Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.
I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.
Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.
On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.
We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.
A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.
Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.
Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.
The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.
Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.
We Don’t Know What Comes Next
There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.
My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.
How You Can Help
I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:
Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.
Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.
She slaps at her phone with the accuracy of someone who has been doing this for years, squinting at the screen long enough to confirm that yes, it is morning, and no, she does not have the luxury of pretending otherwise. For a brief moment, she considers rolling over and stealing a few more minutes of sleep.
Then she remembers she's a mother.
With a sigh, Lois pushes herself upright and swings her legs over the side of the bed. The room is cool, the thin rug beneath the bed doing little to warm the cold tiles. It was snowing outside, adding to the chilly atmosphere. Clark's side of the bed was empty though, sheets neatly pulled back.
"Of course," she murmurs, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
She stands, stretches until her back gives a quiet, satisfying crack, and shuffles toward the bathroom. The overhead light flicks on with a faint hum, revealing her reflection in the mirror, hair doing something creative and unapproved, faint creases under her eyes that no amount of optimism will convince her aren't permanent.
She grabs her toothbrush and starts brushing, pacing herself against the counter while her brain slowly wakes. The mirror fogs as she breathes, halfheartedly wiping a clear spot with her sleeve, only for it to smear worse.
Fantastic.
Lois spits, rinses, and leans closer to the mirror, inspecting herself one more time before exiting the bathroom to continue her morning routine.
She enters the kitchen, greeted by the smell of coffee and morning air. Her favourite mug sits on the counter, next to the coffee pot, which was half full. Clark must've started it before flying off. A twinge of appreciation mixes with her fatigue as she picks up the pot and pours herself a drink.
Her hand trembles, and she can't help but scold herself. Everything's fine, she reminds herself as she stares at her reflection in the mug. As of late, she hasn't been sleeping well, plagued with a worry only a mother is cursed with.
Lois's eyes drift to the hallway leading upstairs, where your room lies quiet. The seizures were becoming more frequent now, three in the past month. Clark scheduled another appointment with the doctor, a sentiment Louis has recently begun to disagree with.
She takes a sip of coffee and grimaces; it's gone lukewarm already. In her distraction, she'd forgotten to drink it while hot. Setting the mug down, Lois turns to the stove and sets a pan on the burner. The familiar motions of cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them gently offer a momentary respite. Normalcy, she reminds herself. Keep things normal if she can make a decent breakfast and coax a smile out of you; maybe this day will start on the right foot.
It was a special day after all.
On the counter, the radio is tuned to a quiet murmur of news. A cheerful voice is reporting the weather and the previous night's local headlines. "...city crews have been salting the roads after yesterday's snowfall, though we still advocate caution; those roads are slick! In other news, the Metropolis Museum's charity gala is set to begin this evening, many famous guests are set to attend, even Gotham's own billionaire playboy..." The broadcaster's upbeat tone droned on, allowing Louis to focus on something other than her worry.
The toast pops up, startling her slightly. One slice is a shade past golden, nearly burnt. She sighs and butters them anyway. The routine is grounding: pour the orange juice, set out plates, dish up the scrambled eggs. All the while, Lois's mind wanders despite her efforts to focus on the mundane morning routine.
She thinks of an argument that happened some time ago. She and Clark had stood right here in this kitchen, voices low to avoid waking the kids, but the intensity had been unmistakable. They'd argued about your condition; what to do next, which doctor to go to, how to afford yet another round of inconclusive tests. Clark had folded his arms, that familiar crease between his brows, as he insisted they try one more specialist, a renowned neurologist in New York.
Lois remembers gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles white. She wasn't opposed to seeking more help; no, she was just as desperate for answers, but she worried about the toll on their daughter. "She's been prodded and scanned enough," she'd said quietly, frustration evident. "Maybe... maybe this isn't something a normal doctor can fix."
The unspoken possibility hung between them: the possibility that your health struggles might be tied to that extraordinary half of your heritage, your Kryptonian side.
You'd never shown any trace of the abilities your brother developed at puberty. No super strength. No heat vision. No signs you would ever be anything other than human. And perhaps that was the problem. Maybe you weren't just a late bloomer. Maybe this was what happened when Kryptonian and human genetics didn't line up the way they were supposed to.
Lois had never felt farther from Clark than she did in that moment, two parents standing in the same kitchen, staring at the same child's future, and somehow seeing different worlds.
The smell of burning eggs pulled her back into the kitchen.
"Fuck—" she muttered, lifting the pan and scraping the scorched eggs onto a plate. They were half-charred; the little black edges made her feel more bitter than the ruined breakfast. She dumped the pan into the sink with more force than necessary, the clatter echoing her frustration.
Today was your seventeenth birthday. Seventeen, and she couldn't even make you a decent breakfast. Worse, your father had slipped out of the house without a word to you. The thought of it knotted in her chest: anger and helplessness mixing like an unfavable cocktail.
Lois took a slow breath, forcing herself to steady. It wasn't fair to you, she thought; she knew Clark didn't mean to shut you out. But knowing that didn't make the absence hurt any less.
She set the plate down more gently this time and, for a long moment, let the quiet settle.
Looking back, Lois can pinpoint when the distance between you and Clark began. It was around the time Jon began showing signs of being like his father—superhuman strength, incredible speed, flight. Clark hadn't meant to leave you out. He'd just been swept up in the responsibility of raising a boy who could accidentally break bones with a hug or see through the walls of his own home. Training was bonding; bonding you couldn't partake in. Lois knows too well how rejection can feel when you're the one left waiting.
She had faith, stubborn, hopeful faith, that everything would fall into place once you started developing abilities of your own. But twelve came and went. Then thirteen. Fourteen. And still nothing..
Years later, when your health began to falter, Clark's presence around you seemed to change. It wasn't just caution anymore; it was fear, a painful uncertainty about how to connect with a daughter he suddenly thought might break under the weight of his embrace.
Lois fears that somewhere along the line, you mistook his carefulness for disinterest, his love for distance, his awe of Jon for a lack of awe in you.
Once more, her thoughts were shattered by a sound from deeper in the house; a sharp clatter like something heavy hitting the floor, followed by a terrified scream.
The plate in Lois's hands slips, shattering against the cool tile floor.
════════════════════
Jon always liked to think back to the snapshots of his childhood.
Accidentally overwatering his class-assigned plant, and you laughing as he tried to fix it, only to make it worse. You and him huddled under blankets during thunderstorms, whispering about monsters and aliens like the ones your father fought. Your fingers hooked in his sleeve on the first day of school, biting your nail, and him promising you that he wouldn't let anything get you.
Back then, it was you two against the world.
Then things changed. Slowly at first. So slowly that Jon didn't realise it was happening until he looked back and couldn't recognise the distance between you.
His powers hit him like a freight train.
One day, he was the regular old Jon Kent, worrying about pre-algebra homework and when his favourite comic was coming out; the next, he was different. Stronger. Faster. The world around him was more vibrant and alive than before.
He remembers the proud look in his father's eyes, and how he basked in it.
Training sessions replaced afternoons spent helping you with homework. Patrols took over game nights. Conversations began to happen without you. After all, how could you be expected to understand if you weren't like him and Dad?
Jon remembers catching your expression once, standing at the edge of the barn, hands shoved into your jacket pockets, watching him lift something impossibly heavy while Dad looked on with pride.
You’d smiled when Jon noticed you watching—a genuine smile. You wanted him to come play; he could see it in the hopeful, playful glint in your eyes. You even waved him over.
He looked away, pretending he hadn't seen you at all.
Jon tells himself now that he didn't choose the distance. That it was inevitable. That things just... shifted.
It's the only way he knows how to dull the guilt of his youth, because the truth—the quiet, uncomfortable honesty—is that a part of him enjoyed the way things became.
When Dad looked at him like that, when the world suddenly made space for his abilities, it felt good. It felt important. And standing next to you, still human, still asleep to the world he woke up to, he didn't know how to reconcile the difference. He tells himself now that it wasn't superiority he felt; he was just lost in the motion. Like he was being carried forward by something too big to stop. Turning things back to how they were never crossed his mind.
You stopped coming along. Jon stopped asking. And somehow, that became normal.
The seizures came later.
Those were different. Those were terrifying in a way no amount of super-strength or heat vision could fix. There was nothing Jon could punch, nothing he could outrun. All he could do was watch as your body betrayed you.
He remembers the first one vividly. The sound you made when you hit the floor, the violent way your body seized. It looked so painful...
Dad changed after that. Everyone did.
Jon tried not to resent the way his father's expectations shifted into something heavier, the way fear settled into the house and lingered. But resentment has a way of creeping in anyway, especially when you're sixteen and scared, watching your sister grow slowly shrink in on herself.
And then Conner showed up.
At first, Jon had been relieved. Another super-person in the house meant someone who understood what it felt like to be different. He knew Conner's history with their father was... complicated. He'd expected it might take time for Conner to warm up to the family.
What Jon hadn't expected was how easily Conner slipped into your orbit.
Conner listened. Really listened; in that blunt, unfiltered way of his. He didn't treat you like you might break; he didn't shy away from your health, didn't dodge conversations about powers or family history. When you talked about feeling left out—about Dad, about Jon—Conner didn't try to soften it or explain it away like Mom always did.
He just understood.
He understood you in a way Jon never had.
And somehow, that mattered more than anything else.
Jon hated that. He hates admitting that he hated it. It wasn't jealousy, he tells himself. Not really. It was... loss. Watching someone else slip into a space he hadn't even realized he'd abandoned. Watching you laugh with Conner in a way that used to be reserved for him.
Watching you choose someone else.
The guilt of it sits heavy in his chest now as he moves down the hallway, still half-asleep, still trying to shake the strange tension clinging to the house.
It's your birthday. Seventeen. He'd planned to knock on your door, surprise you with a visit home from college. He and Mom planned it—she'd even helped sneak him in before dawn.
Instead, he hears a noise.
A thump. Something heavy hitting the floor.
Then your heartbeat; fast, erratic. Your breathing follows, shallow and uneven, panic sharp in the air.
Jon is moving before his mind catches up. His heart slams against his ribs as he takes the stairs two at a time, socked feet slipping on the carpet.
"F/n!" he calls your name.
No answer.
Another sound—furniture scraping, something tipping over—and then a sharp crash, unmistakable. Glass.
He reaches your door and doesn't bother knocking.
It flies open, slamming hard enough to rattle the wall.
Your room is chaos.
Drawers half-open. A chair overturned. Something shattered near the bed, glass scattered and glinting in the dim morning light. You're on the floor, back pressed to the bedframe, hands clawing at your chest as you struggle to breathe.
Your eyes are wide.
Unfocused.
Jon takes a cautious step into the room, carefully avoiding the glass. "F/n," he says again, softer now, trying to make sense of what he's seeing, what could have possibly happened?
Your gaze snaps to him, eyes locking onto his face.
And it hits him—the raw, unfiltered terror there. Not recognition. Not relief. Fear so deep it's as if you don't know him at all.
You scream.
The sound cuts through the house, sharp and panicked.
And somewhere in the distance, a plate shatters against the floor, the echo ringing out like a warning bell as the rest of the world finally catches up.
Warnings: Dark themes, Death, Dark/Yandere Behaviors, Neglect, Abuse, Manipulation
(A/n: A message to the taglisters, apologies for the long wait, as you can see the series underwent a rewrite. I recommend re-reading, as the chapters will be paced differently. Thank you for supporting my work! Message me if you wish to be removed from the tag list.)
So you can't help but wonder why fate would damn you like this.
You sigh, unwashed uniform hung over your arm, grease clinging to you in all the places it shouldn't. The air around you was cold enough to fog your breath as you exited the diner, a chilly night that promises frost-covered cars and hazy morning fog. The chill feels nice, numbing your aching limbs and sore feet; it also makes you feel more alert, rejuvenating some of your depleted energy.
The stars were out as well.
Shining, shimmering, out of reach. Meant to be admired but never touched, lest you want to suffer a fate like Icarus.
It's nights like these, cold starry nights right after a shift, that remind you why you're wasting your money on college.
Because someday, someday you'll be just like that overzealous boy, flying high enough to reach those stars, away from medoracorties of society, away from yelling customers and pissy managers.
Somewhere up there. In the stars. That's where you'll be.
Blinking, you take another second to admire the stars above you before continuing your walk. Sadly, you don't have a ride back to your college, don't have enough money to own a car, and don't have a reliable roommate to pick you up.
"It's too cold." Shi said over the phone, "And I have an exam on Monday, you know how Mr Kinbertly gets about his exams!"
You grumble under your breath at the excuse; it was only 29°F out (-1.7°C), hardly winter weather out. And the parking lot is only a few blocks away from the dorm; she could suck it up.
It was about a twenty-minute walk from the dinner to your dorm. By the time you arrive, it'll be past midnight, not just that, but the pavement was icy, and no one had salted it yet, making your chances of a wipeout a lot higher.
'Damnit, Shi, can't you pick a more convenient time to be a prick?'
Your lack of funds also makes getting a taxi inconvenient, plus, it seemed ridiculous to pay for a three-minute car ride. No, it would be better to walk. This was a low-crime area of the city, so you weren't too worried about being mugged. And what could possibly happen on a twenty-minute walk?
With a sigh of acceptance, you begin your trek to the dorms.
Footsteps crunch faintly on the cold, icy pavement; fingers curl tighter around the fabric of your coat, more out of habit than from the cold. Nights like this always slow you down, give you too much time to think about little things you'd usually brush off: where you're headed, how you ended up here, the small choices that stacked up along the way.
Without really meaning to, your thoughts drift somewhere familiar.
Home.
Not in any dramatic way, just flashes of it. Your mother's voice, warm but tired, reminding you to turn the lights off while she counts bills twice before setting them down on the table, lips pressed tight. Your father's hands, rough from work, but always gentle when tucking you in at night.
Money was always something to be careful with, something you felt even when no one talked about it. You learned early how to make do, how to accept "good enough," how not to ask for more than what was already stretched thin.
This college was your way out of that life. Your wings. Proof that all those years of scraping by weren't for nothing. You tell yourself that someday you'll make enough that your mom won't grimace at the receipt, that your dad won't work himself into the ground for overtime that barely makes a dent. Someday, you'll be the reason they don't have to worry anymore.
The street comes into view gradually, the glow of streetlights cutting through the dark like halos bleeding through a winter night. It's one of the wider roads that cuts between campus housing and the rest of the city; four lanes, a turning lane in the middle, traffic lights that take too long to change.
Tonight, though, it's empty. No steady flow of cars. No distant headlights. Just a long stretch of dark asphalt laid out ready to cross.
You slow without really thinking.
Crossing streets has always been one of those moments where your brain decides to get annoyingly thorough. Look left. Look right. Check again. Your mother drilled that into you early, her voice sharp with concern every time you'd dart ahead without thinking. You can't afford to be careless, she'd said, holding your hand tightly.
You stop at the curb, toes just shy of the street, and sigh.
The crossing light was red.
Of course it was.
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, reaching for your phone while you wait for the light to change. You could jaywalk, but that felt like challenging the universe to do something, and you were always the superstitious type. The night feels quieter here, suspended, like time stopped ticking, as the city itself has momentarily stepped away. Somewhere behind you, laughter spills out, drunken, loose, unbothered. A small group staggers down the opposite sidewalk, arms hooked together, voices too loud for the hour.
You watch them for a second, something tight twisting in your chest.
You don't resent them. Not really. Still, there's a flicker of bitterness there, sharp and unwanted. You wonder what it must feel like to move through the world with the ability to stop and exist in the moment. To go out with friends and have fun, without weighing every step, every choice, every dollar.
The crosswalk signal changes with a soft electronic chirp.
You don't move right away.
Instead, you glance up again, drawn back to the sky. The stars are fainter here, dulled by streetlights, but they're still there if you look long enough. Still steady. Still impossibly far. You think about how strange it is that something so distant can feel so personal, like a promise meant just for you.
Just a little longer, you think. Just keep going.
The road stretches out in front of you, vast, empty, deceptively harmless. Nothing about it feels dangerous. It's just another street. Another gap between where you are and where you're trying to go.
You step off the curb.
The asphalt feels different beneath your shoes, slicker than the sidewalk, a thin sheen of ice catching the streetlight just enough to glint. "God," you mutter to yourself, walking onto the road slowly, taking your time not to slip on the ice. "They really need to salt these roads."
Halfway across, something shifts.
At first, it's barely anything; a low, distant sound, so out of place it takes your brain a second to recognize it—an engine.
You look up.
Headlights bloom into existence at the far end of the road, cutting through the dark. A truck is moving faster than it should be, its tires screeching as they lose their grip on the ice.
Your heart leaps into your throat. You stare, horrified, as it heads straight at you. Instinct overrides reason. Your legs move on their own, trying to get back to the curb, but you were halfway across the street.
Each step felt slower than the last, as if your body were dragging its feet while your mind raced ahead. You think about how you still need to finish that paper, how you forgot to text your mom back before your shift.
You had promised yourself you'd do better next semester—regulate your time better, sleep more, maybe even allow yourself to live in the moment more often.
You had practically finished your classes.
You worked so hard to pass them all.
You did everything right, kept your head down, paid your dues, waited your turn.
You weren't the best person, but you weren't the worst. You didn't deserve to have everything ripped from you when you were so close to those stars.
Your breathing sounds too loud in your ears, as you feel your footing on the icy road slip. For a fleeting, absurd moment, you think about those wax wings again, as you slowly fall back.
The night above you is so clear, stars scattered cold and uncaring. Strangely, you notice how beautiful they are, those distant pinpricks of light you've always yearned for. A part of you wants to reach toward them, just once, just to say you tried.
But your fingers only claw at the empty air as the burning headlights engulf you whole.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Your breath fogs the window as you rest your head against it. The sun hasn’t risen, yet sleep eludes you. Outside, the world is a mix of cold and silence, but your mind churns ceaselessly.
Three years since you began your apprenticeship under Jayce. In that time, Hextech has advanced beyond anything you could have dreamed.
Piltover has become the heart of progress, its Hexgates connecting nations, "The Center of Trade and Evolution," as Mel once called it.
Yet, for all its brilliance, Hextech remains a paradox to you—a marvel you can admire but never fully understand, much less touch.
Your gaze drifts to the blue orb resting beside you, its pulsing aura whispering a melody you can’t quite discern. Hesitantly, you reach for it, your fingers twitching as the air around the gemstone hums with energy.
You barely graze the pristine blue gem before a sharp jolt shoots through your fingers.
You yank your hand back with a hiss, cradling it to your chest. Blowing on your fingertips does little to soothe the sharp, lingering sting. An exasperated sigh escapes you as you look down at your slightly blistered fingers. This result was expected but still maddening.
For reasons you could not understand, touching Hextech directly always left you burned.
“No progress, hmm?”
The clicking of a cane echoes behind you. Panic flickers across your face as you quickly tuck your hand behind your back and turn around, but it’s too late.
Looking up, you’re met with the unimpressed stare of your mentor’s lab partner.
A nervous chuckle escapes as your cheeks flush with shame. Viktor hobbles closer, stopping in front of you. With a pointed expression, he silently gestures for your hand.
Reluctantly, you reveal your hand from behind your back. Viktor takes it carefully, his touch firm but gentle as his eyes trace the small burns along your fingers.
“You know,” Viktor begins, “it seems counter-intuitive for Jayce to appoint the one person in Piltover incapable of safely handling the Hexcore as his apprentice.”
He presses lightly on one of the burns, making you wince and yank your hand back. You glare at him, but he ignores it.
“Why are you up so early?” he asks. “And meddling with Hextech alone? Jayce has told you many times—it’s reckless, given your condition.”
You shrug, offering no real explanation. The ambiguity earns you a disapproving look, though you catch a glimmer of amusement in Viktor’s expression.
“Jayce is rubbing off on you,” he mutters. “Both of you are hardheaded to a fault.”
Viktor turns and gestures for you to follow him. You comply, trailing him to his cluttered desk. Notes are scattered everywhere, buried under odd trinkets and prototypes.
Reaching over the mess, Viktor grabs a small ceramic jar. Carefully, he removes its glass lid, revealing a clear green liquid swirling inside. Dipping a piece of cotton into the liquid, Viktor takes your hand again, dabbing the burns with a precision that’s almost meditative.
The burns will heal in a few days, fading as if they were never there. Still, this ritual has become a quiet tradition, a bond between you and Viktor—something unspoken yet meaningful.
The door swings open, shattering the tranquility. You immediately sit up straight, pulling your hand away from Viktor.
Jayce enters, his smile as bright as ever, and your stomach flutters as his gaze meets yours.
“Good morning, you two!” he says cheerfully, earning a grunt from Viktor and a wave from you.
“Today’s the day—Progress Day!” Jayce announces, his excitement contagious. “We’re finally going to showcase everything we’ve been working on.” Even Viktor’s lips twitch into a faint smile.
Jayce crosses the room to retrieve the crystal you had touched earlier, carefully placing it back in its case. “We need to get ready. Heimerdinger will be here any moment.”
He turns to you, pulling out a pair of gloves from his pocket and handing them over. “My mother made these,” he admits. “For the presentation. I need my apprentice up there with me, after all.”
You take the gloves, admiring the craftsmanship. “Wait… you want me on stage?” you ask, startled.
Jayce chuckles. “It’s your last year of apprenticeship, Y/N. You’ve proven yourself time and time again.” He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It’s time you made your debut.”
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
“The gemstone is gone.”
❪❂❫
“I have come before you to recommend that we suspend all Hextech operations.”
❪❂❫
“I propose that a new chair be brought forth and that House Talis be elevated to the august body.”
❪❂❫
You lay on the rooftop, staring at the stars above. The events of the day whirl in your mind like a storm. The attack, the stolen gemstone, Jayce’s abrupt decision to shut down Hextech operations without consulting you or Viktor, and his election to the council. It all feels surreal, a cascade of chaos.
“The stars are lovely tonight, no?”
The sudden voice draws your attention. Viktor stands nearby, his gaze fixed on the heavens. Though calm, his posture betrays exhaustion.
He sits beside you, gesturing toward the horizon. “Do you see them? The lights of the Undercity.”
You nod as faint glimmers come into view. “You’re from the Undercity, right?” you ask softly.
Viktor inclines his head. “And that’s why you want to use Hextech,” you continue, “to help them.”
“Yes,” he says, conviction threading through his voice. “I wish to end the suffering of the Undercity. To use our technology to evolve humanity—beyond its limits.”
You place a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens at first but relaxes as your words cut through the quiet.
“Your dream is beautiful, Viktor,” you say, admiration clear in your voice. “And I can’t wait to see you and Jayce bring it to life.”
His golden eyes linger on the Undercity before flickering to you. “You believe in us,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “In me.”
“Of course I do,” you reply without hesitation. “You see possibilities where others see obstacles. How could I not believe in that?”
A rare softness touches his gaze. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Your faith… it means more to me than I often let on.”
The silence that follows is comfortable, the two of you watching the stars and the faint lights of the Undercity. Yet, a shadow passes over Viktor’s expression. His fingers tighten around his cane, his thoughts veiled but heavy.
“The night grows late,” he says finally. “We should rest. Tomorrow will bring more challenges.”
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
You stood silently behind Jayce, your gaze darting between him and Viktor as the tension between them thickened.
"This is a misuse of our work," Viktor muttered, eyes fixed on the enforcers tinkering with the Hexgate. His voice carried the sharp edge of frustration. "What happened to our promise to improve lives? To help those in the Undercity?"
Jayce let out a sharp breath, shaking his head dismissively. "I’m a Councilor now, Viktor," he replied, his tone clipped. "My priority is ensuring the Hexgates are secure. That has to come first." He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "You understand, don’t you?"
Caught off guard, you hesitated, shifting your weight. "Maybe you should’ve... included Viktor in your plans," you murmured carefully. "You know, since you’re supposed to be partners."
Jayce scoffed lightly, his humor paper-thin. "Aren’t you supposed to be my apprentice?" he quipped, offering you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Across from him, Viktor gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. A flicker of genuine gratitude. You returned it with a faint smile before Jayce’s attention shifted elsewhere.
Marcus entered the room, and Jayce moved to speak with him, leaving you and Viktor by the railing.
"I just don’t understand," Viktor murmured as you leaned on the edge beside him. "This should be all the more reason to push our research further. The Undercity needs us, and the longer we ignore them, the angrier they’ll grow."
His gaze flicked to your hands, lingering briefly on the smooth skin where blisters had once marred the surface.
"...Thank you," he whispered, his voice soft but sincere. "At least you understand my frustrations better than Jayce does."
You shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. The quiet critique of your mentor made your stomach knot, but you kept silent. It wasn’t your place to interfere in the growing rift between them.
"—Have you made any progress on the stolen Gemstone?" Jayce's voice cut through your thoughts, snapping your focus back to him.
You noted the strain in his posture, the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked overwhelmed, and a pang of sympathy tugged at your chest. His new role was a heavy burden, but selfishly, you wondered how it might affect your time together. Would he place your training on hold, as he had seemingly done with Hextech?
The thought left a sour taste in your mouth.
Shaking it off, you turned to Viktor, who had gone quiet. His gaze was fixed on the Hexcore, its faint glow reflected in his eyes. There was a distant, almost hypnotized look in his expression.
A chill crept up your spine.
"Viktor?" you called softly, stepping closer. Your heart jolted as you noticed the blood trickling from his nose.
"Viktor!" You grabbed his shoulder instinctively. The touch startled him, and he tensed briefly before relaxing as he recognized you.
“…I’m fine," he muttered, brushing your hand away with a quiet sigh.
Jayce, alerted by the commotion, hurried over. His eyes darted between you and Viktor, narrowing when he saw the blood.
“Viktor, are you all right?” he asked, placing a firm hand on Viktor’s shoulder. The gesture forced you to step back, though you remained close.
“It’s... just a headache," Viktor replied tersely, shrugging off Jayce's hand. "I need to get back to the lab."
He turned away, cane tapping against the floor in an uneven rhythm. Halfway to the exit, he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, gesturing for you to follow.
You cast a quick, uncertain look at Jayce, who stayed rooted in place, his gaze troubled.
After a brief hesitation, you complied, following Viktor into the corridor.
The walk to the lab was steeped in silence, tension radiating from Viktor with every brisk step. His jaw was set, his frustration evident in the stiff line of his posture.
Suddenly, he stumbled, his cane skidding against the floor. You lunged forward just in time to catch him as he collapsed against the wall, coughing violently.
"Viktor," you murmured, adjusting to support his weight as he leaned heavily on you. His breaths came in labored gasps, but he didn’t resist your help.
"Maybe we should call it a night," you suggested gently. "You’re not well. I could make you some soup—tomato basil, maybe?" You offered a tentative smile. "It’s the only thing I can cook without setting a stove on fire."
Viktor didn’t respond, his focus elsewhere as you guided him to the lab. Once there, you settled him into a chair and pulled up one beside him.
For a moment, the quiet hum of machinery filled the air.
"When I lived in the Undercity," Viktor began suddenly, his voice subdued, "I knew a man—a teacher of sorts. He once told me that loneliness was the burden of a gifted mind." He turned to you, his expression contemplative. "Do you ever feel that? The isolation, simply because you see the world differently?"
You considered his words, offering a faint smile. "Honestly? No. My parents were... eccentric, to say the least. Borderline mad scientists, but they understood me. Every phase, every crazy idea—I always had them."
Your smile softened. "And now, you have me. And Jayce. Even if we don’t always agree, we’re here for you, Viktor. Right behind you. Always."
His lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile, though his eyes flickered briefly toward the Hexcore.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
Hours later, you had gone home, leaving Viktor alone in the lab to finish working on the Hexcore. The day’s events weighed heavily on him, the anger and disappointment still clinging to the air like smoke. His hands ran through his hair in frustration.
Sending you home had felt like the right decision at the time, but now that he was alone, a pang of creeping guilt settled over him. He hated that you were caught in the middle of his and Jayce’s ongoing conflict, forced to navigate between them because of your apprenticeship.
Your apprenticeship under Jayce.
The sudden acknowledgment twisted sharply in Viktor's chest. You were bound to Jayce—the Council’s rising star, Piltover’s golden boy. Jayce, who’d leaped into his new role without considering the ripple effects on those tethered to his orbit. On you. On your work. On your future.
If Viktor were your mentor—
He cut the thought off sharply, jaw tightening. It wasn’t his place. But the resentment gnawed at him, clawing at the edges of his resolve. You deserved a mentor who saw your potential, not someone too blinded by his own ambitions to nurture it.
Viktor’s eyes flickered to the porcelain pot sitting on his desk.
Perhaps…
The Hexcore hummed faintly, its glow pulsating in uneven rhythms. Viktor rose, but a sudden wave of nausea pulled him back, his knees buckling as he gripped the desk for support. The fit came hard and fast, wracking his body until crimson droplets sprinkled onto the scattered notes on his desk.
The air thickened, whispers curling like smog around him. His blurred gaze fell to the Hexcore, now spinning in erratic spirals, its light carving shadows that seemed to breathe.
A promise hummed through the static—a tantalizing whisper of hope, of salvation, of Evolution.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
It was early morning when you got the news.
Your breath was labored as you raced past Jayce who had just exited Viktor's room, not sparing him a single glance.
“Viktor!” Your voice jolts the frail man awake as you burst into the room.
“I came as soon as I heard,” you murmur, setting your bags on the chair beside him and diving into them. “I stopped by a few places to pick up things I thought you might need—”
Your words tumble over each other as you pull out a mismatched assortment of elixirs, fresh food, and little trinkets. You barely notice his faint, amused smile as he watches you, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
“You’ve brought half the city,” Viktor rasps, his voice weak but carrying a faint warmth.
You pause, finally meeting his gaze. “I’d bring the whole of Piltover if it meant you’d get better,” you say softly.
His smile lingers, though bittersweet.
You feel tears well in your eyes as you stare at your friend. "...How long?" You whisper shakily.
"...A few months," Viktor answered, his voice quiet.
The words hit like a blow to the stomach. Without thinking, you step closer, wrapping your arms around him. Viktor stiffens at first, surprised, but slowly, he returns the embrace.
You cling to him as sobs wrack your body, your tears soaking into his thin shirt. “I can’t lose you,” you choke out.
For a moment, his hand hesitates, then rests lightly against your back. His voice is a faint murmur, “You won't,” Over your shoulder, he gazes at the sketches of the Hexcore, a stark reminder of what it promised him.
The tools are in his grasp now.
The faint smile on his lips remains, but its sweetness curdles, twisting into something spoiled, something unlike himself. His grip tightens—almost imperceptibly—as if tethering himself to you.
"I haven't given up yet,"
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
“You should be with them.”
Jayce glances up at Mel, her calm expression a contrast to the weight of his own guilt. She’s right, as usual. Viktor was his partner. You were his apprentice. He should be with you, especially after this morning.
That look on your face this morning... The desperation, the panic. He’d never seen you so raw, so vulnerable, and it made him feel helpless. Useless.
Mel’s hand moves gently through his hair as she speaks, breaking the quiet. “How is Mx. L/N? I haven’t seen much of them lately.”
Jayce stiffens, glancing away. “They’re fine, I think—why?”
Mel shrugs, her tone nonchalant but her gaze sharp. “No reason, just an observation. They seem... distant. Did something happen?”
Jayce falters. Had something happened? You and he didn't talk as frequently as before. He searches his memory but finds only fragments—moments where your attention seemed elsewhere, your words clipped.
“I don’t know,” he admits. A quiet befalls the two of them, only a soft breeze interrupting the silence.
“Maybe I... should be there more. For both of them.”
Mel hums thoughtfully, her fingers stilling. “Perhaps you should. Before it’s too late.”
[OML I LOVE MEL KJENFKJSEDF]
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
Jayce hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The dim light spilling from under Viktor’s door made his stomach twist. He knew he should have come sooner.
The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, revealing Viktor sitting upright in bed, a sketchpad balanced on his lap. You were slumped in a chair beside him, fast asleep, your face turned toward him with exhaustion etched in every line. Viktor’s hand idly brushed through your hair, his movements slow, almost reverent.
“Jayce,” Viktor greeted, his voice hoarse but carrying that sharp, sardonic edge. “Burning the midnight oil, I see.”
Jayce stepped into the room, his gaze flickering between you and Viktor. “I came to check on you,” he said after a beat. “On both of you.”
“How thoughtful,” Viktor murmured, though there was no mistaking the faint sting beneath his words.
Jayce’s chest tightened. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Viktor’s smile was razor-thin. “And what would you have done, Jayce? You’ve been occupied. The Council, your reputation, your ambitions—so many pressing matters. Where would I fit?”
The words struck like a blow, and Jayce flinched. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” Viktor’s voice softened, a chilling calm threading through his words. “When was the last time you worked with us in the lab? When did you last look at them and see what this has cost?”
Jayce’s gaze fell to you, the subtle furrow in your brow even in sleep telling him everything he needed to know.
“They’re loyal,” Viktor continued, his hand stilling briefly in your hair. “More than I deserve, perhaps. Certainly more than you’ve earned.”
“Viktor…” Jayce’s voice cracked under the weight of guilt.
“They need someone who sees them. Not someone torn between a dozen different obligations.” Viktor’s hand resumed its slow, deliberate motion, his gaze settling back on Jayce with unsettling clarity. “Loyalty has its limits, after all, and it frays under neglect.”
Jayce opened his mouth, searching for a rebuttal, but found none. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned toward the door.
As it clicked shut behind him, Viktor glanced toward the Hexcore sketches. His fingers curled through your hair as he murmured, “You’ll see. Progress waits for no one.”
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
Jayce stared at the envelope in his hands. It felt heavier than any paper had the right to be. He had agonized over this decision for days, and yet it still felt like a betrayal.
When he opens the door, the soft clink of tools fills the air. You’re at the workbench, hunched over a half-assembled gadget. The sight reminds him of all the times he would stand over your shoulder and critique you.
“Hey,” he calls gently, but the sound still makes you jump.
You turned, your expression softening into a smile—until you saw the look on his face.
“Jayce?” you asked, worry lacing your tone. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitates. Only for a moment, but still, it felt like an eternity.
“I need to talk to you,” He held out the envelope, his hand trembling slightly. “...about your apprenticeship.”
Your eyes darted to the envelope before back to him. “What about it?”
He hesitated, then forced the words out. “I— Viktor and I thought this might be... better for you.”
You take the envelope, your fingers brushing his briefly. The contact sends a brief flicker of warmth through you, but it’s quickly extinguished by the growing knot in your stomach.
“What is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now.
Jayce rubs the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but your face. “It’s... a transfer of mentorship. To Viktor. He’ll take over as your mentor from now on.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
“It’s for the best,” Jayce said quickly as if the words might soften the blow. “Viktor can give you the attention you nee—”
“Why?” The question escapes before you can stop it, laced with disbelief and hurt. “Did I... do something wrong?”
Jayce winces, shaking his head, “No, it’s not that. You’ve been incredible, really. It’s just Viktor… He’s better suited for this.”
“Better suited?” you repeat, your voice cracking.
“That’s not what I meant." He defended, stepping forward, but you recoiled, the distance between you widening in more ways than one."You deserve someone who can focus on you, who can... help you grow. And with everything going on, I just—”
“You just what?” Your grip tightens on the papers, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t want to be my mentor anymore?”
Jayce clenches his fist, but doesn't say anything, unable to look you in the eye.
“I thought...” Your voice wavers as you look down at the transfer forms. “I thought I mattered to you. That this... this partnership mattered.”
“You do,” Jayce says quickly, stepping closer, his hands hovering as if he wants to reach out but can't. “You matter, I promise. This isn’t about that, it’s about what’s best for you.”
“Then why does it feel like you're only doing what's best for you?”
The question hangs in the air, and Jayce flinches as if struck.
Clutching the papers to your chest, you quickly begin cleaning up your station. “Fine,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you jam your now broken gadget into a random drawer. “If this is what you think is best, then, fine.”
Turning away, you leave Jayce standing there, his fists clenching at his sides. The door closes softly behind you, but the weight of what just happened lingers in the room, heavy and suffocating.
Jayce sinks into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to the empty air, though he knows the words won’t reach you.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
The lighter flicks in your hand, the flame sparking briefly before you bring it to the cigarette perched between your lips.
The faint burn in your throat as you inhale almost distracts you from the knot tightening in your stomach, replaying the conversation in your mind.
Leaning against the railing, you hold the cigarette loosely between your fingers, smoke curling upward in thin, fading wisps that vanish into the night. Your chest tightens, your gaze slipping to the envelope sitting beside you on the ledge.
You thought you mattered to him.
The sting of rejection mingles with the acrid sting of smoke, and your eyes water. You tell yourself it’s the cigarette.
You take another drag, longer this time, the embers flaring faintly against the darkness.
“Am I interrupting?”
The voice cuts through the stillness, accented and soft. You startle, choking on the inhale, coughing as you fumble to regain composure.
Turning, you find Viktor standing a few feet away, a faint smile teasing the edges of his lips as he watches you struggle.
“Geez,” you rasp, rubbing your throat. “Knocking’s a thing, you know.”
He steps closer, his gait deliberate, his eyes flickering to the cigarette now on the ground. “You smoke?” he asks, voice tinged with curiosity.
“Not often,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably. “Old habits and all.”
Viktor hums, leaning on the railing beside you. The air between you feels heavier than the night itself. “I heard what happened,” he says, his tone subdued, “I’m sorry.” His hand finds your shoulder, the touch hesitant but grounding.
“You don’t have to apologize,” you reply, toeing the discarded cigarette. “It’s not your fault.”
His hand lingers for a moment before withdrawing. “Perhaps not. But I cannot ignore the role I’ve played in this... shift.”
A bitter laugh escapes you. “Shift. That’s one way to put it.” Your fingers tighten on the railing, the city’s lights blurring slightly as you focus on the ache twisting in your chest. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Viktor says firmly, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. It draws your gaze to him. “Jayce’s decision was misguided. Shortsighted.”
His conviction catches you off guard. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Viktor says, his voice softening. “He is distracted, burdened by expectations he barely understands himself. He likely believed this was best for you, but in doing so, he failed to see how much he’s hurt you.”
The words settle heavily. “Maybe,” you murmur, “but it still feels like he gave up on me.”
Viktor’s expression darkens, his hands curling faintly at his sides. “Jayce does not understand the depth of loyalty you’ve shown him. Nor the potential you hold. It is his failing, not yours.”
You swallow thickly, his words cutting through the lingering haze of doubt. “I just... I thought I mattered to him. As a mentor, as a...” You trail off, the word left unspoken, though it hangs in the air.
Silence stretches between you, filled only by the hum of the city below. Viktor’s voice, when it comes again, is quieter but no less steady. “You still matter. To me, at least.”
Your head lifts, his words sinking in. He meets your gaze, his golden eyes steady and sincere. “You are... remarkable,” he continues. “Your dedication and ingenuity should be nurtured, not cast aside.”
Heat creeps to your cheeks, and you glance away, unsure how to respond. “Thanks,” you say softly, the word inadequate but all you can manage.
His lips quirk into a faint smile. He glances at the crumpled cigarette. “Perhaps next time, a cup of tea instead?”
You laugh quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”
With a slight nod, Viktor steps back, retreating into the building, leaving you alone once more. The crisp night air fills your lungs as you take a deep breath.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
You’re standing beside Viktor, the air in the lab thick with tension. Heimerdinger’s voice carries a weight you haven’t heard before as he stares at the glowing Hexcore. “What is that?” he asks, his tone grim.
Viktor’s lips twitch into a smile, seemingly oblivious to the Yordle’s concern. “I call it the Hexcore,” he says. His golden gaze flickers to the device, its pulsing glow reflected in his eyes. “An adaptive rune matrix. Hextech that evolves.”
The Hexcore radiates a heat that makes your skin prickle, like standing too close to an open flame. The sensation grows, an almost oppressive wave of intensity washing over you.
“It’s groundbreaking,” Jayce adds, stepping closer, his voice animated. His words blur, drowned out by the dryness in your throat and the heat clawing at your senses.
The room wavers, the edges of your vision distorting. Viktor’s voice cuts through the haze. “You alright?” he asks, concern threading through his words. His gaze sharpens, catching the sheen of sweat on your brow.
“Fine,” you manage, your voice hoarse. “Just… not used to this.” You force a weak smile, but his eyes linger, unconvinced.
Before he can press further, Heimerdinger speaks again, his tone firm. “You must destroy it.”
Viktor’s head snaps toward him, disbelief flashing across his features. “What?” he asks, his voice almost breathless.
The Yordle’s expression hardens. “If ever you’ve trusted my guidance, trust me now. I’ve seen nations crumble from a single spark, and this—this is no different.”
Jayce moves to block Heimerdinger’s advance. “No. I won’t let you,” he states firmly, his stance unyielding.
The Hexcore pulses faintly, its glow intensifying for a moment. You step back instinctively, the heat becoming almost unbearable.
Heimerdinger’s gaze shifts to Viktor, his voice softening. “You’ve changed, Viktor. What have you done?”
Viktor hesitates, his focus flickering between the Yordle and the Hexcore. “I… I don’t understand.”
Heimerdinger’s eyes narrow, his voice heavy with warning. “That thing must be destroyed.”
The Hexcore flares again, forcing you to take another step back. Jayce and Heimerdinger exchange heated words, their voices rising over each other. Viktor remains silent, his gaze fixed on the device, distant, almost entranced.
As the argument crescendos, Heimerdinger turns to leave, pausing briefly beside you. “Trust your instincts,” he says, his voice low but firm. “And remember, sometimes your abilities are all you have. Don’t let this be your tragedy.”
His words linger as he departs, leaving a strange tension in his wake. You stay stuck in your spot, not listening entirely to Viktor and Jayce’s hushed conversation.
Viktor’s voice pulls you back. “I want you to come with me, to Zaun,” he says, his tone decisive, Jayce had already left the room, leaving just the two of you. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, the touch steady despite the faint prickling heat. “It will be... enlightening.”
Your eyes widen at the offer. “To Zaun?” you ask cautiously. “Does Jayce—”
“Jayce isn’t your mentor,” Viktor interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. “I am. Prepare yourself. We leave tonight.”
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
“I understand now,” Viktor said, his voice steady as he stepped closer to the shadowy figure of his old mentor, Singed. The faint flicker of light from a nearby apparatus illuminated his sharp features. “And I need your help.”
Singed didn’t look up immediately, his hands busy calibrating a device on his cluttered workbench. “And you came alone?” he asked, his tone calm, though a tinge of curiosity threaded through it.
Viktor shook his head. “No. My apprentice waits outside.”
Beyond the lab’s cracked door, you leaned against a ruined wall, exhaling a long-suffering sigh. The stale, chemical-laden air was getting to you, but boredom was the real killer. You kicked a pebble at your feet, muttering, “Some ‘important errand’ this is...”
“An apprentice?” Singed finally turned toward Viktor, his pale eyes narrowing with intrigue. “You’ve grown much, my boy. Why not bring them inside?”
Viktor’s gaze swept over the lab, lingering on the glass capsule at the far end. Inside, the still form of Rio floated, suspended in eerie silence. “They’ll... need time,” he replied, a faint unease creeping into his voice. “Like I did. I don’t want to rush things.”
Singed shrugged, his movements deliberate as he set aside his tools. “What is it you’ve brought to me?” he asked, smoothly shifting the conversation.
Viktor stepped forward, handing over a stack of meticulously prepared notes and a sealed vial. Singed accepted them, scanning the pages with practiced efficiency. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Your work has matured, Viktor. I would very much like to see the device—this Hexcore.”
Viktor tensed, his gaze flickering back to Rio’s capsule. “That... may be difficult to arrange,” he admitted.
Singed’s expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to his silence. Viktor sighed, stepping closer to the capsule, his voice low with frustration. “I’ve tried every combination of runes. Adjustments. Iterations. Yet the result is always the same: the subject withers. It rots.”
Singed’s brow furrowed slightly, his hands resting on the workbench. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “the fault does not lie with your calculations.”
Viktor’s head snapped toward him. “Then where?”
“With your subjects.” Singed reached for a vial of shimmering, violet liquid, its glow cutting through the dimness. “Nature has made us intolerant to change. Fortunately,” he added, holding the vial aloft, “we have the capacity to change our nature.”
Viktor stared at the vial, unease rippling through him as he took a half-step back. “And this is... shimmer?”
“A variant,” Singed confirmed, walking toward him with measured steps. “It will provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition.”
The vial’s glow reflected in Viktor’s eyes as he hesitated. The liquid pulsed faintly, almost as if it were alive. His cure. His key to evolution, so close he could almost feel its weight in his hand.
“I must warn you,” Singed said, his voice quiet yet deliberate. “If you take this path, they will despise you. Love and legacy—these are sacrifices we make for progress.”
Viktor’s fingers hovered over the vial, his breath shallow. “They will understand,” he said finally, his voice a whisper. “They always have.”
His hand closed around the vial, the glass warm against his palm. For a moment, he studied it, the shimmer within swirling as if in anticipation. He slipped it into his pocket with a flicker of resolve.
“And if they don’t,” he added softly, more to himself than to Singed, “then I will teach them to.”
Without another word, Viktor turned and strode out of the lab. The faint clinking of the vial echoed in his pocket as he stepped into the ruins, the cold air biting at his skin. His eyes quickly scanned the area, finding you crouched by a crumbled wall, lazily tossing rocks into a shallow stream.
He approached and tapped your shoulder, drawing a startled yelp from you. Spinning around, you glared at him, hand pressed to your chest. “Seriously? Can you not?”
“It’s time to go,” Viktor said, his tone clipped, brooking no argument. “I have what I came for.”
You scrambled to your feet, brushing dust off your clothes. "Uh— yeah, right— sorry," you muttered, falling into step behind him.
As you trailed after him, curiosity got the better of you. “Soo... how’d it go?”
Viktor’s stride didn’t falter. “It went... well,” he replied evenly. “I believe I’ve found a solution.”
Your face lit up with excitement. “Wait, really? Does that mean—”
“Not here,” Viktor interrupted sharply, his voice low as his gaze darted to the shadows. “It’s not safe.”
Chastened, you nodded, your excitement dimming as silence fell between you.
The city’s bustle greeted you as you passed into a more crowded district, its vibrancy pulling you from your thoughts. The chaotic energy of Zaun seemed to pulse with life, unlike anything you’d seen before.
“Wow,” you murmured, marveling at the neon-lit chaos. “This is the Undercity?”
Viktor slowed slightly, his expression softening at your wonder. “Yes. It may lack the polish of Piltover, but it is... alive in ways they cannot comprehend.”
You nodded, your gaze darting between the glowing lights and towering structures. “It’s nothing like the stories. It’s... beautiful.”
A faint smile touched Viktor’s lips. “Zaun thrives despite the shadows it’s cast into. Ingenuity flourishes here, even amidst adversity.”
You glanced at him, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’ve got stories about growing up here, don’t you?”
He chuckled quietly. “Zaun teaches resilience, but it is not a kind teacher. Every invention, every triumph—it was survival, not progress.”
“Explains a lot about you,” you teased lightly.
He arched a brow. “Oh? And what does that mean?”
You shrugged, smirking. “You’re like... the world’s most intense puzzle. But lately, I think I’m finally starting to figure you out.”
He chuckled again, a rare warmth in his voice. “And you, my apprentice, remain delightfully open-minded.”
The two of you shared a quiet smile before continuing your journey, the glow of Zaun fading as Progress Bridge loomed ahead.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
Jayce walks through the smog on the bridge, glancing over the aftermath of last night's attack and the protests. A frown prints itself on his face as he spots two familiar figures near the edge of the bridge.
Anger bubbles just beneath the surface, but he forces his jaw tight, trying to leash it. As he approaches, his boots scrape against the grit of the stone. Viktor is the first to notice him.
“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice is tinged with confusion, his brows knitting together as he gestures toward the blockade. “What is this?”
You sit beside Viktor, a gnawing dread coiling in your stomach. From Jayce's expression, you knew you were in trouble.
Jayce’s voice is low, but it cuts like glass. “Do you two have any idea how this looks?” He glares at Viktor, his words clipped and venomous. “I order a blockade, and my partner violates it, dragging along my- his apprentice? Are you out of your mind?”
Viktor straightens, the weariness in his frame offset by the defensiveness in his voice. “You ordered this?” His tone is incredulous, his gaze searching Jayce’s face. “Why?”
Jayce’s voice rises a bit as he struggles to remain calm. “There are people down there who seem hell-bent on destroying us. And you—” Jayce turned his fiery gaze towards you, “—you just went along with this? Knowing how dangerous it is? How reckless?”
Viktor’s lips press into a thin line as he exhales, shaking his head. “I was consulting a friend about our quandary,” he says, “I brought Y/n along because I’m their mentor, and I thought it’d be a good teaching opportunity.” his words deliberate and firm. “I told you I knew someone.”
Jayce’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You didn’t tell me they were from the Undercity.”
Viktor’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. “What difference does that make?” he asked, his voice quiet but loaded.
“They’re dangerous!” Jayce hissed.
The words hang in the air, as Viktor’s gaze hardens, glaring into the other man, “I’m from the Undercity.”
Jayce's expression melts, a donning look mixed with regret appearing on his face. “Viktor, I didn’t mean—” He reached out, but Viktor batted his hand away, leaning on his cane as he stood.
Sighing, Jayce lowers his hand, "Sorry... Was your friends able to help?
Viktor pauses, glancing back at Jayce, "No," he answered, “No, he said nature was resistant to this sort of..." His grip on his cane tightens, "tampering."
The silence hung heavy as Viktor turned, his back rigid. You follow closely behind, ignoring the feeling of Jayce's stare on you.
━━━━━━━━
The walk to the lab felt endless, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension.
Once inside, the quiet lingered, broken only by the faint, unsettling hum of the Hexcore. You sat across from Viktor, watching as he wordlessly pulled out a notebook, scribbling away as if nothing had happened.
Your gaze drifted to the two plates of food waiting on the desks—Sky must have brought them earlier. Reaching for one, you broke the silence. “Have you eaten?” you asked softly, though you already knew the answer.
Viktor didn’t look up. “We’ve been occupied,” he murmured, his focus unwavering. “I need to figure out how to…”
He trailed off, and you frowned. Setting your bags down, you approached with one of the plates. “You won’t get far on an empty stomach,” you muttered, setting the food beside him.
His pen paused as his gaze flickered to the plate, then to you. “You care too much,” he said quietly.
“And you care too little,” you counter, leaning back in your chair. “Someone has to make sure you’re taken care of.”
He chuckles dryly, placing down his notebook and pen as he turns to meet your gaze. "I thought you were my apprentice, not my caretaker."
You shrug, "Aren't apprentices supposed to help their mentors? Plus,” you leaned against the desk, “after 3 years of working together, I figured I earned the friend title.”
“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now, his gaze fixed on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that made you falter.
The hum of the Hexcore permeated the atmosphere, a subtle yet resolute drone. It reminded you of flies, their incessant buzzing heralding decay, drawn to what was already doomed. Like a song, featuring a strange, almost living rhythm, curling around your thoughts. You made an effort to ignore it, but the unease it evoked inside of you persisted, a whispered omen through static.
Your gaze stayed locked with Viktor’s, his amber eyes glinting with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if he heard the hum too—
“Though,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and measured, “perhaps I view you as something more.”
—or if it had already consumed him.
The quiet stretched, your pulse quickening as you tried to process his words. Then, without warning, he leaned forward—lips brushing yours.
His touch was gentle, careful, but it felt wrong. The room shifted, the walls closing in as the Hexcore’s hum swelled into an unbearable crescendo, like flies buzzing over decay.
Your mind screamed at you to move, to pull away, but shock froze you in place.
You didn’t know what to do, or how to react.
When he finally drew back, the space between you felt impossibly vast and suffocating all at once. Viktor stared, wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done. You mirrored his expression, stunned.
“I don’t know,” he cuts you off, his voice quiet but strained, like a violin string pulled too tight. He looks down at his hands, now trembling slightly. “I... I shouldn’t have.”
Your chest tightens as the silence between you grows unbearable. Every instinct tells you to say something, to demand an explanation, but words fail you. Instead, you grab your bags and retreat toward the door, the hum of the Hexcore growing louder in the stillness.
Viktor doesn’t move to stop you.
The door clicks shut behind you, and the faint sound feels deafening. Outside the lab, the air is cooler, but it did little to soothe the burning of his touch.
Inside, Viktor sat motionless, staring blankly at the plate of food. His lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of his guilt suffocating. But it wasn’t guilt over the act itself—no, the guilt came from something far worse.
I don’t regret it, the thought whispered like a vulture circling prey.
His gaze drifted to the Hexcore, its ominous glow pulsing faintly in the dim room. “I’m losing myself,” he murmured to the silence.
The Hexcore’s hum deepened, an almost living response, vibrating through the air like whispered agreement.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
You lean over the sink, droplets of water sliding down your face and dripping from your chin. The coolness of the water clings to your skin, but it does little to wash away the lingering sensation. His touch. His words. The suffocating hum of the Hexcore.
Your hands grip the porcelain edges of the sink, knuckles white, as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your reflection betrays you, every ounce of feeling lingering on its face. The towel wrapped around you feels heavy, suffocating, as though it might drag you under.
You don’t know what to feel.
Three years you've worked with him, learned from him. Even when he wasn't technically your mentor.
You admired him.
You owe him so much. The opportunity he gave you, the trust he placed in you. His unrelenting dedication and care, even as his body betrayed him.
The memory of his lips on yours lingers like an oil slick, something you can’t scrub away no matter how hard you try.
That bond felt scorched, twisted by the memory of his lips on yours. The Hexcore’s hum still buzzed in your mind, incessant like flies, circling something already decaying.
You press your palm to your lips as if to smother the burning sensation.
You splash water onto your face again, desperate for clarity, for some release from the sickening tangle of emotions pulling at you from every direction. Disgust coils deep within you, heavy and unrelenting. Disgust with him. Disgust with yourself.
How did it come to this?
Your breaths come in shallow gasps as your mind races. Could you have done something differently? Said something? Stopped him? But the guilt gnaws at you, whispering that perhaps you’d allowed this to happen, that your care had somehow blurred the lines between what was right and what should never have been crossed.
The buzzing from earlier won’t leave your mind, an ever-present phantom in the background of your thoughts. Flies, their relentless hum circling something already rotting.
You press the heels of your palms to your eyes, willing the image away. You want to cry, but the tears won’t come.
Instead, you exhale a shaky breath and straighten, staring at yourself in the mirror once more.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
"You can't be serious." Viktor seethed at Jayce, "You aren't actually considering using Hextech as a weapon, and against the undercity!?"
The past two days away from the lab weren’t nearly enough. The noise, the tension—it’s relentless. You find yourself yearning for a simpler time, back before the council, before the Hexcore began to feel like a living, breathing entity between you all.
"I can't—right now—I can't deal with this," Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I have a council meeting in a few hours. Y/n," he turned to you, his voice softening, "Could you go over these tests while I’m gone?"
You nodded, distracted, your eyes briefly locking with his.
Before you could reach for the files, a sharp voice cut through the tension.
"No."
You and Jayce turned, surprised by the sudden interruption. Viktor stood at the edge of the lab, his gaze locked on Jayce with an intensity that chilled you.
"They are no longer your apprentice, Jayce," Viktor continued, his voice rigid. "Any work they receive will be through me. And me only."
Jayce froze, eyes narrowing in frustration, but Viktor didn’t seem to care.
"Fine." Jayce scoffed, shooting Viktor one last glare before exiting the lab, the door slamming shut behind him.
The tension between you and Viktor hung in the air as silence settled in. Viktor turned back to his work, fiddling with some mechanical components. You returned to your notes, the scratching of your pencil filling the void between you.
The stillness was deafening. Only the clinking of Viktor’s tools against metal and the faint hum of the Hexcore filled the space.
"Shit, where—" Viktor muttered under his breath.
You lifted your gaze, curious, but the irritation in his tone was unmistakable.
"Y/n," he called quietly, "Do you think you can find my needle nose pliers?"
You nodded, mumbling a soft "yes" as you rose from your desk.
You glanced around, quickly spotting the pliers resting right next to the glowing Hexcore. Unease settles in you once more as you stare at the Hexcore.
Did it always look like that?
"Y/n?" Viktor's voice cut through your thoughts, forcing you back into reality.
"Oh— uh, found them."
You mutter, going over the the desk to pick them up. The moment your fingers brushed against the tool, the air seemed to crackle.
The Hexcore flared, and before you could pull away, a tendril of magic lashed out, striking your hand.
Pain seared through your palm, sharp and relentless, making you gasp and stumble back. But it was too late.
The Hexcore surged, and agony radiated up your arm like wildfire.
"Y/n!" Viktor's voice was frantic now, his chair scraping sharply against the floor as he rushed to your side.
Your skin sizzled as the glow of the Hexcore intensified.
A yank on your arm forces your attention away from the burn, Viktor grasped your hand tightly, inspecting the burn. It looked... worse than all the other burns you had received.
"You... You should have been more careful," Viktor murmured, his words shaky, but they felt distant, disconnected like they were coming from somewhere far away. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at your burned hand.
Slowly, he drags you away from the Hexcore over to his desk. Viktor grabbed a familiar porcelain pot, its surface cracked but still holding strong. He removed the glass lid, the faint scent of herbs wafting into the air as the greenish liquid within shimmered under the lab’s dim light.
For a moment, his hand hovered over the pot, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He dipped a piece of cotton into the liquid, his movements precise, almost mechanical. Then, with a gentleness that felt strangely out of place given everything, he took your injured hand in his.
The burn throbbed as he dabbed the cotton over it, the cool liquid soothing the worst of the sting. His touch was deliberate, almost reverent, as though he were trying to erase the damage through sheer force of will.
“This isn’t permanent,” he said softly, breaking the tense silence. “It will heal in a few days. You’ll hardly remember it.”
You winced as the liquid seeped into the wound, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “I’ve heard that before,” you muttered, your voice tight.
Viktor stilled, his hand pausing over yours. He stared at the burn for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Do you remember the first time this happened?”
You didn’t answer immediately, the memory tugging at the edges of your mind. It was years ago now, back when the lab felt like a sanctuary instead of a battlefield. Back when Viktor’s smile held warmth instead of shadows, the Hexcore was just an idea, not a force that seemed to breathe and pulse with its own twisted life.
“I remember,” you said, at last, your tone guarded.
Viktor nodded, his lips curving into something that was almost a smile but didn’t quite make it. “You were shaking. I thought you might never come back.”
You glanced at him, caught off guard by the faint flicker of nostalgia in his voice. “I didn’t want to. Not after that.”
He hummed, the sound low and contemplative. “And yet you did. You always came back.” His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, they softened. “Even when you have every reason not to.”
The words hung between you like a fragile thread.
“I came back because I trusted you,” you said quietly, the weight of the statement pressing down on your chest.
Viktor flinched, the softness in his eyes hardening into something darker. He lowered his gaze, focusing intently on your hand as he wrapped it in a clean bandage.
“You still can,” he murmured, but the words felt hollow like he was trying to convince himself more than you.
The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. Finally, Viktor broke it, his voice barely above a whisper. “About… before.”
Your breath hitched, and your stomach churned at the memory. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to relive the wrongness of his lips on yours or the way it had made your skin crawl.
“I shouldn’t have…” he began, his tone strained as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will. “It was—” He faltered, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your wrist. “A mistake.”
Viktor didn’t meet your gaze, his focus fixed on the task at hand. But there was something in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that made you doubt the sincerity of his words.
“Do you regret it?” you ask.
His hand froze mid-motion, and for a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he looked up at you, his amber eyes burning you.
“No,” he admitted, the word barely audible. “I don’t.”
The air between you seemed to shift, the weight of his confession pressing down like a physical force.
You pull your hand away from his grasp, and he lets you.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
You wandered the dark hallways, muttering curses under your breath. In your rush to leave earlier, you had forgotten something important in the lab, and now you were back. The sun had long set, casting shadows that made the corridors feel even more oppressive. Every step felt heavier as you neared the lab.
Your hand rested on the door, but you hesitated. A strange purple glow seeped from beneath it. Frowning, you pushed the door open just a little more.
What you saw inside froze you in place.
Viktor stood at the center of the room, clutching the Hexcore as energy surged from it. The room was alive with chaotic power, papers swirling violently in the air. The air crackled with an intensity that almost felt suffocating.
Viktor’s grip on the Hexcore was inhumanly tight, his body convulsing as energy ripped through him. His screams echoed a twisted mix of pain and something darker.
"Viktor!?"
Without thinking, you rushed forward, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him away. But the Hexcore seemed to resist, pulling back with a force that threatened to tear you apart.
A searing pain coursed through you, starting from your hand and spreading through your body like wildfire. You gasped, the sensation of your skin sizzling almost audible as you fought to stay on your feet.
An opulent light flared around you, the burns climbing up your body halting and healing quickly but leaving deep, raw scars in their wake. You could barely keep your vision clear as they spread, scarring your face and limbs, only for the wounds to heal just as quickly—leaving deep, jagged scars behind.
Viktor’s strained gasps filled the air as he looked over his shoulder, horror donning in his eyes when he recognized you. He saw the burns, your face raw with the damage, but before he could speak, the Hexcore pulsed again.
A final surge of energy erupted from it, throwing you back, your body slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. The lab was plunged back into silence, save for the distant hum of the Hexcore still glowing ominously in the center of the room,
Viktor gasps, catching his breath as he writhes on the floor. Desperation claws at him as he searches for your body, wi9dening once he sees it on the other side of the lab, blood smearing the wall behind you, a stark red against the pale stone.
“Y/n—” His voice cracked, hoarse and trembling. He dragged himself toward you, his movements slow and unsteady, his desperation palpable.
“Y/n!!”
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
Jayce stood motionless, staring at the still form in the hospital bed. Half of your face was unmarred, a ghost of the person he’d known for years. The other half was ravaged beyond recognition, the skin deeply scarred, a stark contrast that was hard to look at.
Beside him, the doctor spoke, her voice calm but grave. “There’s a spinal fracture. If they wake, they’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.”
“Stop,” Jayce whispered, his voice barely audible. He closed his eyes, as if shutting out her words could make them untrue. “Just... stop.”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded, her expression softening. “I’ll give you some space.”
As she left, Jayce remained rooted by your bedside, his gaze never leaving you. How had it come to this?
You had been more than an apprentice to him—his confidant, his partner, someone who believed in him even when he doubted himself. And now, you were here, teetering on the edge between life and death.
He gently reached for your hand, clutching it as though his grip alone could anchor you to this world. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No more of this. No more council. I’m done with them. We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.”
But his words felt hollow, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t undo what had been done.
━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━
“No one could have predicted this tragedy. Today marks six months since Zaun’s devastating attack on Piltover—”
The radio droned on in the background, but Viktor wasn’t listening.
He stood silently beside the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on you. Your face, marked by the scars left behind, was peacefully asleep. Machines beeped softly in the background, monitoring your condition.
Viktor’s discolored hand hovered just above yours, trembling slightly. His expression was unreadable.
“Soon, my dear,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Soon.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A sneak peek into something I’m working on. This is a rough, rough draft.
Summary: An over worked traveling doctor who just moved back into the trouble infested city named Ninjago because of a job offer with Borg Tech. meets fiery hot headed ninja while a random villain attacks the city?
What could possibly go wrong?
Yesterday, today, tomorrow, They are not consecutive. They are connected in a never-ending circle, Everything is Connected
- The Stranger
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The sound of traffic filled the night air, a strange calmness settling over the usually rampant city. M/n sits outside on the apartment fire escape, his legs dangling over the edge as he gazes at the sleepless city.
It was late summer, the air was hot with excitement and life, no one could sleep on nights like these.
M/n had heard all kinds of stories about Ninjago City since he moved, from snake attacks to Overlord takeovers, this city has been through it all. Resting his head on the fire escape railing, M/n allows his eyes to close, peacefully enjoying the night air.
Nights like these temporarily make M/n forget about his troubles, a moment of escape before he inevitably gets dragged down again by the reality of his situation.
A soft buzzing interrupts M/n's thoughts, pulling him back to reality. M/n pulls his phone out and flips it open to check the caller.
"Dad..." M/n's expression softens a bit as he sees the familiar face of his father, an older gentleman with peppered hair and a wise old look in his hazelnut eyes.
M/n accepts the call, gingerly putting the phone up to his ear. "Dad? What are you doing calling me at this hour?" M/n's voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
He patiently listened to the call, nodding now and then.
"I don't mind, I'm right next to the coffee shop, I can pick up a few pastries for you and Mom for tomorrow." M/n reassures his father. "I'll let you go and start heading over there now."
M/n hangs up the phone, silence blessing him once more. He pauses momentarily, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, before standing up and leaving the fire escape.
❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜
M/n travels down the street, making his way to the local coffee shop. Eternal Espresso Emporium was its name, it was open 24 hours, which was something M/n could appreciate.
Reaching the small cafe, M/n quietly enters the shop, the bell atop the door ringing softly, announcing his presence. There was no one there except the barista, a young girl by the look of it.
Approaching the girl, wallet in hand, M/n's eyes glance over the pastries on display. "...I'll take three Pain au Chocolat please." He softly spoke, "And a lavender latte." lazily, his eyes drifted up to the girl, who was staring at him with a faint blush in her cheeks.
"Is something wrong?" M/n asks. The barista jolts in surprise, "Oh-! Um no- sorry," her cheeks glow red from embarrassment as she quickly turns to prepare his order.
M/n raised a brow but lets it go, deciding to take a closer look around the shop instead. The place was small but cozy, warm lights hung from the ceiling which was decorated with fake leaves, all of which were some shade of orange, yellow, and red.
The place sort of gave a cozy autumn feeling. The tables were made from wood, resembling tree trunks, and couches with yellow and copper color schemes accompanied the tables.
"Here's your order sir." M/n looked back over to the barista who was now holding a small box and a well-decorated coffee box. "Ah, right, thank you." He takes the box and coffee out of the employee's hand.
There's another ring, alerting everyone that someone else has entered the shop. M/n looks over, curious about who else was here this late at night.
A dark red hoodie was the first thing M/n saw.
The boy had warm brown hair that was spiked, it was odd but strangely fit him. His eyes were a reddish brown around his pupil with a darker chocolate brown color surrounding it. He had a scar on his eyebrow, giving him a rough look, as well as a few other scars on his hands.
"I'm here for a pickup under Kai." The boy in the red hood announced.
blakekathryn
dededos
jbbartram-illu
germansingergirl
janainaart
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic
