watching as one flake landed in his palm. The crystalline structure was only visible for a second before it melted against his skin.

In the distance, an animal started to howl. The hellion perhaps, or Helli as he had begun to refer to her begrudgingly in his head. Every so often the wolf had begun to appear on his doorstep, usually causing a ruckus until he deigned to feed her some scraps.

The wind whipped past, sending up a scattering of white flecks. Snow in the forest was not like snow in the city. In Piltover, it had been a nuisance; a buildup of grey slush that left behind dirty puddles in the lab. Yet, out here, something about the snowfall almost felt sacred. Already it piled together at his feet, glistening in the setting sun like strewn diamonds. Soon, he wouldn't be able to see the ground at all. The entire forest would grow quiet and heavy.

It had been snowing like this that day too, when the mysterious cloaked figure had given him the blue crystal he still wore on his wrist. He hadn't thought about that day in years —strange that he hadn't remembered until now.

Suddenly, he had the odd urge to lie down. The snow made the hard earth look soft and almost inviting. Another howl came from the distance. He hoisted the firewood back onto his shoulders and slowly made his way back.

Predictably, he went through the kindling too quickly. Without a constant fire in the hearth, the cabin became freezing. The last of his reserves depleted quickly, and soon he'd have to cut down the ice box from the tree and eat what he had caught in the stream. It was earlier than he thought he would need it. He tried not to let this fact worry him, but mostly he didn't succeed.

There was so much to do and yet the cold made him unbearably tired. When he wasn't gathering materials, or fortifying the cabin he was sleeping. If he wasn't sleeping, he simply laid in bed and stared at the ceiling –better to conserve energy, he figured.

The days blurred together. When it wasn't dark outside, the sky was heavy and blank –an impenetrable wall of winter grey. Arctic madness, he remembered the phenomenon being called; explorers lost in the snow tended to lose their minds. It was easy to go insane in such a white featureless landscape.

Once, he woke up to the wind beating the wall from outside. For a while, his vision was blurry; he blinked away the crust and saw two eyes staring down at him. The color was peculiar, a swirling unnameable shade. The face was dark and unrecognizable, all the features hidden in the shadow of a long hooded cloak.

For a moment, he considered reaching out to see if the phantom was real, to touch one of the long locks of hair that splayed from within the hood. His finger twitched but his arm didn't move. He had no energy in his body and somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice told him that he was dying.

Outside, the wind howled. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

–

Jayce had always thought the world would end in flames. Armageddon, he figured, was a word wreathed in brimstone and scorch.

He was standing behind the cabin, knee-deep in snow. The ice box lay at his feet, dented and pried open, the pulley tying it to the tree had been ruined, slashed, and torn apart. His reserves had been ransacked by some hungry animal. Only a few frozen fish remained.

He toed one of the carcasses and nodded to himself. Indeed, he had been wrong all along. The end of days was not a fiery explosion with demons crawling from the molten earth. No, the end of the world would come quietly, slow but inevitable. The end of the world was encased in ice and snow.

Once again, he retrieved the rifle, he set off across the clearing and into the woods. You're no hunter, a voice whispered in his ear. He shook it off and stalked forward. He would shoot something or die trying.

The metal was cold and stinging in his hands, his blood felt frozen to slush in his veins. The forest was deadly quiet, his crunching footsteps reverberated as loud as earthquakes. Surrounded by dense pine he felt like the only soul on the planet.

He wondered where Loris was –if he was drinking somewhere with his fellow soldiers dressed in uniform, if Caitlyn was plotting in her office, pacing back and forth along the carpet. In the barren white landscape, it was easy to convince himself that his life had all been some sort of complicated dream. What was the point? Had it meant anything at all? Was life nothing more than a series of random unconnected events?

Suddenly, there was a rustle from the bushes. Absent understanding, he moved on instinct.

The rifle shot blew a gaping hole through the underbrush and the sheer magnitude of the sound left his eardrums ringing. For a moment, he was almost sick on the ground, it was as if the gunshot had ripped a hole in reality itself.

He saw his life as a series of fragments, or pearls perhaps, strung together on a string of fate. The line snapped, and everything went tumbling into the dark.

Something rustled again from the trees. Whatever it was, he had missed it.

Now the sounds were louder, broken branches, crunching snow, the thing was sprinting. His breath heaved from his lungs, billowing and white, a force was gathering within his chest.

He shouldered the rifle and started to run.

Snow-covered pines whizzed past him. He ducked under branches and leaped over upturned roots. He didn't hesitate, he didn't think. It was all familiar to him, more familiar than his own face. It seemed inconceivable that he had once been a man of science. Logic, rationality— it all faded away. In its place was a raging hunger, he would kill everything that walked this earth, he'd consume their hearts raw and bloody.

Something jumped out of the brush. Next to him, another pair of steps joined. Helli sprinted past him into the snowy clearing, a blur of fur and teeth, howling and trailing after the catch. She was fast, the leg had healed well. Everywhere she stepped she left tiny pawprints in the snow.

Jayce laughed, he couldn't help it. It burst from his lips, wild and unbridled as he followed her tracks.

His pants and coat were soaked through, soon hypothermia would set in and yet he didn't care. He knew it as he knew his own soul; he would die chasing the catch. It didn't bother him, the thought of his own death. The destiny of every living thing was to die.

His bones would sink into the ground, animal tracks would be left behind on the soil of his corpse. Eventually, grass and wildflowers would grow in the footprints. Everything became an inseparable piece of everything else.

Above, the clouds broke apart. Shards of sunlight flashed against the ice blinding him —moment after moment of radiant brilliance. For a second, he forgot the cold, he forgot his solitude. How could he feel alone when the universe spoke to him in such poetry?

Ahead, Helli had come to a stop by the looming pine grove. The tall trees threw everything into dark blue shadows. She bared her teeth and howled menacingly at what she found there.

He approached slowly, aiming his rifle. Now, he could see something moving in the brush, struggling, caught perhaps on a root or a branch. Something glinted in the corner of his vision. A thin metal wire, instantly familiar to him.

The more it struggles, the more the loop tightens.

The thing kicked up a spray of snow, obscuring his view.

Real nasty piece of work.

The snare quivered with the movement. It was a pitiful way to die. He raised the rifle to his eye.

His thumb twitched along the trigger. The thing finally settled and his breath caught sharply in his throat.

His thoughts turned to shattered glass, glinting shards reflecting a million disparate occurrences. A kaleidoscope of experiences, jumbled together, a seemingly random pattern —suddenly, it all made a new kind of sense.

Everything as a part of everything. Intertwined, connected like synapses in a single mind.

He shouldered the rifle, re-aimed in his scope.

"Well," he laughed breathlessly. "This is new."

–

To insulate from the cold, Jayce had put a tarp up against the cabin windows. The dark fabric blocked out the sun completely, letting in dim beams of ghostly green light.

The start of a fire was crackling in the hearth, the rest of his firewood stacked in a pile. Soon the blaze would roar; probably, he had used too much. Strangely, he found he didn't care. There was a certain beauty to the notion of going up in flames amidst the endless ice.

He sat on the chair in front of the table playing with the switchblade once again. Click, click, click —he flicked it idly in and out of its sheath.

From the foot of the bed, something stirred.

"Finally awake?" he called to the flickering shadow.

For a moment, there was no response. Then the shadow unfolded itself into a cloaked figure, bound by the wrists to the leg of the bed. The hood fell back revealing a head of long dark hair and two eyes shaded a peculiar color.

Jayce watched him flex his arms against the restraints with idle interest. The man's gaze flitted from the bindings back up to where Jayce sat, brow raised.

"How hospitable of you," Viktor drawled.

Jayce didn't look at his eyes, only continued fiddling with the knife.

"How long?" he asked. Click.

Viktor frowned, "How long, what?" Click.

Now he finally turned to him —the dreams of phantoms, the howling, the ransacked ice box, a million happenstance moments filtered through his mind, all interconnected.

"How long have you been stalking me?" Click.

On the next movement, the switchblade nicked his finger. Red blood welled up on his fingertip and Viktor's pupils went wide, watching the scarlet drip down to the floor with keen interest.

"Why did you do it?" Jayce whispered.

Viktor's eyes flickered to the covered window. Outside, the ruined ice box was already half-buried under snow.

"I had hoped—" an unnameable emotion stole across his gaze. He flexed his wrist against the binding again then looked away. "I had hoped you would abandon this foolish pursuit of yours."

Jayce stood, boots leaving wet tracks against the floors. He recalled what Caitlyn had told him about the war, an army of automatons heading towards the hexgates.

"I'll abandon mine if you abandon yours."

When Viktor glared up at him, the color of his eyes had changed again. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course," Jayce laughed, coming to a stop in front of his prone figure. "You're right, Viktor. You're always right."

His shadow obscured half of the other man's face. Something like apprehension lingered in Viktor's gaze, and yet when he licked his lips the motion was reminiscent of a hungry animal.

His bloody finger had dried to a lazy drip. Still holding the switchblade, he brought the knife edge to the other man's cheek, using the blade to push one dark strand of hair away from his face. He didn't blink, using the sharp tip to trace the edge of Viktor's ear, the elfin dip of his jaw, the upturned curl of his lip, the mole under his eye. Finally, the blade stopped its journey at the apple of his throat. Viktor was still, barely breathing.

He had only gotten a cursory glance that day in the lab when Viktor had first emerged from his shell. Now, Jayce looked as much as he pleased. The wooden-like arcane fabrication had crawled further up Viktor's neck, creeping along the planes of his face. Parts of it gleamed like clockwork, organic yet mechanical at the same time.

"You look good, by the way," Jayce offered. His smile felt wrong on his face. As if he had too many teeth.

The smell of blood was strong between them. Viktor looked up at him, nostrils flaring.

"And you look like shit."

"Says the one wearing a blanket."

He laughed when the other man looked away with a guilty expression. He flexed against the restraints again, a dim purple glow emanating from his core. The other man's gaze darkened, an emotion lingering somewhere between distaste and remorse.

"I understand, you must be angry, Jayce."

"Angry?" He laughed, "No, I don't think so."

He moved the blade lower, pausing briefly over Viktor's collarbone. His eyes zeroed in on the other man's imperceptible shivers, completely fascinated.

"Actually, I was curious," the blade moved down and to the left, he didn't draw blood and yet still, Viktor winced. He didn't stop until the knife's edge was poised directly over his heart.

"You said you couldn't feel cold," he wondered if he replaced the knife with his palm would he feel a flesh and blood organ pumping underneath or the whirring of a machine?

"But would you feel this?" his hand gripped hard around the knife, "if I buried it in your chest?"

Time moved strangely between them, liquid and thick like a tangible substance. Viktor looked up at him, his hair was wet from melted snow —plastered black across his neck and shoulders like a dripping blood spill. It was enough to make a man drunk, to have such a creature bound at his feet.

He tilted his head, completely devoid of expression.

"Would you want me to?" he asked, eyes dark and nebulous.

Jayce's hand shook on the blade as he considered the question. Despite their closeness, Viktor had kept up his impenetrable walls around him. It had driven Jayce insane how he could never really reach him. Now, it was devastatingly alluring, the thought of the other man's heart parting around his blade. He exhaled sharp, suddenly breathless. It was a dizzying balancing act, trying to stay upright on the fine line separating intimacy from violence.

Viktor moved before he could decide on an answer. Jayce didn't see it, but he heard it. The deafening snap of the broken binding, the flutter of a cloak. He let out a shocked exhale as his back suddenly hit the floor.

Viktor loomed above, caging him with arms and legs. His hand wrapped around Jayce's arm and pulled. He was still gripping the blade which now pressed against Viktor's chest. He looked at the other man, eyes wide and dark. Jayce was the one holding the knife and yet it was Viktor who forced it in further with a hand around his wrist.

His heart lurched, the knife pressed inward.

"Viktor–" he wheezed when the blade pressed against the purple skin.

It slid against Viktor’s chest, then bent.

Viktor was watching him, eyes hawklike. His irises changed color, flashing between shades of amber and milky white. He looked at Jayce and smiled venomously.

"Shame," Viktor tutted, "maybe next time, try a sharper knife."

Something raged in his chest, a wild animal battering against the constraints of his ribs. Instead of answering, he wrapped both hands around the other man's neck. His heart stuttered when his fingers closed around a spasming pulse. Again, that vicious hunger flared within him, he wanted to crush the air from his throat. The sound Viktor made was strangely erotic, a choked-off sputter then a gasp.

Then a sharp knee drove into Jayce's stomach. He hit the far wall, coughing, solar plexus throbbing in pain. Before he could recover, a fist connected with his cheek, he cried out, vision filled with spinning stars. Hot blood gushed from his nose, spilling over his shirt and onto the floor.

Viktor stood across the way, eyes flaring like beacons, examining his clenched fist where Jayce's blood had smeared across the knuckles. A guttural sound burst from Jayce's throat as he lunged forward. He tackled Viktor, trying to take him down by the center, breath hissing from between his grit teeth when his arms closed around his slim waist.

It was a back-alley fight, the dirty ruthless kind that took place in the streets of Zaun. He tried to sweep Viktor's legs out from under him, but his new body was hard, agile. He dodged the attack and instead threw Jayce across the room.

He landed on the dining table with an earth-shattering crack; a tell-tale creaking rang throughout the cabin, the table legs split open and Jayce landed in a pile of splintered wood.

Dust and debris settled around them. He looked up at Viktor who emerged from the shadows like a vengeful angel of death, like Ragnarok.

He took it all in, eyes gleaming. "You've learned to fight."

Viktor blinked back at him, expression unreadable. "Old dog. New tricks."

Jayce turned to the side and spit, blood mingled with saliva. He wiped his still-dripping nose and the back of his hand came away crimson red. Viktor's eyes followed the movement, pupils wide. It was all the distraction he needed to grab the axe leaning against the wall and attack.

Viktor blocked the blade with his forearm but left his ankles open. Jayce swept his legs, kicked the back of his knees until the other man buckled and dropped to the floor. On the ground, it became a grappling match.

"Was it fun to you?" he spit the question, filled with vitriol, holding the axe so that the long handle barred against Viktor's throat. "Watching me struggle, leading me on, manipulating me? Did you enjoy it?"

Viktor gagged as the handle pressed tight against his pulsing neck. For some reason, the sight made Jayce salivate, he pressed against him harder.

"Was it entertaining?" he seethed. "Playing with your new favorite toy?"

Viktor struggled against the chokehold, throat working, canines bared. Something inside him went molten at the sight, he had the delirious urge to lick over the other man's teeth, to taste his venom on his tongue.

Somehow, Viktor got two hands on the handle, and inch by inch Jayce was pushed slowly back. His back hit the wall; he grit his teeth, trying to recover. Except now, purple light arced and raced up Viktor's arms. Unceremoniously, the axe splintered in his grip. The blade fell to the floor, now a useless lump of metal.

Viktor stalked forward, a cold resolve in his gaze. Jayce scrambled against the wall, throwing whatever he found at his attacker. Tools, dishes, cups —Viktor flung them away as if they were nothing at all.

He only came to a standstill when Jayce grabbed the rifle stashed under the pile of firewood and stood up with it.

Viktor eyed the metal barrel, he lifted his hands slowly, expression unimpressed. "So," he drawled, "you became a hunter after all."

The moment stretched thin between them, pulled apart between claws, so tight it could snap.

"As expected," Jayce huffed, "always you and your principles."

Viktor stared back at him from the scope. If he was afraid for his life, he didn't show it. He was something impenetrable, immovable, carved out from cold unfeeling stone. Nothing could touch him. Last of all, Jayce.

"You would do it again, wouldn't you? Choose your ideals over me," the words felt like blades in his throat, "nothing I could have done would have changed that."

The other man's eyes flared, the miasma in his eyes swirling in agitated sweeps.

"There comes a point where self-change becomes an act of self-slaughter," he paced the room and Jayce trailed him in the crosshairs, "is that what you wanted, Jayce? For me to betray myself?"

Jayce looked at him through the scope, breathing hard.

"I would have betrayed anyone if it meant I could keep you."

Suddenly he was right there. Viktor lunged towards him, uncaring of the gun barrel pointed straight at his chest. He was devastating up close. Deadly, wild, and unbearably beautiful. Jayce sighed, feeling as if the air was being sucked from his lungs against his will. His voice curled around him, suffocating him in thick smoke.

"That's what makes us different, Jayce. You keep people. I set them free."

The force of the words took his breath away as if a snake had coiled around him, squeezing him into dust. He waited for Viktor to push the barrel away, to break his arm, to slash his throat, but instead, the other man only waited and watched.

"Too different," Jayce relented softly before pushing down on the trigger.

Viktor didn't even blink, he watched Jayce the whole time. Out of everything that had happened between them, this is what hurt the most: how, even on the wrong side of the bullet, his gaze never wavered. Never, not once, did Viktor look away.

The gun clicked uselessly in his hand. The magazine was empty, the spark lit then died in the chamber. The rifle landed at their feet with a dull thud as Jayce stepped forward and pressed a small peck to Viktor's lips.

It was a bare wisp of a thing, not even enough to be called a kiss.

Viktor's expression crumpled, face twisted in confusion. Jayce's heart felt like a bruised fruit in his chest, tender to the touch, so easily marked. He smiled down at him softly, almost cooing to him. "No match for mere affection."

Viktor's expression went blank as if something within him had snapped and broken. He stepped forward, kicking away the empty rifle as he went. His arms came up around him, grabbing him by the lapel and slamming him against the wall. Pain bloomed along his shoulders and Jayce cried out. He wondered how the other man would kill him –with the knife or the gun or his bare hands. He thought about his fingers wrapped around his throat and shivered. He hoped he would do it with his hands.

He let out a surprised breath as fingers ghosted against his jaw. He arched his neck, head thunking against the back wall. "Are you going to kill me?" he whispered.

Viktor's eyes flared, pupils wide as gunshot wounds.

"You are infuriating," he hissed before grabbing Jayce by the collar and kissing him.

–

It was said that all living things started as sparks cast off from the stars. On the fall down to Runeterra, these sparks acquired a series of cursed gifts –aggression from Mars, vanity from Venus, curiosity from Mercury, rebellion from Uranus, delusion from Neptune, and loneliness from Saturn. These gifts coalesced into a unique identity, humanity and all its quirks.

That was why it was customary to burn the bodies of the dead. After escaping its mortal casing, the spark rose back up to the galaxies, returning to the stars.

It was an old folklore, one that Jayce had never believed even as a child. Firstly, stars did not give off sparks, but a constant beam of light. And secondly, the closest star to their solar system was approximately five trillion miles away, much too far of a distance for one cowardly spark to traverse.

And yet, when Viktor opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, he felt a strange luminance in his chest. Energy transference, a shock of heat and light. He couldn't tell if it was simply his heart beating or some type of atomic collision, a force so strong it felt like it might rend his soul in two.

He groaned when he felt Viktor's tongue dip between his lips. It didn't seem so unreasonable now, that at his core was the shard of a star. His body was so hot, an ember waiting to return to that universal infinite flame.

Distantly, he felt them fall against the wall, slide down and down until the other man was puddled in his lap. There were hands roaming over him, his jaw, his neck, his chest. He shuddered when he felt Viktor's teeth on his bottom lip. An ancient hunger flared within him, primitive and wolf-like.

His head hit the back wall when he felt Viktor's fingers working at his belt, his cool palm sliding into his underclothes.

A guttural groan escaped his lips. "Shh," Viktor whispered into his ear, which only made the hunger worse.

When the other man's fingers closed around him, he was already hard. He felt insane, "what's happening?" he whispered, blinking fast, blind and delirious.

Viktor's fingers closed around him, pumping him once, slow and hard. His hips stuttered, Jayce was shaking. It was obscene, the sight of Viktor's fingers around him, the strange alloyed flesh rubbing small maddening circles against the swollen head of his cock. He cried out when the other man dug the tip of his finger into the glans, just barely on the edge of being too painful.

"Hmm," Viktor murmured into the side of his neck, pleased, "I still remember what you like."

It was too much to bear, the memory of the last time he had touched himself like this, that maddening voice in his ear. Do it like you normally would.

"F-fuck," he whispered burying his face in Viktor's chest.

His skin was cool against him, not quite metal but not quite flesh. It was comforting against his overheated skin, he buried his head deeper as if he might find shelter amidst the onslaught of pleasure.

"Jayce, let me see you."

"Seriously?" He croaked out a helpless laugh, hips bucking, "after everything, after all this time… haven't you seen enough?"

Suddenly there were fingers in his hair, Viktor wrenched his head back until tears prickled his eyes and his neck protested at the strain. This pose, this feeling, it felt too much like supplication.

Viktor's eyes were iron-hot against his face, there were two flushed spots on the highest parts of his cheeks.

"You were right before," he murmured, an expression like guilt stealing over his features "I did enjoy it. Watching you… observing."

He stuttered, looking away. For the first time, the other man seemed at a loss for words.

"It… it has often struck me, the pointlessness of human suffering—but yours, it was different," His fingers tightened and Jayce winced, hips thrusting into the movement.

"W-what do you mean?"

Viktor gripped him hard, eyes flaring bright.

"Your suffering, it was… uniquely arresting."

His cock jerked, leaving a glistening trail of pre-come between his fingers. With an animalistic grunt, he pushed up using the wall as leverage to put Viktor on his back against the floor.

His hair splayed out behind him like a crown. When he lifted one leg over his shoulder, he noted the texture of the changed skin. It had a smooth silky quality, hard yet velvety, he couldn't resist pressing his mouth against his thigh to feel the sensation against his lips.

"Quite the sadist aren't you," he murmured against the skin.

"Are—" Viktor shuddered, "are you quite done?"

He was nervous –it dawned on Jayce with a quiet sort of shock. Then surprise faded to devious delight. Of course, Viktor had taken suitors before, but perhaps none since his new body.

He pushed the edge of the cloak open, revealing all of him.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath. He was teetering perilously on the edge, his dick hung heavy and needy between them. Viktor was smooth between the legs when he slid his hands down and under, it was cool there too, an oasis against his feverish palm.

There was an opening and for a moment, Jayce only rested his fingers there and when he did, Viktor tilted his head back and sighed,

The sound did something to him, spiked his blood to a fevered frenzy. Against his fingers, the opening was wet.

"Fuck," he hissed again, louder this time edging into a moan. He slid two fingers inside, into that pulsating wetness, and felt a curious buzzing sort of charge.

He wiggled the digits experimentally, surprised when Viktor jolted beneath him, eyes wide, panting hard. He did it again, pleased and fascinated when he got a similar response.

"Do you feel that?" he asked, almost reverentially.

Viktor shot him a scornful look, "Are you purposefully acting stupid?"

In response, Jayce applied a third finger and crooked it upwards. Viktor's eyes shot open, he cried out, spine arching off the floor.

"I-I felt it…ngh–" he gasped, blinking away tears, chest heaving, "This and everything else… all of it, Jayce. I felt it all."

He closed his eyes, suddenly dizzy. A dozen visions swam in his head– the gun barrel against the other man's chest, the knife caressing his face, his arms around the puppet as he carried it to the water, the blade held like a lover against his chest. Next time, use a sharper knife.

Viktor was twitching around his fingers, leaking so much it trailed down his wrist. He swallowed, suddenly parched. He wondered what might happen if he applied his mouth, if he licked into him like a split open fruit would he sigh sweetly or would he scream like a demon?

He groaned, overwhelmed at all the possibilities. Mindlessly, he rubbed his cock against the entrance and both of them shuddered at the slick friction.

Jayce had once claimed that their pain was intertwined, now he wondered if perhaps their pleasure was too.

"I need you," he whispered into the other man's neck. He groaned when the other man’s hard thighs clamped against him.

"Show me how much," murmured Viktor into his hair, soft yet commanding.

Jayce had no choice but to obey. He was a new man, something wild and hungry, and yet this part of him hadn't changed.

"Oh," whispered Viktor when Jayce guided himself in. His eyes were changing color again, pupils blown out, staring past him at the ceiling and even further to the heavens above.

Jayce forced himself to stop, despite the feeling as if he was shaking apart. Except then, the other man's thighs tightened around him, jerky and quick, he pushed in completely and Jayce could only grit his teeth trying desperately not to finish.

Viktor was tight inside, wet and pulsating. He jerked his hips and both of them audibly cried out. Light was arcing down his skin, when Jayce pressed a hand to his lower stomach, the beams swum at his fingertips converging and coalescing like minnows. When he thrust forward, he felt the vibration of it under his palm and gods above, how the implication of that made him dizzy.

Viktor's fingers slid into his hair, "you want me so badly," he whispered. It wasn't a taunt or a brag. Rather, in the depths of his voice was an undercurrent of something soft and wondrous.

His pace quickened, the squeeze was still too tight but now it was as if Viktor's insides were molding to his length, fitting perfectly around him. He imagined carving a space inside the other man, a hidden pocket that only he could ever reach. Perhaps that was the problem. You keep people, I set them free.

In the end, he was too keyed up, too close to the edge to last any longer. He finished inside with a rumbling groan, crushing the other man between himself and the floor as if he could absorb him through his skin.

Viktor sighed into his hair, throbbing around the connection point. The orgasm never seemed to end. Even as he finally slipped free, he felt the aftershocks of it, a staticky thrum of painful pleasure. Viktor was similarly disheveled, slick, and messy between the thighs, eyes swirling, hair in utter disarray plastered over his neck and over the floor.

Jayce trailed a hand up his neck, against the side of his face, the parts of him that were still skin and flesh. They were soft and warm to the touch. Viktor grabbed him by the wrist, examining the cut on his finger now dried over and healed to rust. Without warning he leaned forward, took the digit into his mouth, and sucked.

"Fuck," Jayce whispered, dazed and drunk on the sensation of warm wetness.

He thought about his blood on Viktor's tongue, the bitter sharp tang of it. His mouth was lush and pliable. Truthfully, it was hard to believe anything about Viktor could be this soft. Even his blade had not been strong enough to pierce the other man's skin.

"The knife," he whispered, "how did you know it wouldn't go in?"

Viktor took the digit deeper, tongue laving the webbing at his palm before letting it go with an obscene 'pop'.

"Maybe I didn't," He finally murmured, lips slick and eyes hooded, "maybe I wanted you to flay me alive."

It felt like being burned at a pyre. "Viktor," he wheezed, helplessly.

The other man let his wrist go, pushing forward until they sat side by side. A contemplative look had stolen over his features as he surveyed the cabin. Surrounding them was the wreckage of their fight, the splintered table, broken dishes, and the empty rifle.

He looked down at Jayce, suddenly pensive.

"You know this changes nothing."

Jayce blinked, any warmth between them suddenly extinguished.

"You regret it?" he asked, a cold numbness growing inside.

"I…" Viktor hesitated, an unreadable emotion flickering in his gaze. "I don't regret what happened, no."

He whispered it more to his own hands than to him, so low that Jayce almost didn't catch it, "But this next part, I might."

It happened too quickly, Viktor's expression went agonized. So focused on his face, Jayce didn't register the movement in his peripheral vision. All Jayce could remember was a sudden blur of movement, Viktor's hand, or perhaps some blunt object arcing towards him.

A sharp pain bloomed on the back of his head and then his vision faded to black.

–

It was said that all living things started as sparks cast off from the stars.

Jayce woke up amidst the galaxies with white light emanating from his hands. It started at his fingertips then spread up to his wrists, engulfing his arms, his torso, his legs, and up to the edges of his neck. To his right were the spread wings of Cygnus, the serpentine scales of Ouroboros, the purple haze of Delphinus.

He found Viktor there, crouched amongst the stars. He too, was constructed almost entirely of white light. When Jayce walked, his steps made no sound. He stopped several paces away and simply let himself look.

"You were right," he told him, "I did abandon our dream. It stopped mattering, or rather, I stopped caring."

He lifted his hand, examining it against the backdrop of Andromeda. The five digits spread and pulsed with luminance and when he clenched it into a fist, the light got brighter.

"I just wanted to be close to you."

Viktor said nothing, he didn't move. Perhaps he couldn't hear him. Then slowly, his body unfolded as he stood. When he turned to Jayce, stars sparkled in his eyes. They dripped down his face like tears, falling down and down to be born as new souls on distant planets.

"Are you saying this to hurt me?"

"I'm saying it because it's true." Jayce brushed a hand against the darkness, it left sparkling asteroid dust on his fingers. "I'm saying that maybe I didn't want to keep you as much as I wanted to be kept."

Violent storms swirled in Viktor's eyes, his brow furrowed, face crumpling as if he had taken a physical blow.

"Stop it. Stop talking now."

Jayce turned to him, frowning softly. "You think this is a trick?"

"I…" he wavered, "I think you're blinded by small needs, you always have been."

He turned away, spread out his arms against the sweeping constellations, "You lack the vision of the bigger picture, of the glorious evolution that is about to take place."

Jayce looked out at the galactic landscape, it was beautiful but vast. So spread out and lonely. He turned to take in the curves of Viktor's face.

"They don't feel small to me," he said at last.

"Jayce," something in the other man's eyes had gone tight, "What if I told you there was a way to end suffering permanently? That I could eliminate pain?"

He thought about it for a long time.

"I wouldn't want that," he answered honestly.

"Then you are a fool," Viktor bristled. An overwhelming feeling of tenderness bloomed in Jayce’s chest.

"Oh Viktor," he sighed, "for someone so smart, how can such a simple concept still elude you?" It was as obvious as the sun, as sure as the fire would burn and the river would flow.

That pain was the final evolution of love –proof that you once had something worth bleeding for, scars, broken bones, and all.

Viktor looked at him, scornfully, "What are you talking about?" he hissed.

But Jayce had already turned away, his decision made. He was done talking to proxies.

He stepped out into the celestial plane, calling out over his shoulder. "Come find me if you really want to know."

He walked to the edge of the galaxies where the stars faded and only emptiness remained. Eventually, even the light within him disappeared. He walked in total darkness and then finally, he woke up.

–

Jayce sat on his porch steps and watched the sunrise. The sky was a cold pellucid blue, strangely pure and otherworldly.

Helli prowled across the grass, leaving holes against the packed-in snow. She had caught a small rabbit and was tugging its frozen carcass around as a trophy. She had been doing that lately, dragging her bloody catches to Jayce's doorstep. In the beginning, it had been a nuisance, but now it was the sole reason he hadn't been starved out.

In his hands was a small innocuous knife, the tip just slightly bent at the edge. In his other hand was the dull block of the whetstone. For a moment, he only watched the sunlight dance over the blade before shaking his head and starting to grind out the dent against the sharpening block.

The sky was clear, and what was once a blank wall of white became a cold blue punctured by the trees. In the expanse of snow, everything looked stark and obvious. The wind blew and his cabin creaked in distress. He paused his sharpening and smoothed a hand across the worn old step. The wood was soft and weathered beneath his palm, he ran his fingers over it as if it were a well loved steed.

Three days ago he had woken with a dull ache in his head and an empty cabin. Viktor had disappeared along with his rifle and all the bullets. All of his dishes were shattered, most of his tools broken, the axe and the dining table reduced to splinters. Only the bent switchblade and the bed remained.

He would have to leave to survive, to find a new home somewhere else. For some reason, the thought of the cabin completely empty of inhabitants was acutely painful.

As consolation, he imagined a future where a wanderer would stumble upon it –how they might emerge through the pines and find the humble abode, perhaps during a storm or in some critical time of need. Whoever they were, he hoped they would treat the place well. It wasn't much but it deserved to be cherished.

After all, he thought with mirth, it had good bones.

In the distance, he could imagine the Piltover skyline and further still, a battlefield where swords collided and cannons scorched the earth. Invisible to his eye were the winking blue lights of the hexgates, and further beyond that, distant lands of sand where it never snowed.

Somewhere warmer, he thought tenderly. Perhaps he'd go there and meet Loris for a meal of stew. Or perhaps he'd reconcile with Cait, take up arms with her on the front of the battlefield and face Viktor's glorious evolution.

A million timelines spread out before him, a dozen decisions that at one point would have caused him to spiral into panic.

Now he knew that it didn't matter which place he ended up. The only thing that mattered was that he made the choice to keep moving.

Suddenly Helli tilted her head back and let out a haunting howl. It echoed through the snowy pines, shaking white dust from the branches. Jayce watched the falling snowflakes settle invisibly against the ground. Suddenly he recalled an old dream of his, a conversation in the stars.

Somewhere a small clockwork boat was turning on the waves, a strange treasure lay on the bottom of the river, an old cabin slept in the woods, and in the distance came the echo of a thousand marching soldiers. The future was vast. So too was the present.

Helli yipped at his feet, shaking him from his reverie. He blinked, then looked down at his hands, he settled back on the step and sharpened his knife.