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
