Chapter Text
The church bells rang, their echo traveling across the streets of Piltover, warning of the sun’s disappearance into the horizon. The traveling sellers folded their tents, the kids returned to their homes, and the patrolling Enforcers relaxed their stances. By the time the first streaks of dusk tinted the sky, whiffs of stews and casseroles escaped the houses of the residential districts. Viktor’s cane was his only companion in his stroll.
He toyed with the silver, thin paper of his ticket. He had meant to attend the Magician’s final show, only for time to fly past him as he hunched over his desk, enraptured by a spread of books and notepads. His eyes had inadvertently landed on the wall clock, and Viktor had rushed out of the Academy, only for his knee to betray him halfway with a sudden burst of burning pain. And so, he had slowed down, watching Piltover emptying itself into a marble shell.
At the end of the main street, the bridge’s silhouette gleamed with the last rays of the sun, the golden contours of its arched towers like an eulogy of the day’s imminent end. More days would follow, of course. But, to Viktor, none would be as magical as the past three.
The street stretched itself into openness. A dark figure leaned against the bridge’s railing, the ends of its golden-lined cape swaying in the gentle breeze. Squinting at them, Viktor distinguished a faint sparkle rising and falling from the figure’s hand.
When he reached the bridge, the Magician turned to him.
“You came.”
Viktor cracked a smile. “I meant to go to your show, but—”
“Don’t worry about it.” With a swift wrist move, they threw a golden coin into the air, shutting its sparkle as they caught and secured it into a fist. “Although I did notice the empty seat on the front row.”
The Magician relaxed their hand. No coin fell from it.
“Right.” Viktor cleared his throat. “So, what now?” The abyss of the Magician’s crystal eyes somehow turned deeper. Viktor wet his lips, quieting his rephrase. “Where are you going now?”
The Magician turned to the end of the bridge, a distant caravan of colorful drapes stranded on the road ahead.
“Adrian decides,” they sighed. “My mere presence upsets a compass’s reading, apparently. So he handles all the traveling.”
Viktor stepped closer. “You can upset a compass? Does that mean you have your own magnetic field? But then that means—!”
The Magician spun towards him. Despite the faint sunlight, its reflection on the mask’s golden outline shut—and blinded—him. After several blinks, his vision returned to normal, only to meet that same mask just inches away from his face. A faint blend of lacquer and incense spiked the air around him.
“You really are something else, Viktor,” said the Magician, the quiet echo of their voice trapped behind the mask.
His lips fell ajar. “How do you know my name?”
Below the bridge, weak waves crashed against the piers.
“I heard your partner say it.”
“Ah.”
They chuckled. “Disappointed?”
Viktor shrugged. “I suppose it would’ve been much more magical if your color-changing rabbits had spelled it out with pieces of lettuce.”
“Ah, true. But I’m afraid they can only spell winning lottery numbers.”
Viktor snorted, quieting his own joy as he realized he would never see the Magician’s smile or whether their eyes widened like his did at their sole presence.
Indeed, their mask was sturdy and still, and the Magician’s crystal eyes were dark and profound, rendering anything beyond them indiscernible—Viktor even failed to see his own reflection in them. Their voice, so melodic and powerful, was still full of jest and deceit. Such mystery had enchanted him like no book of unsolved equations ever had, and yet it had brought him to the edge of Piltover with only one question in mind.
“Will I ever see you again?”
The Magician drew back. Viktor let out a small breath, his chest sinking.
“Maybe,” they said, craning their neck towards the caravan. “But I cannot promise.”
More of the sun melted into the horizon, its gold and orange rays erased with twilight blue.
“May I know your name, at least?” said Viktor, his hand firmly clutching his cane’s handle.
The Magician’s chest rose and fell, their quietness settling within the gentle breeze.
“I don’t have one. Not anymore,” they replied, still turning away from Viktor. “But I suppose I should indulge your curiosity a little bit in some other way.”
He shook his head. “There is no need.”
The Magician faced him, slightly bending their neck to the side. “What a change of heart, dressing-room-breaking-Scientist.”
Viktor gestured vaguely. After a weak snort, the Magician returned their attention to the caravan, its colorful outline dimming in the twilight.
“I made a deal with a powerful spirit once. That is how I acquired my… abilities,” they said. “I made that deal and obtained the power I needed so I could fulfill a goal. And I did fulfill it, although I don’t remember what that goal was.”
Viktor frowned. “You… don’t remember?”
The Magician shook their head, swaying towards him. “I remember the feelings I felt during my quest: the sacrifice, the hardships, the loneliness of it all. I remember the relief once I fulfilled that goal. But I cannot remember what I fought so hard to achieve. It was like waking up after a long dream, with only sparse memories and a great power in my hands.” Viktor stiffened. The Magician sighed, “In retrospect, I presume that was the fine print of the deal I made: you will get what you want, but you will forget what it was, and you will be left with the power that made it possible without ever knowing what was it that you did with it.”
They snapped their fingers, the glove’s fabric trapping the sound. An electric blue sparkle traveled the outline of their hand and down their wrist, fading into nothingness.
“I tell myself that such a goal might have been something noble, like saving someone I cared about. But perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps something more evil and desperate consumed my soul enough to make such a deal.” they said, the sky turning darker and the air colder. “I suppose I will never know. But what I do know is that I can choose my goal now. No matter what I did, now I can choose to do something good and kind—maybe even innocuous for some—with such power.”
“Like a magic show.”
They nodded. “This may not answer your questions, but sometimes there are no answers.” The Magician adjusted their cowl, its fabric still shining despite a sky void of sun or moon. “And since you seem to be toying with a great power in order to fulfill some great goal of changing the world , I thought you should know.”
Viktor lowered their head, the skin at the back of their neck bristling, the insecurity of his purpose and convictions spreading within him.
The Magician stepped closer. Their voice was a comforting whisper. “Don’t get me wrong. I do have faith in you, Viktor. And I’m sure you’ll find great use for your mastery. My story is just… a cautionary tale.”
Viktor breathed out almost inadvertently, his eyes stuck on the bridge’s stone floor. “But you barely know me.”
A velvet touch traced the outline of his jaw. Viktor gasped, looking up at the Magician, their index finger tilting his chin towards them. His heartbeat quickened, eyes lost in the deepness of the mask’s gaze, skin melting under the delicate touch of their glove.
Their other hand reached behind his ear, only to appear again in front of him, holding that same golden coin they had been toying with.
Viktor snorted. “Really?”
“Of course,” they said in a voice that hinted—Viktor hoped—at a smile. The Magician stepped back and tossed the coin into the air. Viktor caught it. He offered it to them.
They shook their head. “Keep it. But promise me something.”
“Hm?”
“Use it in a good way. Make a positive change with it.”
Viktor squinted at the coin, not worth more than some wires and bolts, a simple meal, or a couple of trips on the trolley car.
“How?”
“That is up to you,” they replied, looking at the sky, stars shyly appearing from beneath the passing clouds. “But if you can turn something so small into an act of goodness and kindness, I’m sure you’ll know how to do the same with something bigger and more powerful.” They faced him. “It’s just like what you did for your partner back at the lab, isn’t it?”
Viktor traced the coin’s outline and placed it in his pocket. “I’ll do it, then. I promise I’ll find a good use for this.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” The Magician turned to the caravan. Beside it, a broad figure had appeared, lantern in hand. Viktor’s heart skipped a beat.
He had yet to learn the truth about their magic. But everything else—the mask concealing their true persona in fear of disappointment or shame, their conviction of using power with innocence rather than arrogance—had been so inspiring and familiar that despite how otherwordly they had looked onstage, mist swirling at their feet, sparkles traveling around them, their humanity had overshadowed their magic.
“Is this it, then?” he asked, a lump forming in his throat.
The Magician crossed their arms, craning their neck toward him. “What else do you want?”
He drew his cane back and forth, drawing invisible patterns over the floor. “It’s not like I can ask for much more, can I? There isn’t much more you can concede, I mean.”
The Magician kept staring at him, sparse fireflies glittering in the dark.
“Close your eyes,” they said. Viktor frowned. “And do not open them until I tell you to.”
He smirked, “Will you turn me into a rabbit if I do?”
“Oh no,” they chuckled. “I’ll turn you into the foulest-smelling slime Piltover has ever seen.”
“I suppose that would make me quite an interesting scientific subject,” he replied. The Magician laughed. “But, sure. I’ll do as you say.”
Viktor closed his eyes, embracing the darkness. The smell of incense became stronger, void of the mask’s lacquer. Instead, it was earthly, natural, and human. A warmth reached his face, closing on his cheek. A kiss followed it.
His lips fell ajar, the Magician’s plump lips pressed against his skin, their softness and dampness merging into an electrical buzz, ticklish with comfort rather than pain. He imagined it was the same blue sparkle they had cast around their hands, flashing before his closed eyes.
The Magician drew back, taking with them the kiss and its feel. But Viktor’s heart remained fluttering, his body brimming with that dazzling energy, illuminating his mind like no Academy lecture ever had.
“ Open your eyes, Viktor,” a voice echoed inside his head.
And so he did.
The empty bridge spread across him, no colorful caravan at the end, no golden-lined figure leaning against the railing. Despite how much he had dreaded that night, wondering with anguish what their last words would be, he found his chest filled with hope. Had they cast a spell on him?
Sometimes, there are no answers.
He reached for the golden coin inside his pocket and retrieved it.
Viktor smiled.