Ximena knew her son. She knew how he close Jayce had held Viktor to his heart. That is why she was not surprised when Caitlyn Kiramman showed up to tell her that Jayce had gone down in the fight.
She had steeled herself for this moment in the quiet, sleepless hours of the night when he went missing, the times when her heart screamed what her mind refused to admit. Jayce had always been destined to burn too brightly, to throw himself into the fire for a world that didn't deserve him. But hearing it from Caitlyn's lips, seeing the weariness in the young woman's face, it struck her in ways no preparation could soften.
She had watched those two grow from hopeful idealists into men burdened by the weight of their dreams. She had watched them toil side by side, their bond forged in sleepless nights and shared laughter, unbreakable even when cracks began to form. Ximena had tried to warn Jayce, tried to tell him he couldn't carry both their hopes on his back alone. He'd just smiled that stubborn, boyish smile of his and said, "Viktor would do the same for me, Mom."
He had always known Viktor was something more than a partner, more than a friend: She saw it in the way he spoke of him, looked at him-as if Viktor were the answer to every question he'd ever asked.
The room felt colder, emptier, as if Jayce's absence had carved a hollow space in the air itself. Ximena's mind coursed with memories of her son: the determined spark in his eyes when he spoke of progress; the way his laughter filled a room; the unshakable bond he had with Viktor.
She remembered the first time Jayce had brought Viktor home, a wiry young man with an unsteady gait and an accent thick enough that Jayce had leaned in just a little closer when he spoke, his brow furrowed in that quiet, thoughtful way he got when he was trying to understand. Viktor had been polite, reserved, but there had been an eagerness in his voice when he’d spoken of their work—work they’d dreamed would change the world.
And for a time, it had. But now, it was nothing more than ash and wreckage.
Ximena closed her eyes and leaned her head back, the weight of grief pressing heavy against her chest. The silence of the house was deafening. She could almost hear them still—Jayce and Viktor huddled at the dining room table, their voices rising and falling as they argued over some equation, their laughter spilling into the quiet halls when they finally found the answer. She had thought, back then, that nothing could tear them apart.
Ximena pressed her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She had always believed in the power of progress, in the idea that the world could be made better if people were brave enough to try. But now, as she sat alone in the empty house that had once been filled with laughter and hope, she couldn’t help but wonder if progress was worth the cost.
She didn't know if anything was.
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The bridge was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the river echoing below, its waters dark and restless under the pale glow of the moon. A small crowd had gathered, their expressions aglow in the flickering light of paper lanterns they carried. Ximena stood among them, her grief weighing heavily upon her shoulders, still, trembling fingers clutching a single sheet of parchment.
This was how Piltover mourned its losses: with fire, with water, with words written to the departed and sent to the sky or the sea. She’d been to ceremonies like this before—ceremonies for friends, and her husband. But tonight, she wasn’t here for them. She was here for her boys.
Long after ink bled into the paper, the letters stark and unforgiving against the pale surface. Her fingers hovered over the page, brushing against the words. How many times had she spoken their names aloud, full of pride and hope? How many times had she whispered them in prayers, begging for their safety? Now, these names carried nothing but grief.
'Viktor and Jayce Talis.'
She had always thought that maybe someday... Maybe someday, Viktor would be one officially, though it was wishful thinking, she could only wish it had happened. But he would always be remembered as one. She wouldn't let people forget the kind boy she had met almost 8 years ago, the one that saved her son, and gave him purpose again. She will never forget her promise to him.
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The only sound in the kitchen came from the steady tick of the wall clock. Ximena leaned against the counter, her hands cradling a warm cup of tea, while Viktor sat at the table, his long fingers fidgeting with the edge of a napkin. Jayce had stepped out to fetch something from the workshop; there was just the two of them in the quiet of the morning.
Viktor's eyes stared into the steam rising from his cup, untouched. "Do you ever think about how little time we have?" he asked suddenly, in a soft, almost hesitant voice.
Ximena blinked, taken by surprise by the question. "What do you mean?
He didn't look up. "Life. It's… so short. Even when it feels long, it's not. There's so much to do, so much to fix, and yet…" He let the napkin slip from his hands, watching it flutter to the table. "We don't have enough time to do it."
She set her tea down and took a step closer, her brows furrowing. "Viktor, you and Jayce have already done more than most people could dream of. You're making a difference."
He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's not enough. What we build, what we discover-it won't last. And neither will I." His voice cracked slightly, and he finally looked up at her. "Do you know what it's like to feel your body failing you, to know that even if your mind burns bright, your body will drag you down? I'll be gone before I can finish what I've started, and when I am, no one will remember me."
The ache in his voice, the fear he was desperately trying to conceal behind the calm mask of his face, pierced Ximena's heart. She pulled out the chair next to him and sat, extending her hand to rest on his.
"Viktor," she said softly, "you're wrong about that. You won't be forgotten."
He looked at her, his face a mask of skepticism. "How can you be so sure?
"Because I know my son," she said with conviction. Jayce talks about you like you're the other half of his soul. Everything he does, everything he builds-it's tied to you. You've already left your mark on him, and through him, on the world. People will remember what the two of you did together. And even if they don't, I will.
Viktor stared at her, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come.
"You're more than your work, Viktor," Ximena went on, softening. "And the people who love you, Jayce and yes, me too-we'll carry you with us, no matter what happens. That's not something time can take away.
His fingers squeezed hers a fraction harder, and for the first time during the conversation, he let out a soft exhalation almost like a breath of relief. "You… really believe that?"
"I do," she replied with conviction. "And so should you."
There was nothing but silence then between them-no awkwardness or irritation but comfortable, comforting silence. Then Viktor looked at her, flashing a very soft, near bashful smile-something she saw rarely from him.
"Thanks, Ximena," he said quietly. "For… reminding me."
She squeezed his hand lightly before letting it go, her smile warm, yet tinged with sadness. "Anytime, mi hijo . Anytime."
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She folded the paper carefully, her touch reverent despite the tears streaming down her face. The act felt final, heavy with meaning. Jayce and Viktor had always been two halves of the same whole, and now their names would remain together, even in this.
She stared at the folded paper in her hands, her chest tightening. “You were supposed to change the world,” she thought to herself “You were supposed to make it better. Together.”
The bridge was silent save for the soft murmur of the river below, its waters dark and restless beneath the pale glow of the moon. A small crowd had gathered, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the paper lanterns they carried. Ximena stood among them, the weight of her grief pressing heavily on her shoulders, but she remained still, her trembling hands clutching a single sheet of parchment.
She handed her paper to the bowl filled with other names to be remembered, and as the papers were brought to the flame, she looked up at the sky and knew. They were together, even if they weren't with her. They were okay.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Hi guys, i'm back to writing and I thought i'd share this one. I made people cry, so thats fun, anyways I listened to fable on loop while writing this so have fun 😋
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