#Fheangwrites

[itsfheang]

IRON & EMBER - Chapter 2

[ CH. 1 ][ PLAYLIST ] [ AO3 Link ] (Soon, waiting on invite)

RATING : Mature (Eventually) TAGS : Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage!Viktor / Knight!Jayce / 7k words / Part 2 of ??

CHAPTER DESCRIPTION : Jayce fills Viktor in on the people they knew in their reality, and what they are up to in this one. They go on a shopping trip to get some clothes made for Viktor by local seamstress, Gwen, then tour the city before a realization hits Viktor like a ton of bricks. 

AUTHOR NOTES : While I do know a good deal of League of Legends lore, I do not claim to be an expert and for the sake of the story I am taking some creative liberties with characters that were not present in arcane. (additional author note at the end)

CHARACTERS : Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), Gwen (League of Legends), Mentions of other Arcane cast.

CHAPTER 2

Viktor awoke to the soft glow of morning filtering through the window. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sits up and finds Jayce’s blanket carefully draped over him. A small note on the nightstand catches his eye.

Scribbled in an all too familiar script, Gone to check in with the captain, back soon. Help yourself to anything you want. - J

A small smile tugs at Viktor’s lips as he sets the note aside. Rising to his feet, he stretches slightly before heading out to Jayce’s kitchen. His fingers absently trail along the wooden countertops as he checks the cupboards, finding the expected—plates, cups, and utensils. Opening another cabinet, he finds an assortment of neatly labeled jars filled with tea leaves. His lips quirk in approval as he continues to rummage for the rest of what he needs.

The fire in the hearth has begun to die down, but he spots a small stack of spare logs nearby. Kneeling, he carefully arranges a couple into the embers, prodding the fire back to life. Satisfied with his work, he sets the kettle on the hook above the flames, waiting for the water to boil.

As he waits, Viktor takes the opportunity to examine Jayce’s home in the daylight. It is a cozy abode, humbly decorated yet inviting. Plush rugs soften the wooden floors, and an array of plants are tucked into corners and along the windowsills. It seemed this world’s Jayce had an appreciation for greenery, and his Jayce had come to love it as well. 

Curiosity nudges him to explore further. He wanders down the hallway, noting the layout. Besides the guest room he had occupied, there is a spacious storage closet and a modest washroom. Another door leads to a double set of stairs, likely to an attic and basement. The last door is Jayce’s bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, tempted, but ultimately decides against intruding without permission.

A sudden whistle from the kettle draws him back to the kitchen. He swiftly moves to remove it from the fire, carefully pouring the steaming water over the infuser of tea leaves. The fragrant aroma fills the air as he retrieves the book he had been reading the night before. Wrapping Jayce’s blanket around his shoulders once more, he settles into the couch with his cup of tea, immersing himself in the pages while waiting for Jayce to return.

Viktor has lost track of time and how many cups of tea he's downed by the time he hears the door open and looks up to see Jayce enter. A boyish grin spreads across Jayce's face as he takes in the sight of Viktor, seemingly more relaxed today than he was the night prior.

"Ah, good, you're up! I got stuff for breakfast, and the Captain gave me the week to help you get...uh...readjusted, as I worded it to him."

"You didn’t need to do that, Jayce. Isn't that your income?" Viktor asks, frowning slightly.

Jayce waves away his concern. "Don't even worry about that. I could take a lot more time off than a week and be fine. Plus, you're more important right now." 

Viktor softens at his words, not used to being considered important, but not disliking the idea if it’s Jayce who thinks he is.

He heads to the kitchen with the sack of goods he purchased on his way home. Viktor watches as Jayce pulls out fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, fruits, and fresh-baked bread, immediately setting to work preparing breakfast. He moves with an easy familiarity, appearing as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in the lab.

"Did you learn to cook here?" Viktor asks curiously, watching him work.

"No," Jayce chuckles. "It may surprise you to know that my mother taught me to cook when I was young. If you ever left the lab, maybe I could have cooked for you now and again," he adds teasingly as he effortlessly prepares the meal.

Viktor continues watching, a smile crossing his face. Seeing this more domestic side of Jayce gives him butterflies. He snaps out of it as Jayce slides a delicious-looking plate of food in front of him.

"Th-thank you," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Hopefully, Jayce hadn’t caught him staring.

They fall back into casual conversation.

"So," Jayce asks, "I'm sure you have a ton of questions. Where do you want to start?"

Viktor wasn’t prepared. Jayce was right—he had so many questions. Start simple. Start simple, he tells himself, calming his sudden nerves.

"Well, you told me about what happened to you. What about those we knew? Mel, Heimerdinger..." He hesitates, remembering the terror he saw in her eyes as she turned to dust before him. "Sky?"

Jayce looks at him with regret. "I’m so sorry about Sky, V. We should have listened to Heimerdinger. But you’ll be pleased to know she is alive here, and doing quite well. She’s an alchemist at the Academy—one of their top healers, in fact."

Viktor’s eyes light up. At least in this world, he hopes she will lead the full and amazing life she deserves. "That does bring me some comfort."

"Most of the people we knew are here in some form. Cait is Knight General—basically in charge of the whole garrison. Vi is a fellow knight too. Powder never became Jinx. She and Vi are quite close. Powder and Ekko are exceedingly bright students at the Academy, from what I could dig up of their records." Jayce chuckles. "Though even in this world, she still has a knack for blowing things up. If anyone is going to push this Piltover forward, it will be those two. Zaun and Piltover have a much better relationship here, it’s not perfect, but those from Zaun have far more opportunities to do great things."

Viktor always knew Jinx—er, Powder—had the potential to do so much more. "And Mel? Heimerdinger?" he asks, wondering why Jayce hadn’t mentioned them first.

Jayce leans back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mel… well, she’s here too, but she’s not exactly the same as we remember. Since magic is not as prominent here, she never was touched by the arcane. And Heimerdinger—he’s still at the Academy, of course. The old yordle’s a legend in every world, I suppose.” He chuckles, though there’s something contemplative in his expression.

Viktor watches him closely. “What else do you mean by Mel is not the same?”

Jayce sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “She comes from a different background here. She’s still powerful, still influential, but since she never became an empath her mother had a much easier time molding her, she’s part of Piltover’s council but she is not the same woman we knew.”

“There is still a council in this world?” Viktor asks in surprise.

Jayce nods, leaning back in his chair. “Same council we knew long ago. Heimer, Mel, Salo, Cassandra... the gang’s all here, still running things.” A wry smirk tugs at his lips. “No Jinx to ruin their parade.”

Viktor considers the implications of this. The council had once wielded unchecked power, their decisions shaping the rise and fall of industries, lives. Their influence had been both a guiding force and a dangerous weapon. Would it be different in this world?

“Thankfully,” Jayce continues, “without things like airships and Hextech to capitalize on, they’re far less ruthless than the versions we knew.” He pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Well… besides Mel. She wants to turn Piltover into Noxus 2.0.”

Viktor raises a brow. “That does not sound pleasing.”

Jayce lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah. She's as ambitious as ever. The only difference is that now she supports Noxus' ambitions instead of Piltover’s.”

Viktor hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the rim of his cup. “And the rest of the council?”

Rubbing his jaw. “The dynamic hasn’t changed much. Heimerdinger still tries to be the moral compass, but he’s outnumbered. Cassandra plays politics, Salo and Torman are still opportunists. Shoola and Iridius are generally level headed if not overly cautious” He exhales slowly.

Viktor watches him closely. “And you? Where do you stand in all of this?”

He watches as Jayce rolls his shoulders, forcing an easy grin. “I keep my head down and do my job as a knight. No desire for a role on the council again.”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “That does not sound like the Jayce I knew.”

Jayce lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah, well… things changed. Priorities changed.” He reaches across the table, his fingers resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. “My focus became finding you. Piltover could burn if it meant I’d find my way to you again.”

Viktor feels warmth creeping up his neck again at Jayce’s touch and the confession. It’s not the first time since waking that Jayce has made it clear Viktor is his priority, and yet, Viktor finds he may never quite adjust to hearing it. He swallows, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Well, now that you found me, what is the priority now?”

Jayce hums in thought, his thumb absently brushing against Viktor’s arm. He still hasn��t moved his hand. Viktor pretends not to notice how much he likes the gentle gesture. “Well, we do need to stop at my tailor, and I’d like to give you a proper tour. But I guess, most importantly, making sure you’re okay.”

Viktor is caught off guard. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m alive. I’m okay, aren’t I?”

Jayce gives him a pointed look, one brow raised in skepticism. “Viktor. You thought you were dead. You woke up in a world that is almost your own but isn’t. The only person here who really knows you is the man who—" Jayce hesitates, but only briefly, "—who tried to kill you. And then thought he died with you after you turned into an arcane primal force that nearly tore the world apart.” He exhales slowly. “I’d say that’s a lot to cope with.”

Viktor looks down at his mug, unable to argue with any of that. His fingers tighten around the ceramic as he studies his own hands—the faint, shifting hues of purple and gold still lingering beneath his skin. Everything had changed so suddenly, so drastically. But what unsettled him most was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the thing that had been gnawing at him from the moment he woke.

The arcane had not abandoned him.

It was weaker, fainter, but not gone. And it felt different—more untamed, unshaped by human hands. Something primal and raw.

He lifts his gaze back to Jayce, taking in the concern knitted between his brows. The trust in his eyes. The quiet devotion Viktor still wasn’t sure he deserved. Jayce had never needed a hammer to break him down—he was doing it now, brick by brick, just by being here.

“I—” Viktor hesitates, but then he feels the faintest squeeze on his arm, calming him.

“I still feel it,” he finally admits. “The arcane. It’s weaker, but… different. Not like what we created with the Hexcore. This feels…” He searches for the right word, rolling it over in his mind before settling on, “…ancient.”

Jayce's fingers twitch slightly against Viktor’s arm before he finally pulls his hand away, running it through his hair instead. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment as if holding back whatever immediate thought crossed his mind.

“Ancient?” he repeats, voice measured but laced with concern. His brows knit together as he leans back slightly, studying Viktor like he’s trying to see beneath his skin, past the surface, to whatever it is Viktor feels. “How do you mean?”

Viktor flexes his fingers, “It is not the same as before. Not the refined energy we channeled into the Hex gemstones, nor the volatile force of the Hexcore.” He hesitates, weighing his words carefully. “This feels…as though it has been waiting.”

Jayce’s frown deepens. “Waiting for what?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I do not know.”

For a long moment, Jayce says nothing. He just watches Viktor, his fingers drumming absently against the table. Viktor knows that look—it’s the same one Jayce always got when working through a problem, when he was connecting dots that others hadn’t yet seen.

Then Jayce shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Does it hurt?”

The question catches Viktor off guard. His first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the lie can take shape. It does not hurt in the way the Hexcore once had—it is not a clawing, consuming force, not a hunger gnawing at his insides. But there is something else, something just beneath the surface.

“It… pulls,” he admits slowly. “Like a current in the ocean, always there, waiting for me to follow.”

Jayce looks troubled by that. His fingers drum once more against the wooden table before he abruptly pushes himself up from his chair. He paces a short path across the kitchen, running a hand over his jaw.

“That’s—” he stops, lets out a short breath, then turns back to Viktor. “That’s a lot. A lot for you, a lot for me to process.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Hell, V, you’ve been awake for barely a day and we’re already talking about ancient, primal magic?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Would you prefer we discuss the weather instead?”

Jayce huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I just—” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this means for you. Or what it means for Piltover.”

Viktor watches him closely. “You are afraid.”

Jayce sighs. “Not of you,” he says, firm and immediate. “Never of you.”

He leans forward again, bracing his hands on the table, close enough that Viktor can see the worry etched in his features. “But I am afraid of what they’ll do if they find out.”

Viktor doesn’t need to ask who he means. The Council. The same people who in their world had feared magic, feared the idea of Hextech, who tried to control it the moment they understood its power. If they learned that Viktor was connected to something older, something raw and untamed…

“They will want to study it,” Viktor murmurs.

Jayce nods grimly. “Or worse.”

The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing between them.

Then, softer, Jayce adds, “I’m glad I took the week off. It’s no longer just to help you adjust, Viktor. I need time to figure out how to keep you safe.”

Viktor looks at him, truly looks at him. Jayce, who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, who had lost nearly everything in his search for answers. And yet, his first instinct was still to protect.

The warmth from earlier creeps back into Viktor’s chest, unsettling in its own way. He looks away, back down at his hands. “I see.”

Jayce studies him for a moment longer, then claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Right. Well, heavy conversations during breakfast can’t be good for digestion. Eat up. We have a city to explore, and you need new clothes before people start thinking I kidnapped you.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The conversation isn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, he allows the shift, lets the tension ease.

There would be time to unravel the implications of his connection to the arcane and what he was possibly capable of. For now, he would let Jayce distract him. Just for a little while.

They finish their meal in content quiet. It turns out Jayce is actually a fantastic cook, and Viktor finds himself looking forward to more of his meals. He had never placed much thought into food before—so often, it had been an afterthought, something consumed in hurried bites between long hours in the lab. But here, with Jayce, it feels different. Something to savor.

When they finish, Viktor insists on helping clean up, despite Jayce’s protests that he’s a guest. They move easily around each other in the kitchen, Jayce washing the dishes while Viktor dries them, stacking them neatly back into the cupboards. It’s a simple, domestic routine, but Viktor finds a quiet satisfaction in it, it’s something tangible amidst the overwhelming strangeness of his new reality.

Afterward, Jayce sets about trying to find Viktor something more suitable to wear. The process is… less than smooth.

Jayce tosses him a sweater first, thick and warm, but the moment Viktor pulls it over his head, it nearly swallows him whole. The sleeves hang well past his hands, and the hem drapes nearly to his knees. He flaps his arms, the extra fabric flopping comically.

Jayce snorts, leaning against his dresser. “Okay, that might be a little big.”

“A little?” Viktor deadpans, staring at his own sleeve-covered hands. “Jayce, I look like a child wearing his father’s clothing.”

Jayce hums in thought. “You know, it’s kind of cute.”

Viktor pulls the sweater off with an exasperated sigh and throws it at Jayce’s face. “Find something else before I freeze to death.”

Jayce laughs as he peels the sweater off his head, tossing it aside before digging into the dresser again. He pulls out another shirt—this one a simple button-up. Viktor slides it on, relieved that at least the fit isn’t as disastrous. The sleeves are still too long, but rolling them up to his elbows fixes that well enough.

Jayce, ever the menace, nods in approval. “Okay, now you just look like you walked out of one of those novels you read.”

Viktor huffs, adjusting the cuffs. “Better than an orphaned waif, I suppose.”

Jayce grins. “I don’t know, the ‘tragic, windswept genius’ look works for you.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with you.”

Viktor ignores that comment entirely and sets about wrapping the excess fabric into a sash Jayce provides, at least making the fit more manageable. 

Jayce steps back, crossing his arms as he surveys the finished look. “Not bad. You could almost pass as a respectable citizen.”

Viktor raises a skeptical brow. “Almost?”

Jayce smirks. “I mean, you still look like you’re about to deliver some ominous monologue about the dangers of unchecked ambition.”

Viktor places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How dare you. My monologues are never ominous.”

Jayce just gives him a look.

Viktor sighs, finishing the last of his adjustments. “Are we done?”

“Just need shoes.” Jayce kneels, digging around until he finds something suitable. He holds up a pair of boots first, then eyes Viktor’s slim frame and shakes his head before swapping them out for a pair of slip-ons. “Try these.”

Viktor steps into them, relieved to find they fit well enough. Jayce stays crouched, resting his arms on his knees as he studies him again, something softer in his expression now.

“You look good,” he says, quieter this time.

Viktor feels warmth creep up his neck, suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing. He clears his throat, brushing his hands over his sleeves. “Yes, well, considering the alternatives, I will take what I can get.”

Jayce grins but doesn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”

As they step out of the house, Viktor glances once more at the cozy space Jayce calls home. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere in this world. And yet, somehow, he does.

Maybe it isn’t the place at all. Maybe it’s the person in it.

The streets of Piltover bustle with morning activity as Jayce and Viktor make their way through the city. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar—buildings in the same places but constructed differently, people dressed in styles reminiscent of what Viktor remembers but with subtle, unfamiliar details. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint metallic tang of worked steel from the smithy down the street.

Jayce walks beside him with an easy confidence, offering a reassuring presence as Viktor navigates this strange-yet-familiar world. He catches a few people offering them polite nods or greetings, some even calling Jayce by name. It seems, much like before, Jayce is well-known here.

“You’re quite the local celebrity,” Viktor muses as they weave through the crowd.

Jayce chuckles. “Not really. I just do a lot of work around town. Engineering, repairs, that sort of thing. Helps getting to know people.”

“Mm. And here I thought you were simply charming your way through life.”

Jayce shoots him a grin. “That too.”

They arrive at the tailor’s shop, a quaint yet refined boutique tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary. The sign above the door reads Hallowed & Co. Fine Tailoring. The moment they step inside, the scent of linen, wool, and polished wood surrounds them. Bolts of rich fabric line the walls, neatly organized by color and material, and mannequins display expertly crafted coats and waistcoats.

A young woman emerges from behind a curtain, adjusting the lace cuffs of her blouse. She’s dressed in layers of ruffled fabric, her ensemble meticulously coordinated in deep blues and blacks, accented with delicate silver embroidery. Her long azure-blue hair is tied back with black ribbons, and when she sees them, her face lights up with a delighted smile.

“Jayce Talis! You’re in need of my services again?” she teases, resting a hand on her hip. “Did you already manage to get grease on the last outfit you ordered?”

Jayce lets out a good-natured laugh. “Not this time, Gwen. It’s actually Viktor who needs your help. We need to get him a full wardrobe.”

Gwen’s sharp eyes flick to Viktor, scanning him with an appraising gaze before clasping her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderful canvas to work with!” she exclaims. “And you’ve got the perfect frame for something refined. Tell me, Viktor, do you have a preference, or shall I simply dress you as I see fit?”

Viktor, mildly taken aback by her enthusiasm, clears his throat. “I prefer a structured, practical style? I think? I don’t really know fashion all that well.” 

Gwen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. We will figure out what works for you together.” She gestures toward a fitting area. “Come, let’s get your measurements.”

Jayce claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Have fun with that. I’ll be over here looking at fabrics.”

Viktor shoots him a flat look but steps forward as Gwen retrieves her measuring tape. She works quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in a little leather book while occasionally humming to herself.

“You carry yourself like a man who prefers deep, understated tones,” she muses, glancing up at him. “Charcoal, navy, emerald, perhaps a rich aubergine?”

Viktor nods in approval. “I favor subtlety.”

Jayce, from across the shop, holds up a bright ruby fabric. “What about this? You’d look good in red.”

Viktor eyes it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too bold.”

Jayce snorts, muttering, “Still allergic to standing out, huh?”

Gwen grins. “A more classic palette it is.” She turns, sifting through a collection of swatches before pulling a few options. “This midnight blue with silver threading would make for a stunning waistcoat. Or, if you want something a little warmer, this forest green wool is both stylish and practical.���

Viktor considers them before selecting the navy. “This.”

Gwen nods approvingly. “Excellent choice.”

Jayce, meanwhile, has found his way to the sleepwear selection. He picks up a luxurious-looking robe, deep maroon with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and holds it up. “What about this? You could look regal while sipping your evening tea.”

Viktor barely spares it a glance. “I am not a prince, Jayce.”

Jayce smirks. “You could be.”

Gwen giggles.

Viktor huffs, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his expression.

They move on to selecting casual wear—linen shirts with subtle detailing, lighter vests for layering, and well-fitted trousers that wouldn’t restrict movement. Gwen sketches quickly, making notes of embroidery details and fabric textures.

Finally, they reach the topic of shoes. Viktor selects a few pairs of finely crafted leather boots—one set for everyday wear, another more formal, and a simple pair for lounging at home.

By the time they are finished, Jayce is leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I suppose not,” Viktor concedes. 

Jayce glances at Gwen, who is finalizing the order. “How long will the work take?”

“Given the urgency, I can have the essentials ready within three days. The more intricate pieces may take a week. But given your current predicament,” she gestures to his current attire. I have some premade outfits that should fit you better that I can send you with now if you’d like.”

Jayce nods. “Perfect. Just send the bill to me.”

Viktor frowns. “Jayce—”

“No arguments,” Jayce interrupts, giving Viktor a steady look. “Consider it a gift. You deserve to be comfortable here.”

Viktor exhales deeply, a mix of resignation and gratitude mingling in his chest. He realizes, with a sinking certainty, that he has no way to pay for the clothing himself. Instead, he watches as Jayce leans in to speak with Gwen, who is busily finalizing the details of the order.

Gwen nods curtly and disappears into the back of the shop. Minutes later, she reemerges carrying two carefully folded outfits. The stack is neat and precise—an ensemble that hints at Viktor’s refined taste—with a pair of leather boots. Gwen’s eyes sparkle with pride as she holds out the neatly stacked bundle. 

“There’s a changing room over there if you’d like to try them on, I can make any minor adjustments you might need.” She gestures to a door to their left. “These should hold you over until I can have the basics made to fit you perfectly,” she announces, her tone warm and confident.

Viktor runs his fingers lightly over the fabric as he accepts the clothing, feeling the texture promise both comfort and a touch of elegance he hadn’t appreciated before. The gesture, so unburdened by transaction or obligation, speaks volumes about Jayce’s care—and perhaps about the new life Viktor is slowly beginning to accept.

Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, his own smile softening. “You’ll look sharp, V. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”

Viktor manages a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the gift—and of Jayce’s unwavering support. 

Viktor thanks Gwen with a nod and slips into the changing room, the door closing softly behind him. In the quiet space, he unfolds the neatly stacked bundle on a small table and examines the garments with a measured eye. One outfit, in particular, catches his attention. He runs his fingers over the fabric: a deep, elegant navy blue corset-style vest that promises a structured, dignified silhouette; beneath it, a deep maroon button-up shirt exudes warmth and subtle flair; paired with high waisted black trousers, the ensemble speaks of understated sophistication.

The maroon shirt slips on effortlessly, and as he pulls the trousers up, he is pleasantly surprised—they fit him perfectly without a need for adjustments. He carefully dons the vest, noticing immediately how it hugs his frame in all the right places. In the mirror, the reflection that meets him is both striking and refined—a man reborn in style, his features set with determination and a hint of vulnerability.

After a few moments of quiet self-reflection, Viktor steps out of the changing room. In the soft light of the boutique, he stands before Gwen and Jayce, who are waiting expectantly. Gwen offers an excited smile and a satisfied nod, her eyes gleaming with professional pride.

But it is Jayce's reaction that stops Viktor in his tracks. Jayce, usually so composed and confident, appears utterly entranced. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Viktor in the elegant attire. A blush tints Jayce’s cheeks, and he fumbles for a moment as if caught off guard by a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still, and Viktor senses an unfamiliar vulnerability in Jayce—a quiet bashfulness that softens the hard edges of his usual demeanor.

“You… you look remarkable,” Jayce stammers, his voice lower and more hesitant than usual. He avoids Viktor’s gaze for a moment before managing a small, sincere smile. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…elegant.”

Viktor arches an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he studies Jayce’s reaction. “Thank you,” Viktor replies quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and a touch of irony. “I suppose change isn’t so bad after all.”

Jayce’s bashful smile lingers as he steps closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s shoulder in an all too familiar manner. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’m rather… excited…about the idea of change.”

Gwen breaks their momentary trance with a polite cough, drawing both Viktor and Jayce back to the present. Jayce flushes, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at Gwen with genuine gratitude. “Thank you again, Gwen.” He gathers the other outfit for Viktor, handing it over for her to wrap up.

Gwen smiles warmly as she safely packs the second outfit for Jayce. “Of course, Jayce. It was my pleasure.”

After saying farewell, Jayce and Viktor step back out onto the street. Jayce once again offers Viktor his arm. The gesture, while becoming as natural as breathing, causes Jayce to make a mental note to construct a new cane for Viktor—one that will perfectly match his new look. “Guess now I’m the one making you look bad,” he teases, his tone light as he grins.

Viktor raises an eyebrow in playful reproach. “I don’t think that could ever be possible,” he blurts before he realizes what he was saying, catching himself and looking away. Dressed in a form-fitted tunic and slacks, complemented by a dashing overcoat, the idea of Jayce making anyone look bad was unthinkable. 

Together, they meander through town at a leisurely pace. Jayce points out various places and sights—a bustling market square, a quiet garden tucked between cobbled streets, even a fountain whose waters catch the afternoon light just right.

Viktor can’t help but smile as he watches Jayce in this world. Here, in these streets filled with simple pleasures and genuine conversation, Jayce seems so undeniably happy—a stark contrast to the relentless urgency they once both carried. For a long time, they had been consumed by their efforts to harness magic, to reshape the world according to their ideals, and in the process, they’d clearly forgotten how magical the world already was.

They finally reach a beautiful park in the heart of the city—a lush oasis where a wide river meanders through the city, its gentle current sparkling under the afternoon sun. As they step onto the manicured lawns, Viktor’s eyes light up with a distant, bittersweet recognition. The park’s winding paths and the river’s steady flow remind him of his childhood: of afternoons spent near the water testing his mechanical boats, marveling at how the current danced around his creations.

For a moment, Viktor is lost in the reverie of those bygone days. Then, in a flash of sudden clarity, his eyes widen and he blurts out, “Rio!”

Jayce, startled by the unexpected outburst, jumps aside as Viktor whirls to face him. “Jayce, in the year that you were here, was there any trace of shimmer?”

Jayce furrows his brow in confusion. “Shimmer? N-no…actually, no. Shimmer never seems to have been invented here. Why?”

Viktor grins widely, a wild light in his eyes. Without thinking, he nearly leaps forward, throwing his arms around Jayce in a tight, exuberant embrace. “We need to go to Zaun. I need to find her—” He catches himself mid-hug, quickly disentangling his arms as he realizes the precariousness of his position.

Jayce, still visibly confused and now trying to steady his racing heart, “Zaun? I mean, that’s no problem, but who exactly are we looking for?”

Viktor’s grin grows even more determined as he steps back, his eyes shining with a child-like excitement and urgency. “Rio. A man named Singed used her in his creation of shimmer. If shimmer was never invented here, then she might still be alive, somewhere down in Zaun. I have to find her.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the gentle murmur of the river and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The weight of Viktor’s realization hangs between them, charged with memories and possibilities. Jayce studies Viktor’s fervent expression, caught between confusion and adoration. The sight of Viktor so expressively happy makes him feel as though his knees might buckle beneath him. He doesn’t know who—or what—Rio is, but if she can make Viktor this happy, then he would turn the entire city upside down to find her for him.

Jayce clears his throat softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Viktor… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” His eyes search Viktor’s face for any sign of doubt, finding none—only the unyielding determination of a man set on a course he must follow.

Viktor nods, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water. “Absolutely. Rio isn’t just a piece of my past. She’s a part of me, she brought me joy as a child but Singed used her. Distorted her. Turned a creature of beauty into something twisted for his own gains.” His voice trembles with a mix of hope and anger as his memories of his time with Singed flooded his mind.

Jayce steps closer, his arm instinctively slipping around Viktor’s shoulder as they turn their attention back to the river before them. “Then we’ll find her,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, Viktor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears—an amalgamation of relief, gratitude, and a rekindled sense of purpose. He glances at Jayce, the unspoken feelings for him with every heartbeat. “Thank you, Jayce. I—I know this isn’t going to be easy, she’s a rare creature. But Singed had built his lab around her habitat, so it’s a place to start. I need to see her happy and free.”

Jayce’s smile is soft but resolute. “Tonight, we rest and gather what we need. Tomorrow we will start searching.” His words, though simple, resound with a sincere commitment that touches Viktor deeply.

As the river continues its quiet song and the park’s natural beauty wraps around them like a soothing embrace, Viktor and Jayce stand side by side. A journey into the depths of Zaun, into memories long buried. Shimmer had been the start of what had torn them apart and now, perhaps, finding Rio could be the start to bringing them fully back together.

In that moment, with the afternoon sun gilding the water and casting long shadows among the trees, Viktor glances down at his stained hands. He still feels the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what he is capable of, but with Jayce at his side again it doesn’t feel so all consuming. 

They continue their tour, Viktor buoyed by the newfound hope that Rio could be out there somewhere. His spirits are noticeably higher as the afternoon wanes. With the sun beginning its slow descent, Jayce suggests they head back to his home—but not before a detour to a quaint restaurant with a lovely outdoor patio.

The restaurant exudes a relaxed charm: warm, glowing lanterns, ivy creeping along the stone walls, and smaller lanterns casting a gentle glow over the tables. Seated under a pergola draped in flowering vines, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable conversation as they wait for dinner to arrive.

After a few moments of quiet conversation and the soft clink of cutlery in the background, Jayce turns to Viktor with genuine curiosity. “So, tell me more about Rio,” he says, his tone both inquisitive and supportive.

Viktor’s eyes light up as he begins to explain. “Rio is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—she’s a rare mutation of a Waverider.” He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Waveriders are normally found around in the Guardian Sea, near Bilgewater. But somehow, Rio ended up in caves in the upper levels of Zaun, where the water from Piltover flows through.”

Jayce nods, listening intently as Viktor continues. “What makes her extraordinary is her regenerative abilities. She can heal herself at an astonishing rate. Singed saw that potential and exploited it in his relentless efforts to defy death. In his desperate bid to create something that would stave off death—he harnessed her regenerative power. That, in turn, gave birth to shimmer, and Rio’s unfortunate downfall.”

Jayce’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Viktor’s words. “So, shimmer…it’s tied to her, to this mutation?” he asks softly.

Viktor nods. “Exactly, and if shimmer never took hold here, that means Rio might still be out there, untouched by the ambitions of those who would misuse her gift.”

As their meals arrive, the rich aromas of freshly prepared food mingled with the evening air. Their conversation resumed as they broke into their second bottle of wine, the mellow notes of red filling the space between each sip. Between bites of their meals, Viktor leans forward, his eyes alight with determined speculation.

“Tracking her down,” he begins, “won’t be easy. Despite her large size, Rio’s a herbivore. I’m thinking if we can get the right fruits and vegetables—something irresistible—we might lure her out of hiding.” He gestures animatedly, nearly toppling his glass in his excitement.

Jayce nods thoughtfully, his gaze flickering between Viktor and his half-full glass. “So we’d set up a sort of… bait?” he asks. “Some kind of feeding station?”

“Exactly,” Viktor replies, warming to the idea. “It won’t be foolproof, but it might just work, if she managed to find her way into those caves in this world too, that is.”

As their conversation drifts between plans and theories, their laughter mingles with the soft murmur of the restaurant. Eventually, as the meal winds down, Jayce signals the waiter and settles the bill, thanking him with a courteous nod. Viktor, a bit more flushed from the wine than before, stands abruptly—and wobbles.

Jayce is quick to react, steadying Viktor with a firm hand on his lower back while chuckling. “Easy there, V. Don’t want you falling over.”

They leave the restaurant, both men it turns out are a bit unsteady on their feet, and they find themselves laughing at each other's missteps. When they finally reach Jayce’s home, the evening’s fatigue mingles with their lingering mirth. Jayce fumbles for the oil lamps, his fingers clumsy in the dim light, while Viktor struggles to haul fresh logs into the fireplace. After a few humorous stumbles and gentle teasing, Viktor manages to coax the fire back to life and finally collapses onto the couch with a contented sigh. A few moments later, Jayce joins him, stretching and releasing a long, weary sigh.

Now, with the sun nearly set and most of the illumination coming from the flickering oil lamps and the steady glow of the hearth, a chill begins to seep into the room. Even with the fire burning, Viktor shivers slightly. Jayce notices immediately, sliding his arm around Viktor and pulling him closer.

For a moment, Viktor tenses at the unexpected embrace, but then the warmth—both physical and emotional—slowly relaxes him. They settle into a comfortable silence together, watching as the sun sinks lower through the bay window. Outside, lamplighters begin their nightly rounds, and one by one, the street’s oil lamps flicker to life.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Viktor was simply feeling brave, but as he leaned into Jayce he took a chance at resting his head softly on his shoulder. He allowed himself to dream. He wished this quiet, tender moment could be his life every day, even if he knew there was still so much to unravel. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the comfort of the present.

AUTHOR NOTE: I took a few creative liberties with Rio. In the show Singed claims to have “cultivated” her mutation, but in League Lore, Pixiemanders are a naturally occurring mutation of the Waverider species, so in this, Rio is a naturally mutated Pixiemander. I also interpreted the fact she was dying as something caused by Singed’s experiments, so no experiments, no dying Rio. I want a happy ending for our girl mkay? <3

[itsfheang]

IRON & EMBER

Ok first time writing a fic in over a decade, please be nice TT___TT Chapter Desc:

Post arcane explosion, the rune sends Jayce and Viktor to an alternate Runterra, one where magic and the arcane are much much more rare. Jayce, who showed up a year earlier in this new world, helps Viktor put his life back together.

Tags

Rating M (eventually, ch 1 is mainly fluff) / Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage Viktor. / Knight Jayce / 8k words / Part 1 of ??

[ PLAYLIST ]

Chapter 1

Is this death?

It must be.

That’s okay though.

It’s for the best.

The thought comes with surprising ease, slipping into place like a puzzle piece Viktor hadn't realized was missing. There is no pain, no weight, no breath. Only silence. Only white. Viktor’s mind drifts, unmoored, floating in an empty expanse where time does not exist. 

He let the thought settle, as heavy as he imagined his body once was. More machine than man.

The world is better off without me, without the destruction I nearly brought upon it. He should feel regret. He should feel something. But there is only a dull acceptance, a surrender to the nothingness.

And yet… a pressure builds, faint at first, then undeniable. His mind feels heavier, his thoughts sluggish, as if something is dragging him down, back into something tangible.

Then—

A flicker.

A sensation he felt he had long forgotten: the weight of his own form. The slow return of limbs, of skin, of breath in his lungs. His eyes flutter open, or at least, it feels as if they do. The white is still blinding, but now it shifts, breaks apart, revealing something beyond it.

The world around him falls into place.

I am not where I should be. I am not where I was.

Dirt presses against his palms as he shifts to an upright position. The air is sharp, fresh, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild grass. Rolling plains stretch behind him, their golden hues bending with the wind. But ahead—

A forest, dark and looming, its trees tangled in shadow.

Piltover is gone. The towering spires, the hum of machinery, the city of progress—all of it is nowhere to be seen. Instead, in the far distance, a smaller city stands against the horizon, unfamiliar and crude in its design. 

This is not my home. This is somewhere else entirely.

Viktor finally turns his attention to himself, his breaths still unsteady as he takes in his form. He is draped in a familiar blanket, the dark blue fabric worn but soft between his fingers. Jayce’s blanket. The one he gave Viktor after he emerged from the Hexcore’s cocoon, fragile and unsteady in a body that had changed beyond recognition.

His fingers trace the fabric absentmindedly, a pang of regret tightening in his chest. He has no right to long for that moment, not after everything. Not after what he became. What he did. The rift he carved between himself and Jayce feels insurmountable now, though whether time or space has severed it, he cannot say.

But the thought crumbles as he catches sight of his hand—and freezes.

Gone are the mechanical augmentations, the cold metal that replaced his flesh, the rigid precision of steel fingers. In their place is warm, living skin. Real. Human. His breath hitches as he turns his hand over, flexing his fingers, pressing his nails into his palm as if pain can prove this is real. There is no faint hum of power thrumming beneath his flesh.

Yet, he is not untouched.

Faint traces of shimmery purple and gold run along his skin, subtle veins of color embedded beneath the surface. The deepest hues cling to his fingertips, darkening the skin like an ink stain, fading as they trace their way up his arms. He hastily checks the rest of himself, tugging at the edges of the blanket, inspecting his legs, his torso—everywhere is the same. Faint glimmers of unnatural energy linger beneath his skin, but no sign of the machine he once was.

His heart pounds in his ears as his hands shoot to his face, feeling along his jaw, his cheekbones, his neck. No cold plating. No mechanical reinforcements. His hair now falls in tangled waves past his shoulders, still blonde at the tips. He tugs at the strands, disbelief sinking deep into his bones. How long has he been gone? How long has he been floating in that endless void?

His mind reels, memories still sharp as a fresh wound. Piltover. The Hexcore. The chaos that unfolded. It all feels as though it happened only moments ago, and yet… his body tells a different story.

He exhales, slow and measured, forcing himself to still the trembling in his hands. Whatever happened to him, he is still alive. 

Viktor pulls the blanket tighter around himself, its familiar weight both a comfort and a reminder of all he has lost. He hesitates before attempting to stand, uncertainty gnawing at him. The Hexcore had reinforced his failing body, and had given him strength where his own had faltered. But now? Now, he is human again. Fragile. Mortal. He does not know if the ailments that once plagued him have returned.

His fingers search the ground until they find a sturdy enough branch, smooth and thick enough to serve as a makeshift cane. Bracing himself, he grips the stick tightly and pushes upward. His breath catches as he rises, expecting the familiar pain to bloom in his chest, expecting his lungs to burn from the effort. But the pain does not come.

Relief floods through him.

He exhales, pressing a hand against his ribs, half-expecting to feel the weak flutter of a failing heart, the sharp sting of overworked lungs—but there is nothing. No struggle. No ache. He is still healed.

Mostly.

His bad leg protests as he shifts his weight, a dull soreness lingering there, but it is nothing compared to what he once endured. He adjusts, steadying himself, and takes a tentative step forward. He can manage this.

His gaze drifts toward the distant city. It is his best chance to get answers. Staying here, on the side of the road, waiting for someone to pass by, is too great a risk. He does not know this place, does not know if he will be met with kindness or hostility. But he cannot remain still.

Adjusting the blanket around his shoulders, he starts forward, his walking stick tapping against the dirt with every step. At first, he leans on it out of caution, out of habit. But the longer he walks, the more he realizes he does not need it as much as he once did. His body, while different, is capable.

The city remains a distant mark on the horizon. Time stretches, the sky above shifting ever so slightly as the sun moves. He does not know how long he has been walking when the first sound reaches him.

The steady rhythm of hooves against packed earth.

Viktor stops, his grip tightening around the stick. There are several—four, maybe more, from the cadence of the steps. His heart quickens, uncertainty curling around him. He turns his gaze up the road, squinting against the light, and soon enough, the figures emerge.

Four riders, their forms imposing atop large, powerful horses. Their armor gleams in the daylight, polished steel catching the sun.

Knights.

His mind races. Demacia? It is possible. He has never set foot in the kingdom, but he knows of it—its rigid laws, its deep-seated distrust of magic. If that is where he has ended up, he must tread carefully.

His fingers tighten around the blanket as he waits, standing motionless on the side of the road. The riders draw closer. Soon, there will be no avoiding them.

The riders slow as they approach, their armored figures towering over Viktor from atop their horses. The two at the front pull their reins, bringing their steeds to a stop directly in front of him, effectively cutting off his view of the other two behind them. The metal of their armor clinks softly as they shift in their saddles, their faces obscured by helmets.

One of them, the knight on the left, speaks first. His voice is deep, steady—neither hostile nor overly welcoming.

“You seem lost, traveler. Do you require assistance?”

Viktor hesitates. His appearance is already suspicious enough—a lone man on the side of the road, dressed in nothing but a blanket, with only a crude walking stick for support. If he admits he does not know where he is, if he tells them the truth, there is no telling how they might react.

He forces a careful breath and offers a slight nod. “I lost my way during my travels,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I was making my way back to town.”

The knight tilts his head slightly, studying him. The moment stretches longer than Viktor would like, and for an instant, he wonders if they will press further, demand answers he does not have. But before the knight can speak again, the second rider, the one at his side, leans toward him.

A woman he deduces based on her smaller stature.

Her voice is low as she whispers something Viktor cannot quite make out, but her eyes flick toward his hands where they clutch the blanket.

She has noticed.

The faint shimmer of purple and gold along his skin—subtle, but undeniable. The remnants of whatever he has become.

His fingers tighten around the fabric instinctively, pulling the blanket more securely over himself. His heart pounds, but he keeps his face carefully neutral, unwilling to betray his unease.

The male knight does not respond immediately. Instead, his gaze lingers on Viktor, unreadable beneath the shadow of his helmet. Then, after a long pause, he exhales and straightens in his saddle.

“The city is still a fair distance from here,” he says, his tone measured. “If you are lost, we can escort you.”

An offer. But is it kindness or suspicion?

Viktor forces a small nod. “That would be appreciated.”

The woman’s eyes remain on him for a moment longer before she, too, straightens, pulling lightly on her reins. Behind the two knights blocking his view, Viktor hears the creak of leather and the heavy clink of armor as one of the riders dismounts. His eyes flick briefly past them, catching a glimpse of red and gold along the knight’s armor, but his focus remains on the two in front of him.

Before he can process what is happening, the third knight moves—swift, determined. Within moments, they step between the two still seated on their horses, standing directly before Viktor.

The knight hesitates for the briefest moment. Then, with a sharp motion, they rip off their helmet.

Viktor’s breath catches. His entire body locks up as his eyes widen in shock.

Jayce.

For a moment, he cannot breathe. Cannot think.

Jayce still sports the longer, shaggy hair Viktor remembers from their final moments together, now damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead from the heat of his helmet. A rough beard still frames his face, more unkempt than Viktor recalls, but there is no mistaking him. The strong jaw, the sharp but warm eyes, the presence that commands attention even without trying.

Is it really his Jayce?

Jayce stares at him as if he has seen a ghost. As if Viktor standing there, alive and breathing, is beyond belief. His lips part, his voice hoarse with disbelief as he breathes his name.

“Viktor…?”

The knights beside him stiffen at the reaction, their heads snapping toward Jayce in surprise. One of them, the male who had spoken first, turns in his saddle. “Sir Talis?” he questions, his tone laced with confusion. “You know this man?”

But before either of them can respond, before Viktor can find words that refuse to come, Jayce moves.

Without hesitation, without a second thought, he steps forward and sweeps Viktor into his arms.

The embrace is crushing, unyielding. It is the same as before—just as fierce, just as desperate—as the moment Jayce had embraced him after emerging from the Hexcore’s cocoon, holding onto him as if he were something precious, something he had nearly lost. And Viktor, for all his doubts, for all his uncertainties, cannot bring himself to pull away.

Viktor’s breath trembles as he is held up by the man before him. His mind is still struggling to accept what his eyes are telling him. This cannot be real.

“Jayce…?” His voice is barely above a whisper, shaky with disbelief. “Is it really you?”

Jayce tightens his hold for a moment, as if to reassure them both that this is real, that neither of them is imagining the other. Then, slowly, he pulls back, his hands settling on Viktor’s shoulders. His gaze roams over him, taking in every detail—his face, his hands, the shimmer of gold and purple still faintly tracing his skin. His brows furrow, not in anger or suspicion, but in wonder.

“You’re…” Jayce exhales, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find you.” His voice is thick with emotion, something raw and unguarded. “I’ve been searching for over a year. Any trace, any sign that you might still be out there.” He swallows hard. “I was starting to lose hope.”

A year.

Viktor barely registers the words. A year. For Jayce, an entire year has passed. But for him, it was moments ago that he stood in what was almost Piltover’s ruins, moments ago that he believed he was letting the rune consume him, moments ago that he accepted his end.

Jayce is still talking, his voice rushing with the weight of all the things he wants to say. “I have so much to tell you—I don’t even know where to start, but—”

Viktor isn’t listening. He can’t.

Because none of this makes sense.

Jayce should not be looking at him like this. Like he is relieved. Like he is grateful to see him. There had been no hesitation when he saw him, no fear, no hatred—only warmth, only longing.

Why?

After everything he had done, after the monster he had become, why isn’t Jayce trying to end him? Why isn’t he disgusted by him?

The weight of it is too much. The walls of his mind begin to close in, his breath coming too fast, too shallow. His chest tightens. His vision blurs at the edges. He cannot breathe. He does not deserve this. He does not deserve this reunion, this kindness, this affection.

Not after all he has done. All he almost did. 

His hands tremble as he shoves Jayce back—not violently, but desperate, the same way he had pushed him away in the arcane.

Jayce stumbles a step, caught off guard, his expression flashing with concern. His fellow knights watching, not sure what to make of the situation, but deciding not to intervene… yet.

Viktor clutches the blanket tighter around him, fingers digging into the fabric, the only thing anchoring him to the present. Falling to his knees, his mind is screaming, spiraling, drowning in everything he cannot begin to process.

His voice shakes as he finally forces the only question that matters past his lips.

“Why?” His gaze locks onto Jayce, searching, pleading before dropping back to the ground, unable to accept the way Jayce looks at him. “Why do you not hate me?”

Jayce’s expression softens as realization dawns—Viktor is spiraling, barely holding himself together. His breath is shallow, his shoulders tense, his fingers clutching the blanket as if it’s his only lifeline.

Without hesitation, Jayce kneels in front of him, the weight of his armor settling heavily into the dirt. He reaches out, his gloved fingers carefully hooking under Viktor’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“I’ve had a year, V,” he says gently. His voice is steady, certain. His amber eyes burrowing into Viktor’s soul. “A year to think over everything that happened. The whys. The hows.” His thumb brushes lightly against Viktor’s skin before he pulls his hand away. “And after all that time, all that thinking, I realized only one thing mattered.” His lips quirk in something between a smile and something infinitely sadder. “All I wanted was to find you.”

Viktor stares at him, eyes wide, his chest aching with something he cannot name.

He doesn’t deserve this.

And yet, Jayce is still here. Still looking at him like he is something worth holding onto.

His vision blurs, tears threatening to spill over. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to stay composed, but it is difficult. Impossible.

Jayce stands, his armor shifting again with the movement. He extends a hand, waiting, offering.

“Come with me, V,” he says, voice warm. “Let me fill you in on everything.”

Viktor looks up at him—his friend. His partner.

Jayce looks down at him as if he has found something irreplaceable, the missing piece to a puzzle long left unsolved.

How could he say no?

Swallowing thickly, Viktor wipes at his eyes before reaching up, hesitating only a moment before taking Jayce’s hand. Jayce’s grip is firm and familiar as he helps Viktor to his feet, steadying him when he sways slightly.

Jayce turns back to his fellow knights. “If you’re okay continuing patrol, I’ll take him back to town. This is an old friend of mine who’s been missing.” He glances back at Viktor, something unreadable in his gaze before turning forward again. “I’ll take full accountability for him.”

The lead knight, the one who had first spoken to Viktor, considers this. His eyes flick between the two of them, lingering for a moment on Jayce’s expression before he finally nods.

“I want a full report when we return, Sir Talis.” His voice is firm, but there’s no real argument in it—just duty.

Jayce nods back. “Yes, Captain. Of course.”

Viktor watches the exchange, caught off guard by how naturally Jayce fits into this strange place. He carries himself differently—not as the brash, ambitious man Viktor once knew, but as someone seasoned, someone respected.

Jayce had a year to figure things out.

A year to build a life here.

Viktor pulled the blanket closer around him. He does not know what lies ahead. He does not know if he will ever understand how Jayce can forgive him.

But for now, he follows.

Because Jayce is here.

And after everything, that is enough.

The other knights clicked their reins, their horses moving forward in unison, continuing their patrol and leaving Jayce and Viktor behind on the dirt road. The air felt quieter without them, the distant sounds of hooves fading into the wind.

Jayce turned to his own horse, his lips curving into a childish grin. That same boyish, unguarded look Viktor had seen countless times before.

“Ever ridden a horse before?” Jayce asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Viktor eyed the creature warily. He had seen illustrations, mechanical recreations, even automatons designed to mimic their gait, but never a real one. Horses were unheard of in Zaun and rare still in Piltover. He had never been close enough to one to even consider riding it.

“No,” Viktor admitted, his voice edged with hesitation.

Jayce chuckled, the sound deep and rich, amused but not mocking. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

He said it with such sincerity that something in Viktor melted.

Jayce moved with ease, securing the reins before helping Viktor onto the saddle. Viktor tried not to tense, gripping the blanket around his shoulders as he settled into place. The horse shifted beneath him, unfamiliar and slightly unsettling, but before his nerves could get the best of him, Jayce swung himself up behind him, settling in close.

Viktor exhaled as warmth enveloped him. One of Jayce’s strong arms wrapped securely around his waist, the other taking the reins. The gesture was practical—meant to steady him—but it was grounding in a way Viktor hadn’t expected. He felt his nerves ease, his body instinctively relaxing against the solid presence behind him.

Jayce urged the horse into a steady trot, keeping the pace smooth and even. Not enough to jostle Viktor too much. Maybe for Viktor’s sake—or maybe because this way, they had time to talk.

For a while, silence stretched between them, the rhythmic clip of hooves against the dirt the only sound.

Then, finally, Jayce spoke.

“Where have you been, V?” His voice was quiet, cautious, as if afraid of the answer.

Viktor stared out at the horizon, eyes fixed on the distant city. “I do not know, Jayce.” His fingers curled slightly against the blanket, his mind struggling to piece it all together. “One moment, I thought the Rune was going to be the end of us. The next, I was just... a consciousness.” He swallowed. “And then I woke up here. Everything that happened in Piltover—it feels like it just happened.”

Jayce remained silent, absorbing his words. His hold on Viktor subconsciously tightened, his grip around his waist growing just a little firmer. Protective.

Viktor hesitated before asking the question that had been gnawing at him since Jayce first mentioned it.

“Has it really been a year for you, Jayce?”

Jayce let out a long, weary sigh. “The longest year of my life.”

Viktor leaned back slightly, resting against him. Letting the answer settle.

“Where are we?” he finally asked.

Jayce’s hesitation was brief, but Viktor felt it in the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly.

“Runeterra. Piltover.” A pause. Then, more carefully, “Just… not our Piltover.”

Viktor stiffened.

Piltover. But not theirs.

His mind reeled, connecting possibilities faster than he could process them.

The Rune hadn’t just taken them—hadn’t just displaced them in time.

It had taken them to another world entirely.

How is this even possible?” Viktor wondered aloud, his mind already racing through potential calculations, desperately searching for an answer.

Behind him, he felt Jayce shift slightly in the saddle. “It’s only a theory,” Jayce admitted. “But I believe I took over the body of the version of me from this reality. When I came to, I woke up in the middle of a training ground.” He let out a quiet chuckle. “Nearly got myself stabbed.”

Viktor turned his head slightly, glancing at Jayce over his shoulder, eyes wide in shock.

Jayce continued, unfazed. “I started searching for you once I began piecing things together. But…” He hesitated, his voice growing heavier. “There was no record of you at the academy in this world. Actually, the academy itself is vastly different here. The Rune Wars never happened, magic is so rare, and Piltover never had a reason to advance as quickly as ours did.”

He fell silent for a moment, as if weighing his next words. Then, more carefully, he added, “I went to all the orphanages in Zaun, hoping they’d have some record of you.”

Jayce let out a resigned sigh. “I don’t think you survived your illness in this world.” His voice was quiet now, almost reluctant to say it. “The medical technology that kept you going… it was never invented here. Only one orphanage even recalled a boy with a limp, but they claimed he succumbed to his illness before ever getting adopted.”

The world tilted.

The air around Viktor felt too thin, his vision narrowing as his mind spiraled. He had died in this world.

Was that why he hadn’t appeared here at the same time as Jayce? Because there had been no body for him to inhabit? No version of himself to slip into like Jayce had? But then… why was he here now?

The questions swarmed, growing louder, suffocating, drowning out all rational thought.

Jayce must have sensed his turmoil because, without hesitation, he leaned in, resting his chin gently on Viktor’s shoulder. The warmth of the contact, the solid weight of him, keeping his mind steady in a way Viktor hadn’t expected.

“It’s okay, V,” Jayce murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re here now.” He squeezed Viktor’s waist just slightly, a silent reassurance. “I’m not going to mess this up again. You're safe here.” 

Jayce’s words snapped Viktor back to reality.  

“How on earth is any of this your fault?” he demanded, his voice rising with disbelief. “I’m the one who caused everything. I’m the reason you’re stuck in this world, ripped away from everything you ever knew. And why? Because I thought I could solve all the world’s problems—my problems with the world—on my own.”  

He could feel the frustration bubbling up, the sharp edges of guilt pressing into his chest. He was rambling, spiraling, but he couldn't stop himself.  

“Viktor.”  

Jayce’s voice cut through his thoughts, grounding him. Viktor swallowed hard, but remained silent.

“You may have started down the path,” Jayce said, his tone careful, deliberate. “But I was the catalyst.”  

Viktor stilled.  

Jayce exhaled, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “You told me I had been touched by the arcane, but I never got the chance to fully tell you how it happened.”  

Viktor remained silent, waiting, sensing the weight behind Jayce’s words.  

“The memories I showed you—the future if you continued down that path—the anomaly at the hexgate sent me there.” Jayce hesitated, his throat working around the words. “That version of you tasked me with stopping you. But being stuck in that world had made me so angry, so bitter. In my mind, the only way to stop you was to kill you.”  

His voice was strained, raw with regret, as if even speaking the words caused him pain. “If I had gone a different path, showed you those memories sooner, you wouldn’t have needed to make such a drastic transformation. Maybe all of this could have been avoided.” He clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply before adding, “I had promised to stop you, and I failed you in the process.”  

Viktor couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. What even could he say?

He had never considered it like that before. In his mind, the fault had always been his own. His obsession with progress, with fixing what was broken had led him down that road. But Jayce… Jayce had been carrying his own burdens, his own regrets, all this time.  

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.  

Then, quietly, Viktor said, “You didn’t fail me, Jayce.”  

Jayce glanced down at him over his shoulder, startled.  

Viktor let out a shuddering breath, “We both made mistakes. But we’re here now.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “What matters is what we do next.”  

Jayce studied him, then, with the ghost of a smile, nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”  

The tension between them eased, just slightly. The road stretched ahead, the unfamiliar world surrounding them. But for the first time in a long time, Viktor didn’t feel entirely lost.  

Jayce and Viktor continued toward town in silence, but it was no longer strained or awkward. The steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves against the dirt road filled the quiet, a grounding sound amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

As they neared the town, Viktor began to make out the buildings more clearly. It was much smaller than the Piltover he knew, lacking the grand towers and intricate mechanisms of hextech, but it was not as crude in design as he had initially assumed. The buildings were constructed of sturdy stone, their architecture simple yet practical. Wooden beams framed the structures, and sloped roofs suggested accommodations for heavy rain or snow. It was a world apart from the gleaming brass and glass of his home, but there was a charm to it—an unassuming warmth that made it feel… lived in.

Jayce shifted behind him, adjusting his hold on the reins. “Not what you were expecting?”

Viktor hesitated before answering. “No. But it is… pleasant.” His fingers absently traced patterns against the blanket wrapped around him. “Where exactly are we heading?”

“My home,” Jayce said simply. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now. You need time to adjust. We’ll get you some proper clothes, get you settled, and then figure out a plan.”

Viktor nodded slowly. The idea of staying in this world still unsettled him—he didn’t belong here, and yet, neither did Jayce. But for the moment, he had nowhere else to go.

Jayce urged the horse forward, guiding them toward the heart of the unfamiliar city. The dirt road gradually faded into paved cobblestone, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing off the surrounding buildings. The afternoon had melted into early evening, yet the streets remained alive with movement and chatter.

Market stalls lined the sides of the road, vendors calling out their wares to passing customers. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat drifted from a nearby restaurant, mingling with the faint spice of something sweet. Viktor took it all in, his analytical mind cataloging every detail, every difference from the Piltover he knew.

It was strange—this place lacked the towering spires, the hum of machinery, the constant pursuit of progress that defined his city. And yet, as he watched the people—children dashing between carts, merchants laughing with customers, travelers exchanging stories over tankards at a small inn—he realized that despite the lack of innovation, there was no sign of struggle. No desperate clamor for resources, no clear divide between those who had everything and those who had nothing.

Even with all its advancements, Piltover had never quite looked like this.

Jayce’s arm remained steady around his waist as he steered them through the streets. “Strange, isn’t it?” he murmured, as if reading Viktor’s thoughts.

Viktor hesitated before nodding. “It is… different.”

“Yeah,” Jayce agreed, guiding the horse down a quieter street, away from the main square. “But different doesn’t always mean bad.”

The road eventually opened up to a sprawling structure of stone, a fortress that loomed over the surrounding cityscape. The barracks was an impressive sight—an imposing castle-like building with high, fortified walls and towering spires. Several large archways led into different sections of the compound, and beyond them, Viktor could see an open courtyard serving as a training ground. The rhythmic clang of metal rang through the cool evening air as knights sparred in practice bouts, their armor gleaming under the fading sunlight.

To the side, a row of stables stretched along the outer perimeter, their wooden doors left open to reveal well-groomed horses inside, some being tended to by stable hands. A faint scent of hay and leather mingled with the crisp evening breeze.

“You live here?” Viktor asked, tilting his head as he studied the structure.

Jayce chuckled. “No, but I can’t exactly take the horse home with me.” He leaned against Viktor to pat the beast’s neck before swinging down from the saddle with practiced ease. ”I’d also rather get out of this armor. I live just a short walk from here. Plus, I can get you something to wear in the meantime.”

Viktor turned his gaze back to their surroundings as Jayce led the horse toward the stables. He watched as Jayce moved with familiarity, greeting a stable hand with a nod before removing the horse’s tack and ensuring the animal was settled comfortably in its stall.

Satisfied, Jayce returned to Viktor’s side, gesturing an offer to help him down. Viktor hesitated for a moment before placing his hands on Jayce’s shoulders, feeling the warmth of Jayce’s large hands at his waist as he was effortlessly lowered to the ground. Viktor’s balance wavered, momentarily falling against Jayce. Jayce’s hands lingering a moment longer than necessary on his waist, as if to make sure Viktor was steady before finally releasing him.

With the horse taken care of, Jayce led him toward a smaller side entrance, away from the grand doors of the main hall. The interior was modest compared to the imposing outer walls—simple stone corridors lined with wooden beams, torches casting flickering light along the way. A few knights passed by, offering brief nods of acknowledgment but paying them little attention.

Jayce pushed open a door, revealing a modest yet well-kept living space clearly meant for the stationed knights. A few bunks lined the walls, though they were empty at this hour. A sturdy wooden chest sat at the foot of one of the beds, and Jayce made his way to it, crouching down to rummage through its contents.

“These are going to be a little big,” Jayce said, pulling out a folded tunic and a pair of pants, “but they’ll do for now. Tomorrow, we can get you something that actually fits.” He shot Viktor a grin. “I know a great tailor in town.”

Viktor took the offered clothes, glancing down at them before looking back at Jayce. He had so many questions still, but for now, he simply nodded. One step at a time.

Jayce excused himself to change, leaving Viktor alone to slip into the oversized tunic and slacks. The fabric was soft but hung loosely on his slim frame, the sleeves nearly swallowing his hands. A quick search through the chest yielded a simple sash, which he wrapped tightly around his waist to keep the tunic in place. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

Settling onto the edge of one of the bunks, Viktor kept the blanket in his lap, his fingers idly running over the worn fabric. It was ridiculous how much comfort it brought him, but in a world so unfamiliar, it was the only thing that still felt like home.

His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the details. Oil lamps lined the walls, their soft glow casting flickering shadows. There were no electric  lights, no humming generators—just simple flames keeping the darkness at bay. The walls bore portraits of decorated knights, men and women in full armor, their faces solemn, their names engraved on plaques beneath their likenesses. Between the beds stood weapon racks, some filled with swords, others empty, likely taken by their owners for the night’s patrols.

No electricity. No tech advancements beyond what he’d seen outside. It was strange to see Piltover—or rather, a version of it—stuck in what felt like another era entirely.

The door creaked open, and Viktor turned just as Jayce reentered, now dressed in something far more casual than Viktor was used to seeing. A fitted tunic, its laces slightly undone at the collar, tucked neatly into slacks that actually fit him. The material hugged his form, emphasizing the toned physique Viktor had grown accustomed to seeing beneath polished suits and tailored Talis house colors.

He swallowed hard and quickly averted his gaze, heat creeping up his neck. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t noticed Jayce before—how could he not? But here, without the weight of their past pressing down on them, without the chaos of their world tearing them apart, he was struck by just how different this Jayce was. Or maybe, how much he’d never let himself look before. Not like someone like Jayce would ever think of him in the same way. 

Jayce, oblivious to Viktor’s sudden need to look anywhere but at him, stretched his arms over his head with a satisfied groan before sitting down on the bed opposite him. “Gods, that armor is heavy after a long patrol.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking out the tangled bits. “Much better.”

Viktor hummed in response, focusing very intently on the blanket in his lap.

Jayce tilted his head. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Viktor said quickly, perhaps too quickly, before forcing himself to look up and meet Jayce’s gaze. “Just… adjusting.”

Jayce smiled, warm and easy. “Yeah. I get that.” He leaned back on his elbows, studying Viktor for a moment. “We’ll take it slow. Figure this all out together.”

Together.

Viktor tightened his grip on the blanket, nodding. 

Jayce stood and offered Viktor a hand. "Shall we get going? It would be best to get back before dark."

Viktor hesitated only a moment before accepting, ignoring the way his thoughts betrayed him. This rugged look suited Jayce far too well. He glanced away, focusing instead on steadying himself as he stood. Hours spent on horseback had left his legs stiff, and without his makeshift cane—abandoned on the dirt road—his usual limp felt more pronounced.

Jayce must have noticed, because he casually offered his arm. "Here," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Viktor hesitated again before slipping his hand around Jayce’s forearm, using the support to ease into his stride. He hated feeling weak, but the warmth of Jayce’s presence, the unwavering steadiness he provided, made it easier to swallow his pride.

The walk to Jayce’s residence was only about twenty minutes, as promised. The city streets had quieted some, the last remnants of daylight casting long shadows along the cobblestone paths. Jayce talked the whole way, telling Viktor of all the places he wanted to show him, then food Viktor needed to try, the sights that were a must see.

 When they finally reached their destination, Viktor took in the sight before him—a quaint little house nestled between a shop on one side and another home on the other. A small, well-maintained garden adorned the front, nothing elaborate, but cared for. It was a stark contrast to the lavish apartments they’d once known in their Piltover.

Jayce pushed open the door, revealing an interior shrouded in darkness. Viktor stepped inside carefully, hearing the sound of Jayce rummaging for something in the dimness. A second later, there was a triumphant hum and the unmistakable click of a lighter. The warm glow of an oil lamp flared to life, chasing away the shadows.

One by one, more lamps were lit as Jayce moved about the space, revealing the home in full.

Viktor had expected something more… disorganized. A cluttered mess, perhaps. But the space, while modest, held an undeniable warmth. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with well-worn tomes, some stacked haphazardly, others neatly arranged. A sturdy workbench occupied a corner, its surface strewn with notebooks and half-finished projects—notes scribbled in the familiar sharp, precise handwriting Viktor had seen countless times before.

Touches of Jayce were everywhere, and yet this life he had built was something entirely new.

"You’ve been busy," Viktor murmured, stepping further inside.

Jayce chuckled, setting the lighter down. "Had to keep myself busy when I wasn’t on duty. The shop next door lets me tinker whenever I have the time." He ran a hand over the worn surface of the workbench, a hint of nostalgia in his touch. "Building and fixing things kept me grounded… especially when I started losing hope of finding you." His voice softened, the weight of past loneliness slipping into his tone.

Viktor ran his fingers along the edge of the table, glancing over the scattered blueprints and sketches. Some designs were simple, others ambitious—attempts to recreate pieces of the world they had lost.

"You never could sit still," Viktor said with a faint smile.

Jayce grinned. "And you never could stop trying to figure out how everything works."

There was something unspoken in the air between them. 

Jayce led Viktor down a short hallway to a modest yet well-kept bedroom. The space was simple—wooden floors, a sturdy dresser against one wall, and a plush bed neatly made with a thick quilt. A single window overlooked the garden, the evening light filtering through sheer curtains.

“My mother comes to visit a few days a month and usually stays here,” Jayce explained, “But you can use it in the meantime. Make yourself at home.”

Viktor nodded, running his fingers over the soft fabric of the quilt. The idea of having a place to stay, even temporarily, settled something uneasy inside him. It had been too long since he had a space that felt safe.

“I’m going to run out and grab some food before the shops start closing down,” Jayce continued, already heading for the door. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Viktor barely had time to process the statement before the door clicked shut behind him. Left alone in the quiet house, he stepped back into the main living space, drawn to the bookshelf lining one of the walls. His fingers trailed along the spines, scanning the titles. Most were history books, geography tomes—logical choices for Jayce, considering his need to orient himself in this new world. A few volumes on engineering and blacksmithing were stacked among them, likely the best scientific texts he had been able to find in this less technologically advanced Piltover.

But as Viktor crouched to examine the bottom shelf, he paused. A small collection of books in the corner stood out from the rest. Their covers and gilded titles hinted at something unexpected. He pulled one free, eyeing the dramatic cover art before flipping it open.

Romance novels.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he turned a few pages. Jayce, the hopeless romantic? The thought amused him more than it should have. He settled onto the couch, curiosity piqued, and let himself get lost in the pages. The steady rhythm of the words, the easy escapism of fiction—it was a welcome distraction from the overwhelming reality of his situation.

The front door swung open sometime later, and Viktor barely glanced up from his book as Jayce entered, his arms loaded with parchment-wrapped bundles. But Jayce, on the other hand, froze in place, his face going a deep shade of red.

Viktor quirked an eyebrow, lifting the book slightly. “Did not expect you to be the type,” he teased.

Jayce cleared his throat, setting the food down on the small dining table with a thud. “I, uh—” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Viktor’s amused gaze. “I actually bought those for you.”

Viktor blinked, surprised.

Jayce shifted his weight. “Back when we first met, I visited your apartment that one time,” he admitted, a soft, nostalgic smile playing at his lips. “I remember seeing your own little collection of romance books tucked away between your science journals.” He chuckled. “You tried to hide them, but I might have noticed them.”

Viktor stared at him, the warmth creeping into his chest unfamiliar and unsettling. He had long since accepted that no one had ever really paid attention to him outside of his research. And yet, Jayce had noticed something as small as that.

He glanced down at the book in his hands, then back up at Jayce, whose blush hadn’t fully faded. Viktor smirked. “You are blushing still, you read them didn’t you?”

Jayce groaned, running a hand down his face. “Shut up and come eat.”

Viktor only chuckled as Jayce busied himself unpacking the food, his embarrassment obvious. But something about it made the unfamiliar space feel a little more like home.

Viktor moved to join Jayce at the small dining table, the scent of fresh bread and dried herbs filling the air. Jayce let out a small, sheepish laugh as he finished unwrapping the last of the food.

“Not exactly a grand reunion feast,” he admitted, gesturing to the spread. “Most of the shops were closing, so I had to work with what I could find.”

Viktor glanced over the selection—dried meats, salted fish, an assortment of cheeses and fruits, and to his surprise, a bottle of wine. A deep red. His favorite.

Jayce, ever the surprise.

“This will do just fine,” Viktor said, settling into his seat. “Besides, it is more than I have had in... well, quite some time I suspect.”

Jayce gave a satisfied nod and poured them both a glass of wine before they fell into easy conversation.

Jayce recounted the last year—his frantic confusion upon waking in this world, stumbling into a life that wasn’t his own, trying to pass as the version of himself that had once lived here. The struggle of learning to be a knight when all he had ever known were blueprints and hammers. He laughed as he told Viktor about how the people had initially thought he was suffering from amnesia, some calling him mad when he asked the “wrong” questions or failed to recognize familiar faces.

Viktor listened, fascinated by the strange path Jayce had taken in this world. It was surreal, hearing how his friend had adapted, how he had fought to find his place, all while searching for him.

The wine flowed easily between them, loosening the weight in Viktor’s chest. It had been so long since he had felt something so simple, so normal. Laughter came easier, the tension of the day fading into the warmth of old companionship.

By the time they finished the meal—and the bottle of wine—the room was lit only by the soft glow of the fireplace, the oil lamps long since burned out, the night pressing in around them.

Jayce stretched, rolling his shoulders. “We should probably turn in,” he suggested. “I need to report to my captain in the morning and request a few days of leave. After that, we’ll figure out a plan.”

Viktor nodded, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. He rose from his seat, pausing only briefly before making his way toward the guest room. As he reached for the door handle, Jayce’s voice stopped him.

“Viktor.”

It was barely above a whisper.

He turned, meeting Jayce’s gaze. There was something raw in his expression, something unspoken lingering between them.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Jayce said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I really did miss you.”

The sentiment struck something deep within Viktor, a warmth settling in his chest. For a moment, he could only stare at Jayce, taking in the sincerity of his words.

Then, a soft smile crossed his lips. “I’ve missed you too.”

And with that, they both turned in for the night, the weight of the past finally giving way to the promise of tomorrow.jfv