my friends call me fran

“Just Viktor,” he murmured. “Always your Viktor.” Jayce raised his hand, pressing it over Viktor’s. He held it, not pulling away, infusing warmth. Eyes still bright—now wet— as he bowed his head and laid a tender kiss on Viktor’s palm. “My Viktor,” Jayce whispered.

Or, Viktor is immortal. Jayce is not. Every time Jayce dies and is reborn, he forgets everything. But Viktor remembers. He always does.

⋆˙⟡

It strikes me how deeply Jayce and Viktor mirror Adam and Eve (or even Lilith).

Jayce is unmistakably Adam: the “golden boy,” chosen and legitimized, blessed by the magician’s touch and crowned with authority. Like Adam, he is the favored creation, placed in his own Eden: Piltover’s ivory towers. But his position is fragile, almost illusory; it rests entirely on obedience to higher powers. First his patrons, then Heimerdinger, then the Council (whilst Adam had God). Each time he steps beyond their rules, the order begins to crack.

Viktor, by contrast, embodies the duality of Lilith and Eve. He knows how to move within Piltover’s order, but he refuses to bow to it, refusing the authorities' (and even Jayce's) decisions when they betray his own will, or his principles. In the end, just like Lilith, he embraces exile, turns to Zaun, and takes full authorship of his evolution. Like her, who was made Adam’s equal, yet rejects subordination, choosing freedom and transformation in place of obedience. And yet, he is also Eve: the companion who reaches for forbidden fruit. His temptation is not the serpent’s whisper but the promise of “glorious evolution,” the fruit of transcendent knowledge offered through Hextech and science. But just as in the myth, that search is cast as the primal sin, because beyond it lies ruin, even annihilation.