Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You're out foraging. The town is close by and has everything you could possibly need. But you like taking mist wet walks across the moors and finding little pockets of berries, a tree laden with apples, an enclave of mushrooms behind some rocks. It's nice. It's why you chose such an isolated little meadow to build your cottage. 

The food is plenty. The animals are friendly. The town is far enough away that you can ignore them but also head over whenever you'd like. For house calls, for little odd jobs. Not that there are ever many injuries in the town, as peaceful as it is. 

It's idyllic, strolling the daffodils and the little brooke running through the mossy fields, knowing you have a warm home to get back to.

You're not ignorant of how lucky you are. How rare it is to lead such a peaceful life. You worked hard to get here though, a thought never far from your mind. 

On this particular day, a thick trove of rosemary catches your eye. An odd find, unusual for the area, definitely worth taking a couple bunches. You crouch and take out your knife.

A low crackling hum rises somewhere behind you and you whirl, preparing for a fight. It sounds like a weapon charging up, the kind from foreign lands, they're banned here, who would -

A light. Violet and cerulean, flickering and glowing. It seems unstable but not malicious in nature. Definitely some sort of amateur level communicative magic...

The runes swirling around the edge are familiar but slightly different than the ones you use.

You ignore the urge to approach and take a couple of cautious steps back. 

It gets bigger, roughly oval shaped, the center swirling and taking on a clearer image. A...scrying spell perhaps? A message? 

A man. 

Chestnut hair crowns a pale and papery face, with purple pits under those magma eyes. Your heart thuds with knowing sadness - illness is easy to spot for someone like you. He's practically skin and bone.

He can't see you; his eyes slide over you glassily, focused on something out of view. Something shining bright, casting blue over his sickly complexion. 

"Hello?" you call, curious now. 

The window seems to be stabilising, the details clearer. But still he does not perceive you. It must be one way. The white light of the misted fields of Niole don't shine through into the dark of his...tools everywhere, papers, a chalkboard...a lab of some sort perhaps? 

It's been a long time since you've seen tech like this, clothes like his. A far cry from the simple rural corner of the world you've chosen to hide away in. His seems so advanced and yet he looks like he's at death's door. 

"Agh...oh, for goodness sake!" he yells suddenly, swiping papers to the ground. 

He sighs softly and struggles to his knees to pick them up almost immediately.

His accent is strange and gives you little to no insight into where he might be casting from. You move closer and peer down at what you can. Diagrams, equations. All very logical and mathematical. Clinical. Lacking the warmth that flows through the core of most magics. He's thinking like a scientist. Which you suppose he must be going by what you can see.

As it properly hits you that he has no idea what he's doing, you realise it may be rude to observe him like this. You're about to turn and pick up your bag and walk away, when he starts hacking, coughing violently into his fist. 

You reach forward out of habit, struck by the urge to touch, to take away whatever pain he's in, your instincts demand it, your magic crackles blackly over your fingertips -

But you probably shouldn't touch this poorly constructed window made by a complete stranger in an unfamiliar place. And even if you did, you may not necessarily get through to him. It could just incinerate you. The runes are shaky, like they were written in a bad translator rather than by someone who really speaks the language of magic. Too dangerous. So you force your hand to still by your side and just focus on watching him put himself back together.

The handkerchief in his fist comes away bloodied darkly. He looks back at whatever he's working on, still out of view even when you lean forward. He stares at it for a long time, like if his thick, arched brows pull together disapprovingly enough then it'll do what he wants it to.

What is he trying to do anyway? The diagrams strewn around him seem to discuss the runes like they're pieces of a machine, that can learn and adapt. It's smart, really smart. Beyond your scope to be honest, in terms of the science of it. But for the magic side of things you can see he's stumbling around several big break throughs. 

He has no idea he's already got at least this scrying spell, since it's been cast backwards and one way. He looks so sad, so frustrated. You wish you could just let him know he's at least made progress, even if it's not working properly. 

He looks at the object like it's his saving grace, like it's all that stands between him and desolation. Dangerous, pinning that much hope on as fickle a force as magic.

Your manners tell you again that you ought to leave, to let him get on with it. Especially since it seems you can't make contact without risking touching the window. 

But... it's so dangerous. Has he done this before? Accidentally sending out a feeler across the world to places he doesn't even know are here?

What if he does it again? 

What if he scrys somewhere more dangerous, and someone less polite picks up the proverbial phone?

You don't even know who he is but watching him leaning on the desk, agonising over his papers, you feel power surge helplessly to your fingertips again.

But this is why you moved here. This is why you stopped travelling.

You can't put out every fire.

You take another hesitant dragging step away. 

But. 

You can't just leave him like this. 

"Alright," you relent aloud, even though he can't hear you. "The least I can do is keep you from getting yourself killed by scrying hell itself, you...blundering fool."

Blundering genius is more like it though. He's already scrawling away, delicate script mapping out ideas for further tests. 

"Mm...could work," he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it. 

It's the least I can do, you repeat to yourself.

It's been a while since you did any spells other than Anae but it only takes a few seconds to put together a basic grounding spell. You glance about the floor for - this one will do. A smooth pale gray rock about the size of your palm. 

Muttered ancient words and a little concentration and then the scrying window is tethered to the rock like a balloon to a weight. 

Now you can at least take him home in a way, keep an eye on him while you try to figure out how to keep him safe. Or contact him and explain that he's been accidentally reaching out and waving a big red flag at whoever happens to be there when he scrys. 

Hopefully the tethering spell will do its job though, opening up the window wherever this rock is from now on, rather than any random spot in existence. Scrying windows are almost always temporary, dependent on the caster's skill level, intentions, everything. He could flicker out at any moment, never to be seen again. But at least he's safe for now.

You'll admit you're also curious about his work. Putting science and magic together the way he's doing...could lead to some incredible innovations. Or disasters. 

"Come on, Eyebrows. You'll be safe with me," you whisper pointlessly, as you start the walk back to your cottage, the window held carefully above the rock in your hand and the rosemary laying forgotten on the floor.

Chapter Text

The window opens again only a few days later. 

You're fresh out of a hot bath, skin steaming and shiny, when blue light surrounded by brokenly written runes crackles to life over the stone sitting on your hearth. 

It takes you a second to remember what the hell is going on but when you do you curse under your breath and clasp the towel over your front. Who knows, the scry could go both ways this time, you're not trying to flash a stranger.

But as you edge closer to the window and it ripples into a smoother image you see your mystery guest still doesn't seem to see you. He's sitting this time, familiarly frowny faced.

"Hello again...Eyebrows," you murmur. 

You've thought about them since you saw him, his brows. You thought you might have been exaggerating them but seeing them now, thick and expressive over those amber eyes, you see you weren't wrong. You could take shelter from the rain under those brows, damn.

From behind a thick pair of goggles he looks even more tired, if that's possible. His desk is messier, more papers, more balled up and discarded designs and ideas all over the place. Books opened to various pages, bookmarked and abandoned in piles, on the floor, everywhere. Bloody tissues are littered among them. 

"Good afternoon," comes a voice, from somewhere behind him. 

He doesn't look to it, still glaring at the experiment. 

"Mm?" is his only quiet, noncommittal response. 

The owner of the voice strides into view, a burly built man with a much fancier suit than your guest's and a look of worry that creases the lines of his strong face. 

"Have you gone to bed at all yet? When was the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine. I've made adjustments to this model but I wanted your thoughts on -"

His quick dismissal and subsequent revving excitement to talk about the project are cut off by strong arms thrown around him from behind the chair. He looks down at the thick arms hugging him and swallows hard like he has no idea what to do.

"Jayce... I'm alright. I'll sleep soon, I promise."

The Jayce holds on a little longer before letting him go, pulling back and running a hand through his hair awkwardly. Eyebrows looks up at him questioningly, finally taking off his goggles and pushing back from the desk a little.

"I'm sorry. There's a lot going on."

"Politics," Eyebrows snorts softly. "More complicated than science at times."

Even you, with no idea of the history between them, can tell there's a sort of hint in there somewhere. 

If Jayce gets it he doesn't acknowledge it, sighing and straightening his tie. 

"I better be going. There's another vote today. Get some rest. Please?" Jayce prompts, patting him on the shoulder and starting to back away. 

He doesn't wait for an answer. Eyebrows watches him leave, listens to the door shut behind him, and slowly turns back. His eyes roam the phosphorescence of his work, almost landing on you but not quite. 

Not that he hasn't made improvements - the image is a lot clearer this time, his tinkering is heading in the right direction.

The lines of exhaustion painting his face are deeper than you'd thought, and you notice how thin he really is.

Whatever ails him... it's not on the mend any time soon. 

As you realise with an experienced eye that he is simply not long for this world, your fingers ache anew with the urge to cast Anae. Not for the first time since the last accidental scry, you've been thinking about Eyebrows and what's slowly killing him for days. He needs help. You can tell. The stiff way he sits, the way his hands shake a little as he reaches for his notebook. He's in pain. Constantly. 

You force yourself to turn away and focus on getting dressed. Last time the window lasted a little less than half an hour before flickering out like candlelight. That gives you some time. 

Once dressed you reach for your own notebook and quickly scrawl a short message.

hello?

You rip it out and approach the window carefully.  Thinking better of having your hands so close as it goes through you back off again. You ball up your note and toss it underarm from a few feet away. 

It turns to dust on contact with the silky, transparent surface of the window with a small sizzling noise. Good thing you didn't try to put your hand through, you note breathlessly.

He doesn't even blink. Must not have had any effect on his side of things.

One small experiment and it sends a thrill up your spine. You can kinda see how this might become someone's passion. You itch to try more, to see what else could work...

---

Three hours later the window is still open and shows no signs of closing. 

And you've tried everything. 

The thrill of experimentation is gone and you're exhausted. You have no idea how Eyebrows is still going, he must be far more tired than you. Yet he hasn't stopped for anything, not food, not water, nothing.

You've tried paper, card, wood, stone, leaves, metals. Nothing goes through. Not even a jumper which you were loathe to give up but having lost a lot of your patience you essentially launched it through. 

It all disintegrates on contact, joining the growing pile on the ground that you've long since abandoned trying to sweep up.

Meanwhile Eyebrows is hard at work, reading the same book and making lightning fast notes. Every now and then he pauses though, adjusts his shirt like it's made of sandpaper. He's been coughing a lot too, going through napkin after napkin mopping up blood. 

From where you're slouched, defeated on your couch, you toss an old hat, one you were planning on throwing away anyway. Dusted.

Eyebrows sighs and sets down his notebook to rub his eyes hard.

"Go to bed," you call, impotently wishing you could just heal him from here somehow.

He sighs again to steady himself and picks up the book again.

"God. Lie down before you fall down."

As usual no response. 

Irritated, you take one of the last pages of your notebook and scrawl angrily. You can't be bothered standing, instead summoning an idle draft and floating the paper up to the window. It stutters, this kind of magic not something you often use. 

It...goes through. At first you think you're imagining it. You jump to your feet. 

It falls slowly on his side, fluttering down onto his desk. For a second he barely notices it, engrossed in the book. 

"What.." he quietly mutters, looking up like there might be a whole book following that one sheet. 

He picks up the note and slowly unfolds it. 

Shit, shit, shit -

"'Get some fucking sleep, Eyebrows. Stop being a dumbass and go to bed.' Uh...hello?" he adds, projecting 'excuse me what the fuck did you just say' to the whole room. 

The other notes were much more polite, you were just getting so annoyed...

He glances around, eventually looking at the object, the Hexcore you've realised it's called. 

Somehow he gets a shade paler, the note shaking in his hands. 

"Impossible..." he murmurs, looking back down at the note again. 

You agree. How did this happen? It's the same paper, the same ink, it should never have gone through. Unless -

Magic. Right. You're the dumbass here, how did you not try that sooner?

Eyebrows sets the note down and leans closer to the hexcore. He reaches out -

"What are you doing? No, no, no, no - don't, it'll close - fuck -"

You throw yourself back to the couch and scramble to write another hasty note. Instead of an idle breeze, this time you're too heavy handed with the magic and it shoots through like a bullet. 

He ducks to avoid it with a grin and a gasp. 

You mirror his smile as he crouches uncomfortably and reaches a few feet away to retrieve it. This is insane. You can't believe you've finally made contact. He straightens and comes back to read it out with an amused smile. 

"'Don't change anything. Wait.' I...Okay," he replies, breathless from excitement. "I'm - I'm waiting. If you - I'm guessing you can hear me. Whoever or whatever you are."

You've...never seen him smile. The whole time you've been unintentionally spying on him you've never ever seen him crack a smile. It's...nice. Those eyebrows soften a little above crinkling eyes. 

But you have to focus. 

You write down what you can as fast possible, aware that Eyebrows is just standing there, waiting. 

The light wavers. What did he do? Did he already change it? Fuck...

You try faster, aware he's flickering light he might disappear any second. 

"It's... destabilising..." he realises aloud, leaning closer. "If you can still hear me, please -"

The window vanishes. He's gone. Like he was never here.

Fuck. 

You're left standing uselessly in front of your hearth, the half written note crumpling in your fist.

You never realised until he was here, glowing bright violet and cerulean, but your home has never looked so dim.

Chapter Text

Though it's difficult to focus on, you do have a life outside of scrying windows and random scientist men. 

Only one appointment today, a regular.

As you make your way into town, you note for the umpteenth time how peaceful it is here. The little cobblestone streets, the little well surrounded by blooming marigolds, the sweet river and it's perfectly paved bridge. 

Nothing really bad ever happens here. Sometimes the wind blows a little hard and bins spill onto the street. An occasional slightly-raised-voice match happens when someone cheats at trivia night. 

But there's no crime. No murders, no political corruption, no arson. Niolians. Their species has extremely heightened empathy, limitless love for each other and an undying compassion for all living things.

You haven't seen so much as a fist fight since you moved here. No one steals because everyone is willing to give. They don't have homelessness or famine or discrimination. Kindness is their language.

It's nice, living in what most would call a utopia. But for you there's an uneasiness within this peace. It's alright for them; they've never known anything else, having been sheltered here in their little valley for countless centuries. But you, you've been to peaceless places. 

Places where people cut each other over less than nothing. Places where those dark things happen every single day. It's hard not to expect such things lurking around every cute little corner here. 

You hear a glass shatter and your instincts tell you yelling and bloody noses should follow. Instead you hear lilting laughter and pats on the back, followed by a hearty team effort to clean up the glass. 

Niolians. Seriously the most peaceful people in the world. 

It's why they were so accepting of you. 

You stumbled over that adorable bridge covered in blood that wasn't yours with what little you owned in the world strapped to your back. They took one look at you and didn't even hesitate. Cleaned you up, fed you, offered you any of the empty houses in the area. 

It only made sense to live outside their sugary sweet orbit though. The last thing you needed was to upset their balance. 

So, the cottage was your best idea. Built with their help in between the light woods and field after field of horotaea. It's a herb of their own design, used in teas and medicines and food. Smells like rainfall on rocks. It's been an amazing find, you use it in a lot of tinctures and infusions.

You trusted them quickly with things you wouldn't usually tell anyone. Your magic, your real name, your background, everything. As expected they were nothing but kind about the whole situation.

They even felt bad about it when you offered them your services in exchange for all their hospitality. But to this day you're still heading into town every week, ready to help out however you can. 

It's the least you can do. 

Arriving at the Meila household, you hover on their porch for a moment. Not that they're not friendly and fun. But you can't help it. As always, an antisocial urge to just go home and simply Not Be Around People rises hard and insistent. You shake it off with a sigh and force yourself to knock.

No answer. Every introvert's favourite outcome from knocking on a door. But you're not here just to socialise. So you step back and try to look for movement in any of the windows. 

"Kav? Mara?"

Still no answer. 

"You'll be wanting to go round the back," someone huffs. 

Gufryn. One of the eldest residents here. Out on his afternoon walk. He swaps his walking stick to the other hand and reaches out to you.

"Why, what's happening?" you ask, taking his hand and squeezing. 

A clasp, a ritual Niole residents do every time they see each other and every time they say goodbye. Even if they're only acquaintances. Even if they just saw each other an hour past.

Gufryn only chuckles. "See for yourself. I'm going for another lap."

He nods politely, lets go of your hand, and heads off. 

Accepting your fate, you head back into the front garden and through the ginnel to the back. 

You hear them before you see them, the whole lot it sounds like. Chatting, joking, clinking drinks. Nothing out of the ordinary, not for the Meilas. They live life like it's a 24/7 wedding reception. 

They toast, they dance, they laugh and cry freely, they tell stories over big dinners, they play music, they profess their love. They just might be the most cheerful family in all of Niole, which is saying something. Especially considering the fact that every single blood member of the family suffers with the same agonizing genetic disease.

There's no official name for it; the town's Doctors have never had to deal with anything so aggressive. But Kav's been calling it the Bleeds. It's fairly new. It's terrifying and destructive. 

No blood-related Meila has lived past sixty in the last two decades.

The Bleeds come hard and fast. They can lay dormant for years in most cases while the carrier leads a quite normal life. But once they come they last only a few days before the patient dies. In a rare couple of cases, the Bleeds start around puberty and drag on for years.

And yet here they are. Cheering as they notice you coming in. Drinking together over a new fire pit that Fevra has been building for the last few weeks or so. She's already pouring you a glass, bless her. 

The gaggle of Meila kids as well as some of the neighbour kids are all gathered around the apple tree, running around the bottom of the garden, playing some chasing game.

You duck your head awkwardly. "Hey everyone."

You're pulled into the circle and member after member of the family clasps your hand, hugs you, kisses your cheek, tells you they've missed you. 

"And you'll come by again later this week for pie, right? This is the last batch I'm making before winter properly sets in so don't forget, yes?" Mara confirms, clasping not just one but both of your hands, smiling so wide it hurts just to see.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it," you promise, already being passed by Mara onto the next person and their clasp.

She's Kav's mother and definitely the mum of the whole family. She and her triplet brother and sister are the eldest at 53, each with three or four kids of their own, almost all of whom have life partners and even their own children in some cases. Not to mention the cousins, the in-laws, the immediate neighbours. It's a big family, a sprawling mess of joy that shouldn't be possible in the face of such sad circumstances. 

Once the many many hugs and hellos are done, you've finally worked your way through to Kav. 

He smiles up at you tiredly from his chair and offers his hand.

"Hey."

"Hey," you greet, bending to accept his clasp. "You look good, you've got some colour in your cheeks this week."

"Yeah cause he's on his third drink," Fevra murmurs, leaning over to ruffle Kav's hair. 

You fold your arms disapprovingly. "Kav."

"In my defence... it's really good drink."

Cheeky. Best word to describe any of the Meilas really. Every one of them is rarely caught doing anything other than grinning, ear to pointy ear. 

"Come on, sweetheart, have a seat," Kav invites, gesturing to the deck chair beside him. 

"I should really get straight to the appointment, I'm sure you're very uncomfortable."

Kav shrugs. "Often am. But how often do you come around?"

"He's right, get sat down, love. It's a long walk to town, you must be tired," Mara agrees, pushing you into the chair. "Oh, Fevra - tell them all about your plans for the shed."

You sit awkwardly while the chatter continues, like you don't know how to relax into the chair. Despite the infectious cheer of the Meilas, you can't bring a smile to your face. You find yourself looking around at them all, their happy-reddened cheeks and their crow's feet eyes. 

You can't help searching the throng for sharp cheekbones, a near permanent frown, framed by very particular eyebrows. 

"Hey. You alright?" Kav asks, nudging you lightly. "You look a bit peaky."

"Yes. Yeah, just tired. So. How has it been this week?"

You ask about the pain every time you see him, though it's not entirely necessary.

You can practically feel it rolling off of him before you even do the greeting clasp.

Kav shrugs. "Manageable. Narine's finished swimming lessons now, you know. She was the fastest out of her whole class."

You follow his eyeline. Narine. Kav's eldest niece. Playing with the other little ones at the bottom of the garden. 

He puts on a brave smile, they all do. But you can't imagine what it must be like, not knowing when the last time they'll all be together and happy like this again. Maybe that's why they do it so often.

"Kav," you start again, softer. "Come on. Out of five."

He sighs heavily, but relents. "Three."

You nod, trying not to look too worried. The pain always ramps up in the last leg of the Bleeds. Whether it's the last few years or the last few days or the last few hours. He's probably terrified. No good for you to be terrified along with him. At least not visibly. 

"Let's get going then, shall we?" you offer, rubbing your hands together. 

He nods and as you take a knee in front of his chair, a rare hush settles over the family. Everyone finds a seat and the only noise is that of the children down by the tree and Fevra, keeping them all busy and entertained. 

You hold out your hand and he takes it without hesitation. His hand is warm in yours as you cover it with your other. 

"Ready?"

"Go ahead."

The Anae spell is so familiar you don't even need the words for it out loud anymore. They roll around in your head like song lyrics you've heard a million times. 

Floating tendrils of light encircle your hands, glowing blackly. They overlap slot into place perfectly like cogs. Runes are stitched along each strand, etching intention. 

Once in place, the tendrils tighten over your hands encasing his. The magic takes hold. 

Pain. Black cold and crushing constant. Much more than he was letting on. It pours from him to you like water through a gaping hole in a dam.

The smoky strands crackle angrily like water thrown into hot oil, and black bleeds into your veins as well as into his. You glance up at him and his eyes are shut tight, always a little freaked out by the visuals. His free hand reaches out to squeeze your shoulder comfortingly anyway. You're not sure why, he's the one who has to deal with this all the time.

"It's alright, nearly done," you whisper, voice cracking under the weight of the agony he's leaking. 

Every vein, every artery, every organ, every blood blessed tissue in his body is rebelling against him, burning, melting, hurting. All the time. This is the Bleeds. This is the affliction of the Meilas.

As the flow of pain lessens to a trickle, the spell loosens and disintegrates smokily into nothing. Kav holds your hand, properly, to steady you. 

"Are you okay? Sweetheart...I think you took too much this time," he worries aloud. 

You snort, but smile at him anyway. So perceptive.

"I'm okay. I've had worse. You should be at a one at the most now, it'll last a month or so."

"A month?" Mara repeats, faintly. "I thought you said it was dangerous to take more than a week or two at a time."

Kav stands shakily and helps you up with him. He still looks worried. Though it's hard to tell with your vision spinning a little. 

"I'm okay, I promise."

Mara squeezes your shoulder comfortingly then shows a rare frown once she thinks you're definitely alright. 

"Foolish child, putting yourself at risk like that. What were you thinking?" she asks, softly. 

"There was just so much of it," you say, slowly. 

Opening the door to someone's pain like that and inviting it in to stay with you is not easy. And the way Anae works, it's not just the pain they're in currently. You're exposed temporarily to all of their potential future pain. The headache they're going to get in the morning. Three days worth of a urinary tract infection. Whatever's coming up in their body's calender. And the further you go on their timeline, the more you take. 

Mara is right. Looking further than a week or two is extremely dangerous, for more reasons than one. 

But Kav's next month just felt so bad. He was really in for it. You don't want him to suffer any of it. It's bad enough that he's still going to be at a base level of pain, bad enough that you couldn't take it all.

"Are you sure your debt thing can handle it all?" he whispers, quiet enough that Mara can't hear it. 

She's pouring you another drink, chattering to the others worriedly about you, complaining that you don't live closer so she can't check on you as often as she'd like.

The debt. Right. 

"It'll be fine," you dismiss. "How do you feel?"

"Good," he answers, unhappily. "You'd let us know if there was ever anything wrong, right? Because we can stop these appointments if you ever need to."

"It's fine, it's nothing I can't handle."

Kav grudgingly accepts it with a nod. Then pinches your chin playfully.

"You better stick around, sweetheart. We've all gotten kinda attached. Even if you do spend most of your time alone in the fields."

It's better this way. Distance is good. 

"Oh and speaking of you handling things... you're about to get mobbed," Kav adds, twisting you by your shoulders. 

You're greeted by the sight of at least a dozen yapping children, all having finally noticed you and excited to come up and clasp with you. 

Fevra rubs the back of her neck apologetically as they overwhelm you and take you to the ground.

"Held em off as long as I could."

"No, don't worry, it's all good," you reply, muffled. "Okay, I can't hold all of your hands at once you need to form a queue or something - Narine, I hear you aced swimming?"

They're like puppies, each brimming with questions about magic and the cottage and the places you've been to and why you're okay with living all alone. They have no boundaries, pulling at you and trying to sit in your lap and giving you hugs. Kav watches you field questions and filterless comments from the circling kids with some amusement.

"Lemme know when you need to tap out," he calls over the noise, grinning down at you.

---

The walk home is always a mixed bag. On the one hand - victory. You're heading back to a warm home and an empty to-do list. Nothing ahead but deciding what's for tea and maybe taking a bath. 

However you miss the town. Funny, in the moment the noise and thrum of everything can be overwhelming and make you wish for nothing more than this slow stroll back over cobbles and fields to your home. But it's also nice, like being hugged by their very voices. 

The actual hugs are also not...completely unwelcome. You're never quite sure what to do or how exactly to wrap your arms around them, but you try.

You don't wish you'd moved into town - you're still sure your direct presence would upset their whole equilibrium they've got going. 

But when Mara rubs your back warmly and makes you promise to be careful on the way home, it does make you wish you'd maybe built your cottage just a little bit closer to Niole.

There's a spot coming up, just off the path, barely visible from here, one you've never really thought of as a 'spot' before. 

Not for the first time today, you think about a scientist. Alone, sick, shadows and blue light cast on his face by an experiment he hasn't figured out yet. You reach into your pocket and run your fingers over the rock, the one you haven't been able to part with for a while now. 

This spot is familiar, even in the dark. Even without that glow you've started to miss.

Rosemary grows here.

Chapter Text

It's five weeks before that glow lights up your home again. Your bedroom this time. Honestly you've never been more glad to be woken early.

You started moving the scrying rock from room to room with you somewhere between weeks one and two, anxious of missing the window. It's become kind of a habit.

Thoughts of leaving him to deal with this on his own were abandoned around week three. Every day that ends without a blue window cutting itself into your reality, you've fallen asleep thinking about a man with dark brows and darker circles under his eyes. Sitting alone in a darkened lab, coughing his lungs into a tissue.

The idea of getting what you initially wanted - to get on with your life, to not be involved - doesn't hold the same appeal. Your peaceful little cottage in its isolated little meadow has lost its warmth.

A phrase keeps coming back, one you didn't even realise you'd read off of one of his papers until later. 

'Hextech - a better tomorrow, for all'

This project, the magic, all of it. It's not just for him. He's doing this for everyone.

His diagrams and equations, though you can barely remember them, also stick around, haunting the quiet moments in your mind. You feel like if he explained some of the more sciencey things that you could bridge the gap and help him.

And not just with the experiment. With whatever is draining away his life.

Though you started wondering around week four if you'd ever see him again. You kept at it though, mulling over the window and the symptoms that were visible, hoping for exactly this. Five weeks. 

You roll over groggily, wincing at how bright it is on your sleep dimmed eyes. 

"Hey you," you mumble sleepily. 

You sit up so you can look properly. Another window. Much larger and clearer than ever. It's like he's standing right there, just a few feet from your bedside, leaning heavily on his cane, a book in one hand as usual. 

You reach for your notebook and rush to get something down, your fingers still half asleep and slurring the letters. 

For a moment you're afraid it won't go through but your gale carries it across to him easily enough.

He perks up curiously at the strange noise, unable to place the source of it until he catches sight of the note settling on his desk out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh!"

The book hits the ground with a thump as he stumbles to his desk, almost tripping over his cane in his hurry. 

"I'm here, I'm here," he rambles, snatching up the note. "Right, uh...'hey, Eyebrows.'"

He laughs, actually laughs. Just like his smile it's so unfamiliar but so welcome. 

"Eyebrows, heh, not the worst nickname I've been given. I didn't notice you called me that last time until I reread the first message," he recalls excitedly, feeling around in all the mess and producing said note and holding it up. 

The memory of the angry note and what it says makes your cheeks burn. You can't believe that's the first thing you've ever said to him.

It's a little crumpled now, like he's read it over and over during the five weeks since you saw him last. You turn to your notebook and try to remember and reply to everything he's saying, even as he keeps going a mile a minute.

"Ehh, quite rude," he adds with a quieter chuckle, reading it again. "But I appreciate the sentiment all the same. Though it was difficult to follow your instruction to get some sleep after receiving such mysterious contact. I tried for so long to, to reconnect the core to the correct - you're still there, yes? It seems to be more stable this time."

You quickly write a separate note, 'slow down, I'm writing' with a smiley and send it through. 

He grabs it out of the air and scans it, chuckling again quietly.

"Right, sorry, sorry. It's just... it's been so long and I've got so many questions. I won't - I'll be quiet now," he assures you, setting the cane aside and sitting down, scooting the stool closer. 

You wonder distantly why he doesn't have a proper chair, with his issues and all. He taps a finger on the desk impatiently, eyes searching like if he stares hard enough he can will you right into his lab.

"Almost there...aaaand..." you murmur to yourself, hoping he'll still be able to read your rushed scribbles.

And off it goes. 

Once he has it he does a little huffing noise. 

"You really were writing. Wow. This is...a lot. Excuse me," he nods to your direction, reading this one under his breath super quick.

In the note you explain how this even started, how you've only seen him a couple times but he hasn't been able to see or hear you in return, how you've experimented with various materials and methods. But only magic was able to get anything through.

You briefly ask him about the scrying spell, mentioning that it's backwards and only one way. You assure him that you've tethered it to a rock, so he can't keep scrying random spots in any world and exposing himself to any old stranger.

"This is...surreal," he murmurs, looking up. "Scrying? I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with the term. Twice, before now, I've contacted you? And I had no idea. How embarrassing.. And this last part, 'I'd like to help any way I can.'"

You start to scribble down a quick explanation while he keeps talking. 

"You...you want to help? You know what I'm doing?" he asks, arching one curious brow. "How? Why?"

You scribble more, simplifying your sentences to say more, and to say it faster. God you wish there was an easier way to talk to him. 

Again he catches the note as soon as it flies through. 

"'Scrying = long distance magical communication.' Amazing, I...want to know more. 'I don't know exactly what you're doing but I do know about magic + healing.'"

He reads that last part slower, lowering the note to cast his eyes over your vague direction. 

For a moment he's silent, brooding, glancing back and forth between the notes. You miss the smile.

"You must understand my instinct to hesitate - it's ehh, a little too good to be true? A faceless stranger making promises from within a device I don't even fully understand yet. Don't get me wrong, this is - incredible."

You start another note. Too good to be true? 

"But how can I trust you? I know nothing about you. I can't see or hear you. For all I know you're a hallucination."

Good point, Eyebrows. 

This note is more personal, detailed. If he's going to trust you he needs to know more about you.

You can't blame him; you are a random stranger after all. He sits back down after a moment, rubbing his leg and looking into the light with pursed, tense lips.

You hesitate with the paper still in your hand. 

You think back to the first time he scryed. There was no doubt in your mind that this pasty scientist was none of your business, not to be meddled with. 

Then you wanted to heal him. 

Now? Now you just want to help him.

Whatever way you can. 

You've watched him slave and cough and bleed over this work. You just want to help.

When the note goes through this time he lets it drift down onto his desk before picking it up between delicate fingers.

"'My name is (yn), I'm part witch, I live alone just outside Niole. I specialise in healing magic, I can't promise anything but if I can help you then I will. As for faceless, let me help you fix your scrying spell + we'll be able to talk properly.' I see. It's a beautiful name. Hm," he hums, setting this latest note alongside the others. 

You're not sure whether he means your name or the town name - you know what, it doesn't matter. The way his accent made him pronounce your name also definitely does not matter, just focus, focus -

"Part witch? So you want to use your magic to help me...with this project? Even though you don't know 'exactly' what I'm doing?"

'I have no idea when it comes to the scientific side of things but I know I can help with magic - no offense but the runes for example are kinda inelegantly written,' you quickly reply. 

"Inelegantly written," he repeats under his breath with a smirk. "Good to know."

He taps his chin, then takes a deep breath. 

"Before anything else, I'd like to learn more about the situation. Please, describe in as much detail as you can, how this 'window' appears to you. I'm curious how the mechanics of scrying works, if you have any kind of records on how that magic works then I want to read them. Oh, and about the...perhaps I should write you a list. In case it destabilises again," he adds, going quiet as he takes up his pen and starts to jot down some ideas.

Does he not realise..?

You pen a short note and pass it through. 

It luckily falls within his eyeline, successfully distracting him from the list. 

"'How are you going to get that through to here?' Ah... right. There's no big glowing hole here. Hmm. I can at least hold it up and you can copy it down. But you know what? I'm thinking that perhaps we should do a little experimentation," he suggests, and again you're graced with a small rare smile. 

---

Three and a half hours. This is officially the longest window yet. Eyebrows had you map it all out, as accurately as you could remember. The first one went out after roughly half an hour, the second after just over three hours. They seem to be improving each time along with the picture quality, which fascinates him. 

Speaking of picture. You're just about done with another sketch, this one trying to help him understand the angle and framing of how much you can actually see into his lab. 

About a third of his desk, a little of the far wall, a pile of books only just in view. But you still can't see the hexcore. He even gets up and moves around, repeating "what about here?" over and over to figure out where the edges of the window lie.

He's like a sponge; soaking up every facet, every detail, every little bit of data he can get his hands on. 

What you'd like is to try to close the gap between you, to fix the spell, or even to try and portal over wherever he is. But he's determined to check every possibility, to know as much as possible, before moving forward. Determined, and distrustful. 

You're not sure why but as soon as you brought up healing, a sort of wall came down. He's been a little quieter ever since. Still excited like it's his birthday, but quieter. Though that may also be due to how late it's getting, for him at least. 

For you, the window woke you up only an hour earlier than usual so it's barely midday now.

For Eyebrows with the time difference and everything, it's got to be long past the middle of the night and into morning.

But every time you've sent hints and even openly asked him to get some rest, he simply restates that you may not get another chance like this. Which is true. According to his calculations, which you couldn't understand even if he talked you through it step by step, the windows have a fluctuating rate of...you know what, the terms he used have already left your memory.

Basically they're happening gradually much further apart but for much longer. So the next window could be three months away, and last for a whole day and a half. A less than appealing prediction.

Every time you send a note through with little snoring Zs he reminds you of this. Of how long you'd both have to wait to talk again if he slept now and the window was gone before he could wake. He's right of course, it would be hell to wait that long. 

But he just looks so bone tired. The sun just starting to show outside shines into the lab, casting a warmth over his otherwise cold features. 

You've wanted so badly to ask about his illness, to thumb open your grimoire and check if you have any info on it. But after watching his face harden with suspicion last time you're sure you should wait until he knows you better. 

Instead of another request for him to sleep, you send through this latest sketch. Then head to your kitchen, scrying rock in tow, with an idea. 

"Thank you," he murmurs, adding it to the pile and getting absorbed back into the work the moment the words leave his lips. 

You hunt around in the upper cupboards for your quarry, glad he can't see or hear what's coming. 

For some reason you want to surprise him. To see that little smile again as something happens that he couldn't predict with all his genius and notes and books. 

Only a couple of minutes later and you're ready, if a little nervous. 

You set down your gesture on the kitchen counter and write a quick warning.

Slender hands take up the note. 

"'Please cup your hands close to the window. I have something for you'," he reads out, smiling softly to himself at the little smiley face you drew after. "Why? What are you passing through?"

'just something I think you could use'

He nods slowly. "Alright. Here?"

It takes a couple more notes to direct him to the exact spot since he can't see it but once there you lift and very slowly start to push through the little surprise, slow enough that he can see it coming and hopefully take it. 

"I see something coming through, what...a flask?" he guesses, as it presses into his waiting hands. 

You watch him twist the top off and sniff it warily, brows softening as he makes the connection.

"It's...tea. You made me tea?"

He notices the note tied to the neck of the flask.

'if you're really not going to sleep you should be powered by something other than pure will alone'

He glances between the tea and the attached note. Is it just your imagination or do his ghostly cheeks have a little colour in them?

You hope he drinks it. He's cautious, overly so of course from your perspective. You can't blame him. Witchy stranger from another world offers you tea via a mysterious transcendent window? He'd have to be crazy to do something so dangerous, you realise with a little disappointment. 

He'd have to be an idiot with no regard for his own...

The thought trails off into amazement as you watch him shrug lightly and take a deep draught of the tea. 

Right. You underestimated his willingness to try pretty much anything. 

His eyes flit back up and for a second you're startled by how close it feels to real eye contact. He's getting better and better at guessing where you are on this side. It would be unsettling, if his expression weren't so kind.

"Thank you."

It's another one of those quiet whispers, the ones you just barely hear.

He sits and takes another sip. 

"It's good. Would it be rude for me to ask what kind of tea this is? I can't place it."

You're already on it, writing another note. You've burned through another notebook, now on your third.

He puts the lid back on, then twists it off again. 

"I've never seen a flask like this, it's well made. A shame you've sent it through though because I can't give it back to you," he laments, turning it in hand with fascination.

He startles and almost drops the flask as the next note falls through, weighed down by an attached cheesecloth bag filled with loose leaves.

"'In case you want more but I can't give it to you, here's some extra. It's a blend I make myself, it has a shit tonne of caffeine. But don't overdo it, no more than two cups a day.' Mm. This is so - thank you," he says again, his sincerity warming your cheeks. 

He opens a desk draw and sets the bag of tea inside. 

This particular strain also has strong anaesthetic properties. You doubt it will make much of a dent in whatever he's feeling but hopefully it'll help somewhat. Should you tell him? Technically almost all teas of this kind have anaesthesia in them somewhere...

But he gets so tense whenever you've even broached the topic of his illness. He's trusting you a lot, but not with this. Not yet. 

Still though, as he takes another sip you can't stop yourself from reaching for your recipe book. He's trying to trust. You should try to be trustworthy. You tear out the page for this tea and write a quick message in the margin. 

He inspects it with interest when it floats down in front of him. 

"The recipe..? 'In the interest of full disclosure, here's the ingredients and the multiple uses of the tea I gave you'. I don't understand, this is.." he trails off, eyes going side to side lower and lower. 

You can imagine he's found it by now. 

excellent natural pain relief, non-drowsy, allergy friendly

He looks up. For a moment it feels like the walls are going to come down again and he's going to retreat into himself. Instead he just takes another deep drink. 

"Thank you," he nods, for the third time. 

He looks like he almost might say more, but instead turns back to the notes. Your recipe page is slid carefully in amongst the other messages.

And you turn back to your own notebook, to write out a much more detailed description of how the tethering spell works.

Eyebrows said 'experimenting' but honestly most of the last few hours has just been diligent note taking and sketch after sketch of the scrying window, recreating on paper the various sizes and levels of quality each occurrence has been. Copying down and passing through various grimoire pages that might be helpful.

Every now and then he'll look up and ask questions like, 

"Wait, you're using wind to send notes through? You can control the weather?"

And you write back replies like, 

'not really. harnessing ambient air that's already drafting around my cottage to make small items float is very different than controlling the weather itself - that would require an enormous amount of energy + crazy rune work'

And he nods thoughtfully, mutters something like, "Hm. Interesting."

And then silence resumes and it's just the sounds of scratchy writing.

Just as you start to accept that he may not have any practical experimentation planned he leans back on his stool, itches the back of his neck and sighs. 

"Alright. As I understand it, we have a few options for how we can proceed. The current window is going to close, within another five or six hours I wager a guess. Priority one is avoiding a three month silence before we can talk to each other again."

Right because then you wouldn't be able to help him. 

Or see him. 

"I still don't feel like I know enough to allow you access to the hexcore; it's already unpredictable at the best of times. I think we should focus on finding an alternative means of communication. For example, you seem to be familiar with the scrying spell - could you scry to me?"

That gives you pause. You've considered it of course, but there are requirements that you've been hesitant to ask for.

'I can try but I'd need you to give me your name and location.'

He cocks his head to the side. "I could...tell you my name, but you may not have it."

That makes you laugh; his suspicious little expression and his careful choice of words. He really doesn't trust you, does he?

'I'm part witch, not a faerie. I can't 'have' your name. I just need a real name for spells, not a nickname'

He looks amused at that. "I'm sorry, this is my first time being contacted by a magical entity via an accidental invisible magic window. Please pardon my circumspection."

Sassy when he wants to be, wow. 

'alright, alright, relax - you don't have to tell me, it just means we'll have to try something else.'

He nods, still considering it.

"I've looked at these drawings of yours and compared them to your grimoire pages - what do you think about reverse engineering the same scrying spell? Back to back windows?"

Could work. Could fill in the gaps of the current window and let you see and hear each other instead of just being one way.

'It's worth a try. But again - this kind of magic isn't my speciality so I can't guarantee anything'

"Trial and error is what I do," he shrugs, and grins wide like that's the best part. 

'alright, Eyebrows. then let's do this'

He reads it with a tiny snort of laughter. 

"I still don't understand why that's my nickname. Are they really that bad?"

'your eyebrows aren't bad at all. just distinctive. i like them'

He blinks at that. "Oh. You do?"

"Sorry, do what?"

Someone's come in. Neither of you heard the door. Eyebrows turns his back to you, startled. 

For a second you're embarrassed about your pyjamas. Then you remember you're not visible. 

"Uh...Miss Young. Good morning. I was just - talking to myself," Eyebrows hurries to say, glancing in your direction over his shoulder. 

"It's okay, I do that sometimes. And - and good morning to you too."

The stranger comes into view. She's pretty, wearing glasses and a shy smile. The same fancy sorts of clothes Eyebrows wears, including a long lab coat. 

She gets closer. Miss Young, he said?

"Sorry for sneaking up on you there, I'm just running some messages. Have you been up all night again?" she asks, arms folded tight over a blue notebook.

Her tone is kind. Familiar but professional. Co-workers then?

Just like Jayce, her accent is completely different to his. Maybe Eyebrows isn't from there originally.

"It's time sensitive work, it couldn't wait. I'm fine."

She casts an eye over the messy desk, the papers, the hexcore. 

"Anything I can help with? You can't do everything alone, y'know," she adds, a little quieter. "I'm always around."

Maybe an assistant or intern then.

"I'm not alone," Eyebrows blurts, then panics before quickly covering it. "Uh - you and Jayce are always stopping by."

Weird that you've only seen a couple of glimpses of his colleagues in all this time. It really shouldn't surprise you that you haven't seen much of them, considering it always seems to be the middle of the night on his end when the windows open. 

She notices the flask. Oh no... you'd forgotten it was open, it's probably cold by now. Eyebrows seems to have forgotten about it too. 

"What's that?"

"Oh..." he stalls, glancing around for the recipe. "Tea. A blend of... chamomile and horo - uh - horora - um, certain flower extractions. Just something I thought I'd try. From an Undercity market."

Stop adding details, Eyebrows, you're making it more suspicious than it needs to be, you think, watching uselessly as he continues to fidget like he's covering up a murder. 

Luckily Miss Young seems to have other things on her mind. 

"Oh. Okay. There's something else. Jayce needs to see you before the meeting, he's downstairs."

"I can't really -"

"I'm so sorry, but he was very firm that I shouldn't take no for an answer," she interrupts, but you'd guess by her nervous disposition that she doesn't mean it.

"How firm?" Eyebrows pushes, some humour in his tone. 

Miss Young takes a breath, eyes on the floor, still smiling shyly. 

"I believe his exact threat was, well, 'cookies can be bought and trails can be arranged, so Viktor had better -"

"I'm familiar," he cuts her off, clearing his throat. "It's, ehh - an inside joke of sorts."

Wait, was that - ?

He pushes to his feet again hesitantly.

"A quick break. I'll be back soon," he says, as if to himself. 

His name echoes over and over in your head. That and questions about what the cookie thing means.

You watch him following her, looking over his shoulder with a desperate sort of expression. You want to tell him somehow that it's alright, according to his own calculations it's going to be open for another good few hours. But you can't do anything apart from listen to the door opening.

"One moment, Miss Young," he says distantly, before you hear the slow return of his steps and cane. 

He grabs the flask. 

"Isn't it clap cold?" she calls.

"I don't care," he replies. 

He takes a deep drink anyway, nearly draining it, then sets the flask back down. 

"Take a break, I'll be back as fast as I can," he whispers, pretending to be reorganising papers. 

You can't send him any kind of signal so he just nods subtly and walks away again.

The door closes and you can hear them having another conversation just outside the door, the specifics inaudible. Looking down you realise he's positioned a few notes facing you, so you can keep working.

This work really is everything to him. 

Like you needed anything else to convince you that this is the right decision for you. 

You pen a quick note and pass it through for him to read when he gets back. 

'it's a beautiful name. see you soon, Eyebrows'

---

Two hours have passed and you're starting to worry he won't be back before the window closes again. For three months, according to his predictions, which you've come to trust. 

Three months. That can't happen. 

Not only would you drive yourself crazy waiting to see him again, but you worry in particular for his health. 

What if he doesn't have three months??

You've kept yourself busy though. Reverse engineering his accidental scrying spell to try and replicate the effect and therefore create a two way communicator instead of one way? Genius. Plus if it works it would mean a permanent fixed scrying point, a window either of you could open any time you want. So you've been getting down a few practice doodles on how you might cast it.

Viktor. 

You would've preferred if he let you know his name himself, instead of someone else by accident. Feels wrong somehow. But it's nice to know all the same. Still, you feel a strong urge to wait until he asks you to use it aloud. 

Privately though, you find yourself repeating it like a mantra, murmuring it under your breath like it's a swear word you're saying for the first time.

"Viktor?"

Hearing someone else calling it yanks you out of your reverie, as if they're reading your thoughts and catching you out. 

But it's just someone in the lab. From the angle all you see is their shiny boots. Miss Young again?

"Come on in, Mrs Reedy. He's not back yet so I'll have to stay and make sure everything is in order, you know how particular he can be," she continues. 

A second set of footsteps enter, along with the squeaky wheels of some sort of trolley. A cleaner then, you guess, as you hear rhythmic sweeping noises. 

There's a cleaner? And he's still this messy? He's almost as bad as you.

Miss Young comes closer and again you see that shy smile she's doing to no one in particular as she scans the messy contents of Viktor's desk. 

"Cluttered desk, cluttered mind," she whispers, starting to pile the books. 

She's careful to bookmark each open book before closing and stacking it. When she comes to the notes you suck in a sharp breath. Is that okay? She won't really know what's going on just by reading them, right?

Which she's doing. Reading them. 

She adjusts her glasses and glances over her shoulder like she's reading forbidden holy texts. Which they might be. Is she allowed to go through his stuff?

"Eyebrows?" she reads under her breath, frowning. 

You chuckle to yourself. 

"What, you've never noticed them?" you ask, though you know she can't hear it.

She continues analysing the notes, but luckily she just gets more confused and ends up stacking them in a pile and going back to organising the rest of the desk. Bloodied tissues are carefully swiped into a small bin. A plate with a barely touched sandwich is picked up off of the floor. Another plate with a picked-at plum on it is added to the pile.

She picks up the flask carefully, then sniffs it. 

"...Tea...he never drinks tea."

Oh. Doesn't drink it in general, or doesn't like it at all? Was he just being polite, pretending to like it then? 

She closes the lid and tucks the mostly empty flask under arm. You hope she's just taking it to clean it.

The desk is mostly clear, everything stacked neatly to one side. 

"This desk is cleared, Mrs Reedy," she calls over her shoulder. 

Somewhere behind her there's a humph of acknowledgement. 

She leans closer to the notes again, cradling the dishes so she doesn't accidentally drop any. 

"A penpal, maybe? From another academy?" she whispers, adjusting her glasses with one finger. 

You suppose you are kind of like a penpal. But watching her pick up another note and read it more closely you regret again that different means of contact weren't achieved sooner.

You file away for later the little detail that Viktor works at an academy. Is he a Professor maybe?

The cleaner approaches and all but pushes past her to efficiently squirt cleansing product, wipe it down, wipe down again with a dry cloth, and quickly move on. 

Meanwhile Miss Young is completely absorbed in a note, one of the newer ones. You recognise the paper, it's from a newer notebook.

"Um - Mrs Reedy?"

"Mm?"

"If someone called your eyebrows 'distinctive', what would you think of that? Is that..?" she trails off, making a confused gesture.

"Depends. You know the saying. If it's your mother it's an insult. If it's a lover, it's flirtation," the cleaner answers. "It's just a turn of phrase, means it depends on the relationship. I'm done in this lab, I'll be next door."

"A lover?" she echoes, but the cleaner is already gone. "I didn't think Viktor...Hm."

Okay. This is getting a little too personal for your liking. 

You turn away and try to focus fully on the runes you're having trouble with, humming over her thinking out loud to try and give her some privacy. 

Though you can't resist looking back every now and then, to see if she's still reading the notes.

Which she is.

For quite a while actually. 

A one-sided conversation scribbled down on torn out notebook pages is hopefully just incomprehensible gibberish to someone on the outside. 

You're just about finished with the design when you hear boots clacking away on the newly cleaned floor, and the door soon closing after her.

His desk looks weird all neat and organised. Peeking closer you see the most recent note you sent is still sitting at the top of the pile. Good. 

Viktor. You won't be calling him it out loud, not until he asks you to. But it really is a beautiful name.

Chapter Text

"I should get going," Viktor tries for the third time, sliding out of his seat. 

And for the third time, Heimerdinger pulls him back into it insistently. 

"Nope. You are going to eat a full meal this week if it kills me, boy."

Viktor sighs but nods politely and goes back to picking at the food. Jayce is the lucky one. He got called away to a meeting almost immediately, leaving Viktor alone with Heimerdinger for lunch. Which wouldn't be so distressing. If there weren't the thread of that scrying window closing any second hanging over his head.

They know his name now. It's not Miss Young's fault, she wasn't to know after all. But it would have been nice all the same, if he could have kept it to himself just a little longer, just until he knows more about them.

The taste of lavender lingers somewhere in his mouth, and lends some sort of credence to their assurances that his name isn't something they can't steal just by knowing it. That and the strange thick feeling covering the pain in his leg. Not all of it certainly, but enough to be noticeable.

He wishes, for probably the thousandth time in his life, that it wasn't considered rude to read and work at the table. He'd like to run his eyes over that recipe again, if it works this well for him then it could work this well for others. If the ingredients could be found here and if they gave him permission to do so he could distribute it amongst the hospitals, clinics, everyone who needs it, maybe -

"What's so urgent, anyway? What are you working on?"

Right. Conversation.

That question brings a tiny smile to his face. He wouldn't believe it even he told him. Best be vague anyway. Heimerdinger has a history of being overly cautious, at least in Viktor's opinion. 

Then again, what if he has insight? He is much older and more experienced after all. Worth a try. 

"I've been doing some reading up on magic. Do you know anything of...witches?"

Heimerdinger shrugs, distractedly leaning over in his chair to drop scraps for his little companion. 

"Hm? Witches? Yes, I believe I've met a few over the years. Read a few books."

Viktor straightens out his expression determinedly. Best not look too excited.

"Oh?"

"Yes, yes. I'm not a fan; still believe magic causes more harm than good. But...with witches in particular, it depends entirely on the individual."

Heimerdinger's tone is light, but his eyes stare glassily at the table. He's alluded to it a few times, some history he has with magic. But he's been so frustratingly vague about the whole thing. Though itching with curiosity, it's probably best not to push too hard.

"How so?" Viktor asks, trying to look more interested in the potatoes than the conversation.

Heimerdinger looks up anyway, fluffy brow quirking with suspicion.

His brows are thicker than mine, what's so 'distinctive' about mine? Viktor wonders internally.

"Well, there's all different kinds. House witches, garden witches. You've got your elementals, your fire witches, your ice witches and such. A witch can be born into, or even choose in some cases, whatever magical path they'd like. Which is part of what makes them so dangerous," he adds, purposeful in his stern tone. "Tell me why you're asking about this, Viktor."

Viktor scrambles for an excuse, wishing he'd thought of one before he even brought witches up. Perhaps just a shielded view of the truth then.

"I've met someone…"

"A witch? Here in Piltover?" Heimerdinger asks sharply.

"No, no -" Well this isn't going well. "A penpal. They suggested contacting a real magic user, like a witch, for advice."

Heimerdinger makes one of his little huffy noises, going back to his food. 

"Mm. Well. I disagree. Magic comes, trouble follows. Witches are no exception. A penpal though, that's nice. Good for you, my boy. Where are they?"

He shut down the witch part of the conversation pretty easily there, didn't he?

Heimerdinger, though he can be a little stifling, is a good person. It's not dangerous to tell him where they're from, right?

"Ever heard of Niole?" he offers.

Heimerdinger perks up. "Niole. Yes, actually. Niolians are a very kind people. Very private too, in all my time I've only read about them - it's quite incredible you've made contact. How did you meet this penpal?"

"By chance. But we've become fast friends."

Heimerdinger nods approvingly. "Good. It's not healthy to spend too much time alone, y'know."

"Mm. Miss Young expressed a similar sentiment earlier."

Am I really so aloof?

Work does take up a lot of time. But it has to. He doesn't have much time in the first place. The work is the priority, the work is everything.

"Professor, I - do you know anything about scrying?"

Again Heimerdinger looks at him like he can see right through to all his secrets. 

"It's, well, sort of like a magical letter. Allows you to see and hear someone even if they live realms away, through a big - hm, I don't know I'd describe it. A hole or opening. Sort of like…"

"A window?"

"...Yes. Yes, exactly. There's some bright light, runes all over the place, it can be quite disconcerting when you're not used to magic," Heimerdinger seems to recall, with some distaste.

Hm. That description matches the drawings he's seen and the grimoire pages. But the way he talks about it, the way he grimaces and shakes his head reprovingly. He doesn't just distrust magic, he fears it.

He'd earlier considered telling Heimerdinger about the Hexcore today. But perhaps another time. When he has more control of it, more of an idea of how it works. 

He'll only risk one more question then, one last bid for some, any, information.

"What if there was a witch who could heal me, a witch that specialises in medical magic. What if they could come to Piltover somehow?"

Heimerdinger stares up at him knowingly. 

"We all want to see you well, Viktor. But you risk too much. A witch in Piltover... I'd sooner see a warship pull into our harbour than a witch. It's unthinkable, when there's already so much going on - our conflict with the underground, the council straying further and further from its purpose with every vote, and…" he trails off with another frustrated sigh. "Nothing would please me more than your illness zapped away with an easy spell, but magic is rarely so simple. Do you understand me?"

Viktor turns his eyes to the table, noting scratches and chips round the corners. 

He understands him. He understands that Heimerdinger will never trust magic. That going forward, everything about this window, this witch from Niole, it all has to stay between him and the walls. No one can know. 

"Yes, Sir."

Chapter Text

The lab doors slam open and Viktor shuffles in, a couple of new books under his arm. You perk up and start gathering your notes.

"I'm so sorry, Heimerdinger was going on and on and - he made me eat dessert too. Then the librarian took forever getting these books down from the top shelf for me. It was a nightmare, I -"

He cuts off when he catches sight of his desk, organised and neatened within an inch of its life. You pen a new note.

"I'm glad you've got some food in you at least. Shame to hear it was a nightmare though. What are the new books?"

He skims it distractedly. "Yes, uh - they're about witches, our city's magical history and such. Agh, Sky, what have I told you about cleaning up my desk…"

Irritated mutterings trail off into quiet as he opens books and sets them back up, lays out diagrams and references, adds the new books to the display. He hesitates when he comes to the neat little stack of pages. 

"These are all out of order, did she read them? The woman who was here before, Miss Young, did she read these?"

You don't want to get her in trouble. But she did technically snoop. 

"She didn't understand what she was reading, she was just curious," you try, hoping you're not accidentally getting her fired by revealing that. 

Viktor spreads out the notes so he can see them all at once. Then quickly picks them up one by one, re-reading and stacking them.

"She was top of her class, it wouldn't be so difficult for her to clock what we're doing, even if this is only one half of the conversation. See she has your name, she knows where you are, what you are," he explains, holding up the note where you properly introduced yourself. "Not to mention these grimoire pages, this one where we discussed the window, all the sketches here - she could piece this together. She was top of her class, she's no fool."

You let him keep going, hesitant to break his concentration. Still though, you can't help wanting to help. 

"Do your colleagues not know you're working with magic? Is it bad if they find out?"

Viktor stops sorting upon reading that. Sets aside his cane and sits heavily. 

"Hextech. A blend of science and magic, with the goal of improving lives. Bettering living conditions, strengthening the city, it's been revolutionary already, the small changes we've made. The others don't trust it, don't want to move too fast with it. But I know it can be more, I know we can do so much more. I'm, ehh, a little more...radical? Than my colleagues some of the time? According to them at least. Professor Heimerdinger is a member of the council and the only one I could ask about magic and...witches."

Ah. He's been researching you. Still thinks you're going to boil him into stew or turn him into a frog doesn't he? Cute. A little offensive, but...cute.

"I tried to ask him about it but it became clear quickly that if he knew even a little bit about what we're doing he'd put a stop to it. Cut off our contact. Likely strip me of my position. He's not exactly fond of witches. If Miss Young gathered enough from these notes, if she told him about it? We'd be finished. I'll - I must send for her."

He hurries away before you can finish your note. 

You hear the door open and his voice distantly calling into the corridor. Miss Young's name a few times, then a couple others. 

"That usually does it. They know I have a hard time with all the stairs and such. Shit - what time is it? Is the window still stable on your side??"

"Yes it's all good, we've got about an hour. But - did you just swear? You must be really stressed :("

He finally slows down at that, plopping on his stool and sighing his head into his hands. 

"Yes. Sorry. If there's a chance that our friendship could lead to advancements that can help people, then I have to try as hard as I can," he explains, eyes roaming unfocused over the desk.

You resist the urge to comment on the fact that he just referred to you as a friend. He looks like he's about to collapse. And you're not surprised, he was up all night because of you, god knows how long he was awake before that. 

"Then let's get this window situation fixed. I found something in my rune dictionary and I might have cracked the right rune combination."

He processes this note a little slower, definitely running on empty now. When he hits the end he lights up.

"Come, come, send it through then, I'd like to see. Please," he adds, with an awkward chuckle.

The idea of getting closer to his goal seems to light a fire under him. He's perking up, tapping impatiently with a pencil, rereading old notes as if they have the answers. Cute.

You gather all the notes you've made while he's been gone, attempting to stack them in an order that makes sense. 

"Wait -"

You look up. 

"There's one missing. A note, one of them is gone, it's gone," he repeats, standing and rifling through the desk over again. "Who else has been in??"

"No one. Which note is gone?"

Viktor pauses, frowning. "Uh... I'm not sure, I just know. I think it was…"

He glances through them again, pinching his brow, and then -

"Eyebrows," he exclaims, hand slamming the desk. "The one where - we were talking about my eyebrows."

Ah. Right.

"I really don't want to get your friend in trouble but she was confused about that one."

"Confused?"

"About what it meant, I think. It's okay though, there was nothing incriminating on that note, right?"

"Well, no, but... still," he concludes, then sighs again heavily. "Let's just..focus on the work. What were you saying, you've come up with something?"

Again you can't help running your eyes over his dark circles, the way his hands shake, the slump in his shoulders. And again you wish you were there. You wish you could halve the burden, share the pain, ease the fatigue. 

"Here ya go," you send instead, along with a pile of everything's you've been up to. 

The only way he's going to go get some rest is you figure this thing out. As quickly as possible. 

As tired as he is, a stack of new data is all it takes to spark new passion in his eyes.

He holds up a page, grinning excitedly.

"This is...your staff?"

"Yup. I'll be needing it. Figured you might be interested in seeing it."

"I am. What is it made of? I thought staffs and wands and such could only be forged of natural materials - it looks almost metallic," he adds, squinting for more details.

"You thought right. When I was young and unable to control my power, I got angry and accidentally created a storm. The lightning brought down a wisteria tree and I forged my staff from one of the shards."

Viktor raises one of those brows you love so much. 

"Your anger caused a storm? Remind me not to get on your bad side. Thank you, for this," he concludes, adding the diagram to his pile of notes. "I seem to recall you implying that a staff is called for when a spell is particularly powerful. Just how dangerous is this idea of yours?"

"Only kind of. And only to me. Your side shouldn't be affected."

"Let's hope it goes well then, eh?" he offers, optimistically.

He carries on reading. You glance down, just past the window. To your staff, leaning dusty and untouched against the wall. 

"Oh...I see. This is...this could work."

Likes to ruminate aloud, doesn't he? He pulls himself to his feet again and carries the notes over to his chalkboard, still muttering and theorising and humming away.

As the moments tick by you're starting to think he's forgotten you're here at all, distractedly practising the rune formations over and over. 

"Sorry, sorry," he finally calls, hastily throwing himself back onto the stool. "I was just going to check the numbers and then - well, I got a little too into it. I think...I think it will work. I think we should try it."

You want to disagree and warn him that you should wait, run some trials, work out the kinks. In his face you see the same determined apprehension you feel. The window is temporary, it'll close within the hour. It's now or never. Or rather, now or...in three months. 

"Here. I want you to have these. In case this all goes wrong."

Books and papers topple through the window, so much he can barely stop them sliding off the desk.

"Are you sure? All these books and documents...surely they are irreplaceable. You'd give them to me?" he asks, thumbing the spine of the thickest amongst them.

You'd been compiling them while he was gone. They weren't doing much here, just gathering dust. He's right, they're irreplaceable. Hand written tomes detailing magical histories from around the world. But he can do a lot more for a lot more people than you can, sitting alone in your little cottage.

"Hextech - a better future for all. It's got a nice ring to it. These books can help you get there, even if I maybe can't. Let's not dwell though. Are you ready?"

He hesitates, note in hand. Looks back up at you uncertainly.

"Yes. Yes, I'm ready. But...just in case. In case the spell doesn't work, in case the window closes and I don't hear from you for three months. In case I never hear from you again...thank you. Thank you, for all this knowledge you've given me. I don't doubt it will prove useful. Thank you for believing in Hextech. For believing in me."

"No need for thanks, Eyebrows. I'm the one who should be thanking you. I've been in hiding for a long time. But I'm starting to think...maybe I should be using my power for good. Maybe I shouldn't hide away. You and your work, you're what helped me see that."

Your hands shake as you write, the words coming fast and honest. You hadn't even really thought about it properly until just now. But he really has changed the way you think about your magic, about what you should be doing with it. Here he is, a regular mortal man, doing more for people in need than you. You should be ashamed of yourself.

"No, you shouldn't," he replies after reading. "Please. Don't hide away when you have so much to offer the world. And I'm not just talking about your magic. You're...nice. To know. And…a good friend."

"You too, Eyebrows."

"Actually, perhaps you - oh, oh no…"

Blue light flickers brighter over his face, the same ripple of fluctuating magic happening on your side too. The window flickers.

"Go, go, please - don't write anymore just cast," he orders, going back to his chalkboard. "Shit, shit. I must have miscalculated somewhere, I thought we'd have more time. Good luck...friend."

His words ring echoey and far away, lost amongst the swirling rush. Grab staff, glance at notes, take stance, have to do it, have to cast it, no time to prepare or practise or perfect -

The window flickers again -

The spell tumbles off your tongue lightning fast, runes cutting themselves into the air. 

"I really should have asked how long it would take, I have no idea what's happening over there," Viktor worries aloud, pacing frantically. 

You snatch a deep breath and your body starts moving practically of its own accord. It's usually a simple movement for just a scrying spell but this modified, long distance one specific not just to a person, but to the exact location of another scrying spell. Though you don't know the location. 

So written into the spell is your will, here's hoping that and your impression of Viktor is strong enough to carry the magic where it needs to go. 

Both hands up, two fingers. Quick breath in, pull back right arm. Push forward, encircle. Throw arms wide.

You go through each step like it's a choreographed dance, the magic picking up and swirling more intensely with each movement. 

Everything that isn't nailed down is yanked up and pulled into the spell, spinning and smashing into each other. 

Viktor throws himself to the ground as your bedside table flies through the window, shattering against the far wall with a loud crack. 

"Okay…still going?" he guesses, ducking again to avoid a trio of loose plates. 

Definitely still going. Your staff shakes in your hands as you continue to build more runes and intention into the array growing and shaping above you. 

"Viktor?" comes a familiar voice. 

Oh god. Not now.

"Uh - J - Jayce - and Sky! What are...what are you doing here?" Viktor asks, voice high and anxious. 

"One of the other interns said you were calling for help. Loudly. Is something wrong?" Jayce asks, taking a few steps forward.

"Wait!" Viktor snaps, holding his hands up. "Don't come any closer."

"Are you alright, Viktor?"

A few more seconds, Viktor. Just get them out, it'll be only a few more seconds…

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine," Viktor insists, even as random objects continue to fly through. 

"What's happening, what's all this stuff?" Jayce calls over the noise of the flurry. 

"Just an experiment, please go, it's not safe!" Viktor calls back. 

Sky comes a little closer anyway. "Can we help? It seems unstable."

"We can't leave you here if it's not safe, Viktor," Jayce insists, starting forward again.

One of your curtains snaps off its hooks and gets pulled through, taking Viktor to the ground on its way. 

Jayce and Sky pull him to his feet and start dragging him towards the door. 

"No, please, I'm alright. Stop, I can't leave, it's almost finished -"

His pleads fall on deaf ears. They drag him out of view and just then the magic reaches its peak, the array is complete, the last rune carves into place. 

A black light expands out from your staff, filling your eyes and blocking everything out.

---

Something...solid against your back. Hard. You will your eyes to open and glance to your right. 

Oh. It's the floor. You didn't even realise you'd fallen.

"- you hear me? Are you there?"

You swivel your head to the left. 

Viktor. Right. He stares roughly where the window is blindly, eyes searching, waiting for you to send a note through. 

Great. So it didn't work. 

"Please. If you're there. Send me something, anything."

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Eyebrows."

You roll onto your front, struggling up to your knees. The spell must have taken more of a toll than you'd thought - your limbs are heavy and slow to respond. 

"Uh...hello?"

You look up. He's smiling, his eyes still missing you but...he looks excited.

"I don't know what knickers are but I don't think I wear them," he laughs, running a hand through messier than usual hair. 

Woaaah, wait. 

"Can you hear me?"

At your words he nods, thrilled. "I can. I can't see you, but...I hear you. Do you always speak to me so rudely?"

You chuckle awkwardly. "N - no, I mean -"

God, first time you speak to him and you insult him? Why do you keep making bad first impressions??

"I'm sorry. The spell didn't - I'm sorry."

Viktor shakes his head. "Don't worry. We accomplished what we wanted to - we can communicate better and hopefully more permanently. You've been unresponsive for several minutes now and the window has held steady. Jayce and Sky are unconscious still, they're okay but they hit their heads - medics are on the way. The window - it doesn't look the same as the drawings but very similar - some of the runes are missing and instead of seeing to where you are it's just...blue. Blue and purple like when I look into the Hexcore. Sorry, you're the one who can finally talk and here I am going on."

This is kinda surreal. You're actually talking, having a proper conversation.

"Don't worry," you repeat back to him. "I've grown accustomed to the sound of your voice. I'm glad we can keep working together."

He nods with enthusiastic agreement, turning away to cough violently into his fist.

"Hey, it worked, sort of. So you can finally listen to me and get some sleep, hm?"

He laughs, and not for the first time you note what a nice sound that is. 

"Yes, yes, I'll sleep, I promise. It's strange - hearing your voice now, I feel like I should say 'nice to meet you', though we've known each other a while."

"It's nice to meet you too, Eyebrows. Not face to face like we'd hoped but...still."

He cracks a crooked unsure smile. Your chest feels heavier than usual.

"Please. Call me Viktor."

Chapter Text

"What about water, did you drink any water?"

"...No."

"It says 'aligning spirit with chosen/given nature', not sure what that means but...did you do that?"

"Nope."

"8 hours of sleep?"

"Close enough."

"Hm. I'm guessing you haven't abstained from spells for the last month in order to conserve and strengthen your magic?"

"Definitely not. I have weekly appointments with several people who need me."

"Ah. It seems we were somewhat...unprepared for a spell of this size," Viktor concludes, scanning over the next page for more ammunition. "This is the first page of volume one of The Witch's First and Only Lesson. Did you not read this?"

"When you're learning magic, you're not exactly excited about the page with all the warnings and stuff. I did read it," you add defensively when he throws you a disapproving look. "Just not super closely. Or more than once."

He smiles a little at that. "I'm not one to play it safe myself, but perhaps next time you don't risk so much. You blacked out, you live alone. Luckily you're alright. If you had been injured, no one would have been able to help. No one is to blame here - we simply didn't have the time. But please let's be more careful in future, hm?"

He has a point. You didn't really prepare for this the way you should have. No wonder it didn't work.

"I appreciate the concern and I do agree but...I'm not going to send you any more magic books if you're just going to use them against me," you grumble, only half serious.

"Follow the advice and I won't," he counters, almost smug.

"You first," you reply.

He chuckles, then slaps the top of the pile of books he's made.

"Volumes one through fourteen. Plus a couple of comprehensive guides. Do you even have more? This seems like a whole collection. Everything but your grimoire and recipe book if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not. But I'm glad you have them."

He leans a little closer over the desk to peer into the window like if he stares hard enough you'll appear. 

"I know you warned me not to touch it just in case but...maybe we should try...oh, Jayce. Just a moment," he whispers to you, then heads towards the rising groans coming from where Jayce and Sky are propped carefully against the back wall.

"Viktor? What the hell happened? And...what's that?" he asks, pointing towards the window.

"Uhhhh…"

Think fast, Viktor. He's waiting. Sky's starting to stir too.

The door opens and half a dozen blue clad official looking people burst in. 

Viktor quickly presses a finger to his lip in a shushing motion in your direction and then whirls and wheels away to help the medics and security take Jayce and Sky away. 

These minutes are agony. 

He can finally hear you, you can finally talk to each other. All you've had is one measly little conversation - it's not enough, not anywhere near enough. 

But you have to watch in as perfect a silence as possible while stretchers are laid out, while Viktor sidesteps questions and expertly bullshits his way through explaining what's going on. 

Impatience twists in your guts. 

Viktor walks them to the door, close by Jayce's stretcher. 

"I'll come and visit you both, don't worry. Just breathe, Jayce."

Jayce doesn't reply and you can't tell from your angle what's going on. You assume he's still too woozy to speak properly from the likely severe concussion.

Despite feeling completely drained from the spell, the urge to cast rears its head like it always does when you're near someone injured. Especially when it's your fault they're hurt. Not much you can do for them from here though. 

Guilt joins the not so fun party of emotions going on in your stomach. 

Viktor's right. You weren't prepared for this. And yeah it's mostly because the window was closing and you didn't have time to prep but... you've been doing this a long time. You should have known better. Two people are hurt. And what if Viktor was the one injured??

The idea of having accidentally hurt Viktor stings even harder and you sigh aloud with gladness that he's alright. As alright as he can be with his illness. 

Speaking of, as Viktor shuts the door behind them and makes his way back to you, he looks more tired than ever. 

"They're suspicious and I'm sure Heimerdinger will be informed of my activities. It is very difficult to convince people that a big glowing hole is not an unauthorised magical experiment. I don't know how I'm going to convince him to let me keep going. But for now...we can continue," he smiles, taking his seat. 

"Absolutely not. Refer to my first note please."

He doesn't need to pick it up to recall your rudely worded instructions. 

"You may have a point," he admits, reaching up to rub his shoulder. "A quick nap. But that's it. I have to clean this place up, I have to visit the hospital - we've got so many tests to run and so much to talk about, I -"

"Viktor. I want to talk to you too, it's - it's so nice talking like this finally. But you haven't slept in God knows how long, you look like you're about to pass out," you add, worried.

Viktor sighs, eyes lost somewhere on his desk. 

"Mm. I agree. That it's nice talking like this," he clarifies. "I liked the notes but I like your voice much better."

Well that makes you smile. Smile so hard your cheeks hurt. Anyway. Moving on. Ignoring that.

"I still think I could go a little longer but if you insist -"

"I do."

"- then I will...get some rest. I suppose."

"Good, I'm glad," you conclude, throwing a glance over your shoulder at your own bed.

You could use some sleep yourself. God what a mess, your room looks like a tornado's hit. Or several tornadoes.

When you look back Viktor is dragging a ratty blanket around, laying it out on the floor. You watch, stunned, as this extremely ill, extremely exhausted man sets up probably the worst looking bed you've ever seen. 

"Is that...do you sleep on that every day??" you ask, incredulous. 

"Not every day," he says, defensively. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's...terrible, it's - it's inhumane."

"It's not that bad, it's…"

"There isn't even a mat or any cushioning, you sleep on the floor?? In your condition???"

Viktor laughs at that. "I'll survive."

"That blanket is thinner than your skin, I wouldn't even let a dog sleep on that," you go on, amused but horrified. 

"Well I'm not a dog," he complains, with a smirk. "And - it's cosier than it looks."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"..."

He picks up a pillow no bigger than a book and tosses it down beside the blanket.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" you laugh, getting closer to try and see better.

"It's convenient."

"It's hardship - people in prison have better beds than you."

"Ehhh, I doubt that very much."

You watch him use his cane for support on the way down to the ground. It's hard to hold back laughter as you watch him curl up in his depressing little attempt at a bed. 

"See. Perfectly comfortable."

"Viktor, my friend, my buddy, my pal, you don't even have pyjamas."

He frowns like it's a foreign concept. 

"It's all at home, I can't bring my whole wardrobe to work - I never know when I'm staying or going and I can't be carrying around all that stuff like slippers and toothbrushes and whatnot -"

"How can you not have a toothbrush? Viktor..."

This just keeps getting better and better. This man is a walking disaster. 

"Do you want me to sleep or do you want to stand there poking fun at my life choices all day, hm?"

"I want you to sleep but...okay hang on," you decide. 

You will energy into your legs and go to your closet. You grab as much soft stuff as you can carry and bring it all to the portal. 

"Okay here, take these."

"Take what?"

Instead of replying you use what little magic you've got left to feed the pile of bedding through piece by piece. They fly through quickly like slurped up noodles, spilling over his desk and onto the floor. 

"What - what are you doing? What's all this?" Viktor asks, muffled towards the end when a quilt goes over his head. 

"Actual bedding. Bedding you won't freeze in. Bedding from this decade. Enjoy."

"I'd refuse but I can't exactly put it all back through - six pillows is more than enough, I promise, please stop," he adds, practically drowning in the sea of fabrics. 

You watch with folded arms as he starts rearranging the bed. The thickest quilt at the bottom as a sort of mattress, pillows propped up around him and under his legs in what seems to be a familiar formation. Then his own thin blanket, followed by about seven layers of your donated covers and throws. 

"What's this?"

Oh...shit.

He holds up Lucky. To him it's just a small children's toy, a soft teddy of a dog. 

"That's...um...I forgot he was in the cupboard with all the blankets, sorry."

"A plushie? He's cute," Viktor comments, holding it up. 

Your face burns. This is just great. 

"He - it's from when I was a kid, I must have packed it by accident when I moved. It's no big deal," you rush, embarrassed.

Viktor smiles up at you. "Mm. Don't worry, I'll look after him until we can figure out how to extend the physical capabilities of the window."

He carries on settling into the bed, tucking your plushie in beside him and pulling the covers over so only two heads are poking out. Cute. 

"Thanks," you finally reply. "I've had him a long time."

"It's alright. I still have some of the toys and things I made when I was a boy. When we get back to work we should prioritise altering the window so I can send him back. Him and half your bedroom. Your laundry basket is over in the corner. I think I saw a plate too."

"That's...great. Wonderful," you laugh. "Are you comfier now?"

His eyes are shut, his expression evening out. His pinched brows and thin pressed lips relaxed.

"Mm. Yes. Thank you. Oh - almost forgot."

He sits up a little, fidgeting around under there. 

"What are you doing?"

"It's digging into my waist," he grunts by way of explanation, still working on something.

A moment later he breathes a sigh of relief and pulls a weird harness sort of thing from under his shirt. 

"Did you just pull out your spine? What the hell is that?"

"My brace. I'm not supposed to sleep in it."

He sets it aside and settles back down. 

It's that bad? He needs a brace? It looks more like a torture device than anything. You'd bet anything he made it himself.

For the millionth time you're tempted to ask what's wrong with him if only to start working on whatever spell could fix him. But watching his face smooth out again to that serene expression you know you should continue to not bother him about it.

"Goodnight, Eyebrows."

"Viktor," he corrects.

"Goodnight, Viktor."

Back brace. 

So it's bone related, maybe genetic or maybe from an accident. Could be an issue with his nervous system, although research into that is unfortunately lacking. Thinking about it, you do have more books just not magical ones - there's a huge stack of medical journals and studies around here somewhere, probably in the basement though. If you can dig them up and get good look then maybe -

"Goodnight."

His quiet reply startles you out of thought. Right. Sleep. 

You're not super tired, probably just a nap for you. You turn your gaze to your room and wince again at how messy it is. 

Realising you have to be quiet now, you creep over to your bed and slowly, silently move all the stuff that's landed there to the floor, making half hearted plans to clean up later. 

You pick up a shirt and a small owl ornament tumbles off the bed to the floor with a quiet thud. 

Shit.

Viktor stirs. 

"Are you in your bedroom?" he implies aloud.

"Yeah, sorry, there's just a bunch of everything I own on my bed. I'll try to be quiet."

He does a little nod and settles back down. 

"Jayce and I used to fall asleep at our desks together, when we started all this. Nowadays, not so much. He's so busy."

You glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are open, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. 

"He's gonna be okay. Try not to worry."

"I wasn't. Well, of course I'm worried. But that's not what I was thinking about."

You finally fold open your quilt and slide under, the soft pillow and mattress more than welcome under your aching body. 

"I was thinking... it's nice. To be sleeping with someone again. I know we're not technically in the same room. But I'm in here alone a lot. It's for good work, for work I care about. But the quiet gets to be a lot sometimes."

"I know the feeling," you murmur back. "Isolation still stings, even if you're choosing it. Even if you have your reasons."

"You know mine. What are yours, if you don't mind me asking," he adds.

Curious, always so curious. You like that about him though. 

"For a long time I thought I could be a hero. I was young, idealistic. But what I do, my magic, it comes with a cost. And I kinda thought I could fix everyone, heal the whole world, before that cost became too much. I couldn't. So it hurts too much. Being out there in the world, surrounded by so many people in pain. It's too much."

"Earlier, before the spell. You said I changed your mind," he recalls.

Right. All that mushy embarrassing-in-hindsight stuff you told him right before the spell. 

"You did. I don't know if it'll go better this time around. But I want to try," you decide, nervous just thinking about it. 

"Mm. If you're coming back out into the world, you could always come here," he offers, turning his gaze to the window with a smile. "Piltover can be quite pretty from certain angles."

"Piltover," you repeat. "Of course you're in Piltover."

City of progress. You should have known.

"You know it?"

"I've never been but I've heard of it. Are the streets really forged of metal?"

He laughs at that. "The rumours are perhaps a little generous. Still worth a visit though. You know. If you're ever in the area."

With a flick of your hand you dim the lamps, sending shadows over everything and leaving you in a blue dipped dark, the window casting a water like glow over everything. 

"You should really get some sleep," you realise aloud, feeling a spike of guilt. "I've been talking your ear off."

He yawns widely, shifting around a bit. 

"I don't mind. I did mean what I said earlier. I prefer your voice over a note. Over the quiet," he adds, lower, half asleep. 

You smile up at the ceiling in the dark, another cheek aching grin. 

"Goodnight, Viktor," you repeat, instead of any of the embarrassing things you have the urge to say. 

"Mm. Goodnight."

Only a few seconds later you hear light snores, crackly and shallow like his lungs are breathing a sigh of relief for the rest that's finally come. 

Chapter Text

Viktor wakes as he usually does - achey and still tired. It's part of why he'd rather stay up and keep working; even after a full night's sleep chances are he's going to feel just as close to death. So why not just keep working instead?

One thing is different than usual though. Today he's warm.

The halls of the academy are not exactly draft proof, and on any other day the cold air from open windows and doorways tends to circulate. It comes in under the crack of the door and sweeps over him, chilling his bones and making it impossible to be comfortable outside of the blanket. 

The floor beneath him is hard and unforgiving, no position relieves the pressure on permanently protesting bones. With everyone else gone home it's just Viktor and the silence, trying to get along.

Not today. 

Today the weight of several blankets holds him down on a thick makeshift bed. Today thick pillows angle his limbs the way his Doctor is always begging him to. Comfortable. Today his first thought isn't of work, of things and how they need to get done, of the looming pressure above his head.

Today he thinks of his new friend and how nice it feels to not be waking up alone, how strange it is to hear their soft breaths, chasing away the quiet. 

The little peace doesn't last long though. His second thought is of work, of things and how they need to get done, of the looming pressure above his head.

There's a giant blue hole floating above his desk.

The contents of a witch's bedroom are scattered over his lab.

His best friend and lab assistant are in the hospital with matching concussions.

And he has exactly zero explanations for Heimerdinger or the council about any of it. 

Time to get to work.

---

You wake to the same thing you fell asleep to. Chaos.

There's a pounding at your front door, backed by muffled shouts. From you position sat up in bed you see Viktor looking into the window, calling your name. Everything's everywhere and like a cook in a kitchen left unattended, you're not sure which burner to shut off first.

"Viktor," you find yourself calling anyways, practically on instinct.

He sighs heavily with relief.

"Ah, you're finally awake - someone is at your door. And I have an emergency I need your help with."

"Okay, don't worry I'll be right back, it sounds like an emergency outside too."

"Ah - uh…quickly, please?"

You walk past the window and Viktor inside it looking panicked, to your door.

There's no one around for leagues other than the residents of Niole. But the angry thumpings and raised voices don't exactly sound like the cheerful idiots you're used to…

You use a coiled breeze to throw it open while keeping a safe distance, both hands raised in defence.

"Hey sweetheart."

Kav lays struggling at the bottom of a pile of various writhing members of the Meila family. Mara is closest to the door, her hands raised in rare curled fists as she processes the door no longer standing between her and you. Fevra's orange boots are just visible, dangling above the doorway and from the scrabbling noises you assume she was trying to get to your chimney.

"Good morning," comes the only response you could think of.

"Fevra, come down," Mara scolds quietly. "Good morning! We've been so worried about you."

"Is that why you were attacking my door?" you ask, relaxing into confusion. "And…having a wrestling match?"

"Well when you didn't come to the door we got worried," Fevra explains.

"And antsy," Kav adds, as various cousins and siblings clamber off and help him up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I was asleep. But I actually have some urgent stuff to deal with, so what's wrong? Are you alright, Kav?"

A tense silence falls and you realise that for the first time since you came to Niole, not a single person has tried to clasp with you. Not a hug, no high fives, not even a nod.

"It's not me," Kav starts.

He swallows hard and turns away a little, unable to continue.

"It's Narine," Mara whispers, accepting Fevra into a tight hug against her chest.

Oh fuck.

You scan the small crowd of unusually glum Meilas and she's nowhere to be seen. Not well enough to walk, not even to be carried? 

So many of them came.

"It's bad," you more state than ask.

Nods all around.

"We know there's no cure, not much you can do. But if you could come and - and take away even a bit of the pain…" Mara explains, holding your eyes in hers desperately.

"I'll get my bag," you nod. "Wait here."

There's a couple of quiet murmurs of thanks as you close the door and head back inside.

"Viktor -"

"Please don't go again, I really need to tell you what's going on here," he pleads, glancing over his shoulder every couple seconds.

You walk past the window and search the rubble and wreckage of your place to find your bag.

"Sorry, Viktor but I have to - there's a little girl who needs my help in town. I'll be gone for at least an hour."

"Perfect. I just need absolute silence from your side for a while. Heimerdinger will be here any moment -"

"Oh shit, is this the same Heimerdinger you said fears witches and would shut down your whole experiment if he found about me?"

"The very one, yes."

"And what exactly is the plan, while I'm gone? Heimerdinger, Jace, Sky?" you ask, picking up your staff for good measure.

"I'm going to lie my ass off," he states, moving slightly out of frame to throw a large cloth over something you can't see.

"Nice, okay, well when I get back I'll wait until you give me some kind of signal to speak, so I don't accidentally give you away. What are you doing?"

"Hiding your things, the stuff that came through the portal, the letters, the tea, everything. He can't suspect a thing. Alright, go, help your people. And with any luck we can catch up properly and get back to work later," he adds, allowing for a moment a frazzled smile your way.

"Absolutely. Good luck, Viktor."

"And to you too."

He smiles his crooked smile in your vague direction again and goes back to organizing the lab. You grab the last thing you need, a little jar of honey, and hear out.

"Sorry, I just had to deal with something," you explain, gesturing vaguely with your hands full of stuff.

"But you're ready? Are you sure, sweetheart?" Kav asks, stepping forward to put a hand on your arm.

You welcome to gesture, made anxious by all their hopeful expectant expressions. Mara's wrist, reddened from nervously rubbing her arm over and over.

There's an unspoken hope among them. The same hope that hovers shyly in the doorway every time a Meila falls sick. They think one of these times that a miracle will happen. That you'll be able to cure them.

You wish.

You wish you could jog up ahead of their future. Pace around it with your books and your magic and spend as long as you need figuring out to make it all better. Make it a better, stronger, kinder future before they get to it. Before it gets to them.

"Yes. Let's go."

---

"Yes! Who's a handsome lad? Yes, yes, yes you are, yes! Precious baby, mm-hm…"

Viktor pokes his head back inside the lab, snorts quietly into his sleeve, then throws the door open rather loudly.

Heimerdinger yelps and straightens from where he was bent over his little fluffy companion.

"Uh - V - Viktor, good morning," he greets, composing himself.

"Good morning, Professor," Viktor replies evenly, like he didn't see a thing.

Heimerdinger spills into the lab, his pet scampering off ahead of him to do a usual lap as if it's never been in here before.

"Right. Let's get this all…sorted out," Heimerdinger trails off, coming to halt as he clocks what he didn't believe, what the guards and a delirious Jace told him…

"I can explain," Viktor offers, with a smile.

Heimerdinger paces back and forth a little, running apprehensive eyes over the window. It's colour shifts and ripples blue-purple-silver. Somehow it looks flat and endlessly deep at the same time. A perfectly wrought hole in the fabric of the world.

"Please do," he murmurs, daring forward a little.

"There's no danger," Viktor opens, although he knows he's stretching the truth there. "I've been experimenting with a new device, one that could advance hextech decades and decades ahead of previous projections."

"Enough marketing, Viktor. This isn't a presentation. I have two people in the hospital, and several very strange renditions of what happened. What is it?"

Viktor takes a deep breath and prepares the lies he's practiced all morning.

"Okay. Essentially…"

---

"Hold her down. Please. I'm so sorry."

Mara is knelt by her side, keeping sweat dampened hair out of her eyes, whispering gentle things.

At first the others were gathered around, so many Meilas crammed into this one small room that breath and light were scarce.

But as the minutes trickled into hours the vast majority have left, either exhausted from the previous night caring for Narine or unable to watch as you try to ease her suffering.

Try being the key word.

It doesn't matter how many times you cast Anae, whether you cast in your head or out loud, whether you do it with your hand or even with the help of your staff.

Narine's eyes remain unfocused, glassily rolling around over the room, never seeming to recognise those around her. Her body goes back and forth between limp and rigid as the pain comes and goes in waves too high to overcome. She doesn't respond when Mara calls her name, asks her questions, or sings soft Niolian lullabies.

"How can you not know?? Aren't you a healer?" Fevra asks, not for the first time, in more or less the same words.

"This illness is like nothing I've ever encountered, and it's not even presenting like the other cases I've seen while here. It's like it's changing. It's practically actively resisting me," you process aloud, rubbing your eyes in frustration and exhaustion.

"I don't understand," Mara whispers, just as tired if not more so. 

She must be so tired of saying that. Of feeling it. All her life watching her elders die off, raising her children and grandchildren, facing over and over again the same terrifying terminal illness for which there is no clear cause or cure.

As you kneel there, drained of magic and ideas you wonder how they'll explain Narine's death to the other children. Will they even understand? They're all so young - she's the eldest. Will they even remember her, when they're older?

They talk about their dead. Over dinner and firelight they reminisce about those lost to the Bleeds fondly, as if they're merely away on a long trip, or lost in the woods perhaps. Thrice a year they gather at memorials you're politely not invited to. You can hear them sing, field over field, all the way in your bed. You try not to listen, to give them their privacy. 

Just like you try not to hear Mara's near delirious whisperings to Narine.

It's impossible not to watch though, to steal glances at Mara pressing her forehead to Narine's, stroking her hair.

Your eyes wander over her pale, sweat sheened body, her nightgown sticking and collecting the fever. And as your eyes alight her collarbone, you finally spot something.

Nothing sure, nothing certain, no eureka moment. But something.

You've seen this before, although only in drawings. It's rare, incredibly so. And although it may be the key to saving her, you're filled with dread at the conclusions to be drawn if you're right about this.

"Mara…has Narine always had this mark?"

---

"And as you can see, the tear is stable and not dangerous. It's creation was ehhh a little messy, yes, but now that it's here, it has so much to offer. If I could tap into this energy correctly it could mean limitless energy for Piltover - picture clean power with no byproduct, no hard labour involved at all after construction."

Heimerdinger has barely spoken throughout Viktor's long spiel of half truths, only cutting in a few times for questions and clarifications. Viktor continues to do his best to ignore his boss's expression of stern interest, tying in as much of the truth as possible without giving away his friend's precious secrets. 

He dances delicately around the word 'witch', hoping to distract Heimerdinger with the opportunity for limitless energy, something Piltover has been looking into for a few years now, which he only half believes could be possible. He sidesteps Heimerdinger's questions expertly, blaming the runes on pure experimental luck and the arcane storm on a mathematical miscalculation.

Science, science, science.

As little mention of magic as possible.

He soon sighs and takes a seat, staring at the tear as he mulls over Viktor's words.

"It's stable?"

"Completely."

Viktor busies himself anxiously fidgeting. Wiping his hands on his pants, itching his nose. Watching Heimerdinger for any micro expression that might indicate what he's thinking.

"I need time. To think, to look into this. In the meantime I would prefer you not work on this without someone else present. I don't want any more concussions but if there are further accidents I'd like you to have someone with you. I'm sure Miss Young won't mind the extra responsibility when she's back."

Viktor tries not to let his disappointment show.

Anything other than getting fired is a victory at this point.

"I don't think I require her help but whatever you think is necessary, sir. Miss Young is…highly qualified."

"Indeed, it's about time I gave her something more than interning to do. Neither her not Jayce are awake yet, so don't be working on it until Miss Young returns, yes?"

Heimerdinger stands, and Viktor staggers forward to walk him out, attempting to maintain a look of some contrition.

"That's fine, sir. Jayce and I had other irons in the fire, I will work on projects elsewise until they're back from the hospital," Viktor nods.

Heimerdinger gives him a tired look of understanding like he knows the second he leaves the room Viktor is going to go right back to working with the tear. He carries his weary disappointment in Viktor's young determination to keep pushing the limits in a way that reminds him of himself as a boy. Up late, continuing to read his book under the covers regardless of how many times his father came in and warned him he'd be tired tomorrow.

"Do be careful, Viktor. I've come to care a great deal about you in our time together. I don't want to lose you. One way nor the other," he warns, glad to finally see some hesitation in Viktor.

"I…understand."

But as the door closes behind his mentor, Viktor's heeding of his advice lasts only a few seconds before he hurries back to the work.

"Are you there my friend?" he calls into the window.

No reply. But if he leans close and strains his ears, he can very distantly hear something like birdsong.

A rare and moreish noise. Birds don't find themselves overly welcome in this land. Piltover treats most birds like pests to be kept off their pretty buildings while Zaun's environment is far too harsh for most species to flourish. Both cities lack a great deal of greenery. Only in the springtime does Viktor get to hear the occasional birdsong.

Through the window though it sounds like a lot of birds, and from the calls perhaps a millieu of species. 

There's not much other noise he can hear, even when closing his eyes and getting as close as possible without risking touching the surface. No vehicles, no talking, no hustle and bustle. 

Just birdsong.

And with the rattle of wind against shutters a light breeze just about makes it to Viktor, carrying the faint echo of rosemary and wildflowers.

---

Mara sends Fevra out, invites Kav and a couple of the elder Meilas back into Narine's room.

They crowd her first, each taking their turn to clasp her limp hands. They turn to you, expectant and desperate.

"You've got something?" Kav prompts.

"Nothing solid but…something. Mara says you all bear this mark," you start, pointing at the small shape on Narine's neck.

It's very pale, and not of any particular shape. If you weren't searching her body for something, anything to go off of then you would have missed it altogether.

Kav pulls down his shirt a little.

"Yes. It's a birthmark, we all have it."

You take a breath. If you're wrong, she's gone. If you're right…there's a small chance she'll live.

"I don't think it is. It may be…the mark of a blood witch. Specifically, a curse mark."

"What are you saying? Another witch did this?" Mara asks, rare rage pouring into her expression.

"Possibly. I need someone other than Narine whose mark I can test. To know for certain. It could be dangerous though, the mark could be protected from scrutiny."

They read in your stance and tone the implication. This is it. The last chance. Then it's a sad shake of the head and you get out of the way so they can all mourn in peace.

"Test mine," Kav offers immediately. "I already have the bleeds, what's to lose."

"Your life," an uncle snaps. "Test mine instead, I've already lived many full years."

They argue for only a moment more before Mara steps forward, tears forming but not falling.

"It's me. Please."

There are no further arguments.

You place one hand then the other over her mark, close your eyes, and extend a hand.

A third hand. A hand of magic. You reach into the dark unknown with it, feeling around for the centre of the mark, its origin.

It pulses with magic beneath her skin, arcane so faint it's barely there. No wonder you've never detected it in your hundreds of examinations of Meilas.

Once you're sure there's no traps awaiting the curious, you reach inside and pull out the original spell. You open your eyes and watch as a line of runes, glowing and steaming, pour from Mara's neck. She grunts in surprise and stoically looks away while you read them.

"The intent is revenge," you translate. "A payment in kind. Someone wanted to cause suffering, as much of it as possible. This kind of blood curse is banned, any witch caught placing it is considered the lowest of the low. It's genetic, written into your very bones."

 "Can you remove it?" Kav asks, peering apprehensively over your shoulder at the unraveled curse spilling from his mother.

"I can't remove this one," you admit, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. "At your age the curse has wrapped itself to you completely, to separate it would be to unring a bell."

"The young ones," she infers, shaking. "The babies. Can you help them? Can you help Narine???"

"Maybe," you whisper. 

It would do no good to warn them of the alternative. They know this is it. They know it's this or certain death, for Narine and for any other Meila children unlucky enough to be picked by the curse.

Wicked, truly. Whoever wrote this curse wanted someone to hurt, really hurt. It's not just a horrific illness for the original cause of offence, it's been generations of trauma, of never knowing who it's going to hit next, burying children and siblings and grandparents, all after a long fight with an unbeatable opponent that gives no mercy.

You kneel by Narine's side and reach out again with your magical sense for her mark.

"The curse has less of a grip on her. She's young, it's still working its way through her."

In your peripherals you see Kav being pulled to his mother's chest, her stroking his back as he silently weeps there, the mere idea of a chance is too much for him.

"I'll need honey, for energy. As many candles as you can find. And another bowl of cold water with a clean cloth for her fever."

Kav and the others are out of the door and getting what you need before you take a new breath.

Mara takes the opportunity to drag you into a tight hug. Her chest is damp where Kav wept.

"It's okay if it doesn't work," she shakily assures you. "Don't hurt yourself. We love you, we would not see you suffer gladly. You understand me?"

"Yes, Mara."

It takes everything you have to hold together, to keep your emotions in check. You'll need them for the spell.

What you need is gathered and given within minutes. You kneel again by Narine's side.

"I am sorry, little one. This may hurt," you whisper, hoping to put her somewhat at ease.

The candles flicker violently as you begin. 

The work is slow. Untethering the curse strand by strand from Narine's body, carefully and slowly. The curse could rebound twice as hard if you do it wrong. It's like uncoiling deadly snakes. Too quickly, too roughly, and they could bite. 

Even with the honey and candles lending you energy, you feel a drain already. Your power pouring from you, like blood from a wound.

---

He left a note, it should suffice.

The window is stable now anyway, a fact Viktor repeats to himself over and over. He's become used to scrambling for every last second with the mysterious presence beyond the window, especially once he calculated the next opportunity would be three months away.

To have a steady direct line is a welcome relief. A direct line to the key to unlocking the kind of work he's been dreaming about, the kind that could save countless lives. A direct line to someone he's come to care for.

In his distraction though he seems to have neglected someone else he cares for.

Jayce lies still and pale in the hospital bed.

Viktor wonders if Jayce felt this same way the last time he was in here with his condition. Dread, fear, helplessness. Rarely is he in hospital for anything other than his own illness. It's disconcerting to be on the other side of it.

The doctor said he should be awake within a day or so, maybe sooner for Sky. But it's hard to leave. He keeps expecting him to open his eyes any moment, make some comment about Viktor finally looking healthier than him. 

But no. 

Heimerdinger's warnings turn over on repeat in his head.

Someone could get hurt. Such is the case when working with science. It's always dangerous.

But while Viktor happily places himself in any firing line worth standing in, it rings hollow to think of the same 'progress takes risk' platitudes when seeing someone else get hurt.

Jayce understands that, believes in it as much as Viktor does. And perhaps he'd even understand if Viktor could tell him the full situation.

Guilt joins the other emotions twisting his stomach. The witch said nothing of guilt for what happened to Jayce and Sky. They needn't. He could hear it in their voice, the pain at having caused that, the pain he's sharing now.

Thinking of his new friend does make his chest feel a little less tight though.

So kind, so helpful, so determined. Everything Jayce used to be as his partner. Before politics, the council. Before Mel.

"I met someone, Jayce," he whispers. "Someone nice. Remember how you used to worry for me? You should get out more, Viktor. Come with me to this bar, Viktor. Why don't you go talk to that cute doctor, Viktor. Well, I've met someone. And we talk a lot, they're very…caring. I think you'd like them. Maybe when you wake up, you could meet sometime. When it's safe."

He's reminded that Heimerdinger still isn't fully on board. That Sky is about to breathing down his neck. That despite their work the window could technically still close at any moment.

He will visit Jayce again when he can.

Work calls.

As he stands he remembers Sky and resolves to quickly look in on her.

She's as still asleep as Jayce, although with more colour in her cheeks. The doctors did mention when he asked their conditions that she was in slightly better shape than Jayce.

A small posy of forget-me-nots lay on her nightstand, blue and fresh like morning.

Sky looks relaxed, and quite different without her glasses, with her hair loose around her face. 

"Get well soon, Miss Young," he murmurs, then nods respectfully and backs out.

As he starts to leave he spots her notebook, peeking out of her bag. And peeking out of her notebook, the corner of a note on quite distinctive paper. It's the note. The one she took.

He considers taking it. But decides he'd rather handle it all when she wakes up. After all, it's best to try and be the least suspicious possible. Sky is a fond co-worker but at the end of the day Heimerdinger is her boss, her loyalties lie with him.

Viktor continues to back away, heads out until he hits the street.

I hope you're back by the time I'm back, he thinks, distracted again by thoughts of his new friend, as well as a budding idea for how to handle his new situation under the eye of Sky Young.

---

An hour at least must have passed. Your perception of times thins and thickens as you work to detangle the thing from this child.

The moment of import approaches. The centre of the curse. All the strands are pretty much finished, you're just working the last tendrils off of her, and then she'll be free of it.

If the crux of the curse is hesitant to be removed however, the whole thing could snap back into place. The shock would probably kill her.

You don't tell Mara that. Even if you could form words, she's busy giving Narine what comfort she can. More lullabies, stories, some reminiscing about when she was just a baby. Narine is still unresponsive, but with every strand of curse stripped from her exhausted body, her heartbeat grows stronger, her pallor brightens.

The core resists you, like a root refusing to be pulled up. You plant yourself and pull hard, not giving an inch. It's just tug of war now.

Letting go is not an option.

You keep holding on, or a little girl dies. It's that simple.

"Narine? Oh gods…Narine, can you hear me??"

Narine shifts and lets out a scream of agony.

"No moving," you grind out between your teeth.

Mara shouts for help. Bodies pour into the room and hold a semi lucid Narine down on the bed. She shrieks unintelligibly, the occasional beg for it to stop the only thing making it through.

"It's okay, Rine, nearly done, nearly done, it's okay sweet girl," Mara babbles.

Similar assurances and encouragement pour from the others.

You distantly register Kav spoon feeding you what little honey remains.

"I know you've got this, sweetheart. Come on."

The core is loosening, slowly. Like a knife leaving a wound it's as vicious on the way out as it was inside, wracking the girl's body with pain.

As its talons finally slip you give a final yank and it slides free of her. The curse takes the form of a pink rose, thorned and twisted and rotting. You contain it immediately in wards and turn quickly back to Narine.

She's awake. Screaming and crying and bleeding from her nose and eyes and ears but awake all the same.

"What's happening, why is she bleeding like that?" Mara demands, trying to stem the flow with cloths that get soaked within seconds.

"She still has the bleeds," you realise bleakly. "The curse is gone but the illness has already taken her. She's lost too much blood."

"What can you do?" Fevra demands. "Come on, the curse is gone you said, so do something."

You lean forward and pass a hand over Narine's face. It quiets her screams to whimpers.

"As you know, I can't heal a terminal illness."

"But you can take away the pain," Kav finishes for you.

"Can you do it?" Mara asks, whitefaced and trembling. 

"Yes."

One more time you take Narine's hand.

For the hundredth time tonight you cast Anae.

For the first time, it takes.

Your magic crackles weakly, but her agony flows smoothly and quickly. Your vision warps, black spots dance over your eyes.

"That's enough," Kav warns.

"Come on, dear," Mara agrees. "Hey. That's it."

"Sweetheart. Please stop."

Their murmurs of concern grow to shouts and you realise it's because you've collapsed down from your knees to the floor.

I can take more, you think, irritated by their concern.

Narine's limp hand being ripped out of yours is the last thing you feel as they pull you away.

—

The lab is quiet.

With his friend away, Jayce and Sky indisposed and a good deal of staff gone home, it's just Viktor and the quiet again.

Well.

Viktor, the quiet, and the settling birds on the other side of a wall of blue.

And his work. It all comes back to the work.

The spell was close, but all it really did was add a sensory component one way. Being able to hear is one thing, but ideally the window would be much much more stable.

Being able to see each other, freely pass objects, touch even, would be ideal.

Not only would it make communication smoother but if he could unlock the secrets of how the hexcore reached out to the other side of the world, the applications would be endless.

Imagine if hospitals could communicate with each other like this - doctors from all over the world able to offer advice, pass rare medical devices back and forth instantly, spread a cure city to city at life saving rates. 

It would work wonders as an emergency service too. Viktor finds himself imagining scenarios in which such an invention would work.

An accident at one end of the city - one of these communication devices would mean medical aid could be summoned immediately.

If there was a natural disaster like a flood or earthquake - Piltover could send word to neighbouring countries for aid within seconds. Save thousands of lives.

If the window were bigger and included the physical capabilities then - well that would allow for instant long distance travel. Like the hexgate, but more fluid. If he installed similar navigation mechanics then -

"On the bed, over here -"

"Quickly now, don't dawdle - you know they like their privacy."

Voices from beyond the window.

Viktor freezes, and realises he never really considered the implication that pretty much anyone could walk into his friend's home and see right into his lab.

"Who's that?"

Like right now. 

"I said no dawdling. Come on. Straight out."

"But - there's a guy in there. Like a magical painting or something. He's moving."

"What?"

There's some scuffling noises, like several people crowding closer. It snaps Viktor out of his stupor.

"Um…hello?" he probes, uncertainly.

"Oh gods he talks."

"Is he real?"

"Of course he's real."

The corners of his mouth tug up a little. These must be their neighbours, actual Niolians.

"My name is Viktor, I can't see you but you can see me - I can hear you though. Is my friend alright?"

They startle at first but after some quiet nudgings of 'you answer' 'no, you answer' someone gets pushed forward to respond.

"You mean…the witch? Who lives here? You're friends?"

"Yes," Viktor answers patiently. "I haven't talked to them since early this morning, I was starting to worry."

The stern voice speaks this time. She sounds older.

"They've been helping us. It took - a lot out of them. They're okay now but we know they feel more comfortable in their own bed so bringing them back is the least we could do."

First last night, now this. Passing out from exertion two days in a row can't be good…

"Oh speak of the devil, someone's finally awake…"

Viktor wishes yet again that he could see what's going on.

He hears the quiet groan of his friend waking.

"..Kav?"

They sound so…exhausted.

"Hey sweetheart. You're okay, Narine's okay. You're home."

Sweetheart?

"You waited till we carried you all the way home to wake up, huh?"

"Fevra. Are you alright, lovely? Here, I packed some food for you in case you didn't have anything for when you woke up. And - I wasn't sure how cold it gets so I brought you another blanket."

"Thank you, Mara. That's way too kind."

"I'm glad to hear you're well taken care of. I hope you're alright," Viktor pipes up. 

There's a moment of silence where he imagines their expression of shock and regret.

"Fuck," they finally say. 

"Who's your friend?" someone asks.

"Or, y'know, boyfriend."

"Yeah who is that?"

Hm.

"Uh…I can't really - "

"We'll get out of your hair," the stern one says firmly. "Come on. Mind your own businesses."

Viktor awkwardly buffers in place, unsure of what to do.

"Thank you, all of you, really."

"Don't even think about it, sweetheart. Narine's resting, painfree, all thanks to you. We're in your debt."

"It's the least I could do."

They exchange further goodbyes for a moment more.

Viktor waits. Listens to them collapse back onto their bed with a heavy sigh of relief.

He knows how they feel. Now that it's just the two of them, his shoulders relax that bit more.

"Are you really okay?" he can't wait to ask.

They snort a little. "Just tired. And…sorry. I'm so sorry they saw you, your lab."

"Don't worry. I read up a little on Niole and its inhabitants. I know they pose no threat. They seem nice. Very friendly," he adds, unsure why he's a tiny bit bothered by that. "I'm just worried about you, you've been gone all day."

There's a creak as they shift in bed.

"Yeah. I'm good. Just…tired. Did some healing. All good now. How are you? How did it go with Heimerdinger?"

"It went well, but I can tell you all about it when you've had some rest. It's late there, is it not?"

"You don't do half measures do you? Even researched my time zone."

He chuckles softly at that.

"You're right. But like you said the first time we spoke, stop being a dumbass. And get some rest. Please."

They laugh at that, a short strained-by-fatigue laugh. It's a pretty sound anyway. He distantly clocks that he hasn't really heard it before.

"Fair enough," they admit.

They groan softly, stretching he guesses. 

"Alright, goodnight then."

"Mm, goodnight."

A moment passes and he quietly gets back to work.

At the little shuffle of papers, they speak again.

"What are you working on?"

"What happened to sleeping?"

A beat passes.

"I'm definitely tired, I just have too much going round in my head I guess. Come on, I know you haven't stopped since this morning. Monologue for me? I wanna know about your day."

Cute.

"Do I do that a lot? Monologue?"

"Sometimes. I like it."

"Oh. Okay. Well after you left, I was still getting ready for Heimerdinger. We really need to figure out how to send stuff both ways physically because I have so many of your things here - like…your laundry basket is very full, I hope you have more clothes there. Your little dog teddy is safe and sound, I keep him here in my draw just in case. But when Heimerdinger arrived he wanted to know about…"

Viktor does as they asked. Talks on and on, explaining how the day went. At first it was just robotic chronological listing but soon he's just letting out a stream of consciousness, each anecdote flowing of its own accord, even ones that he usually would have held back. It comes fast and honest, like there's nothing he wouldn't tell them.

As he starts to get to work topics, he notices the soft rising and falling of their breath getting steadier and deeper as they finally drop asleep.

He slopes off into just humming quietly, aware that sudden silence might startle them out of the rest they've been needing. He joins them not long later, hearing their voice in his head warning him to get some rest for himself.

He falls asleep the way he woke up this morning. Warm. Comfortable. Listening to their strange, quiet presence.

Chapter Text

"How does it work? Your magic?" Viktor asks the second you return from brushing your teeth.

"How so? Like…why am I part witch?"

He doesn't look up from the hexcore, so from your angle you can really only see the top of his head.

"I'd be interested to hear about that too but I mean…how did you pass out yesterday? And when we did our spell too? Does magic draw directly from your body? Is it physiological?"

You sit heavily and draw your blankets around you, glad the warmth has lingered long enough to welcome you back. 

"Somewhat. It wouldn't be a good idea to draw from your own body, the human body doesn't have much energy to it plus if you try to draw more than you have then you'd become very ill or worse. Witches usually keep stores of energy charged from sources like the sun, the moon, water, fire, food, plants, crystals. Nothing man made carries those energies unless it's been designed to, like it's difficult to charge from metal that's been highly processed but if the object is still quite raw then even wrought metal like a fence or sword could lend some energy. A good go-to is candles and honey, that's an easy basic energy kit. That's what I used last night."

"And it wasn't enough. Do things have a set, quantifiable amount of energy every time? Like is honey always X amount of magic? How do you draw it?"

The questions flow easily, like his mind automatically produces and spits out curiosity with no processing required. You don't mind. Your plan today is pretty much continue recuperating in bed. And it's fun, talking to someone about all this stuff. 

"You can estimate but you can't know, like if you put paint to paper you have an idea of what you want the art to look like but you can't know what the end result will be for certain. Energy for magic is drawn by…hm. It's sort of like breathing. Or tensing a muscle. There's no physical organ though, it's all happening in the mind. When I draw I feel it filling every part of my being like I'm standing naked in strong sunlight. Am I distracting you?"

He looks up, eyes wide. "Not at all. You're very interesting. Am I...annoying you?"

"Not at all. You're a good listener," you reply, smiling to yourself.

He smiles too, small and crooked. Turns back to his project, tools in hand.

"So," he resumes, like the questions are loaded and waiting. "Can you tell me about yesterday? How does this healing spell work?"

With the mention of healing you glance again over his features as he leans back to yawn into his hand.

Ever pale in the cheeks, ever dark under the eyes. His lips dusted pink with dry blood wiped away over and over. Though it's quiet, his breath comes shallow and halting. Still, even after all this time, you restrain yourself from commenting directly upon his condition.

"It's called Anae. It's not technically a healing spell - more like a modified one. Anae can only remove the pain, not the injury. I came up with it when I met the Meilas, they're my weekly job. Their whole family has this strange inherited disease that unavoidably results in a horrific and painful death. I wasn't able to remove it completely until last night, up to now I've just been doing what I can. Narine is the eldest child and the Bleeds came hard and fast for her - some of them struggle for decades with it. She's only got about a month. I managed to take the pain at least."

"I'm sorry, that's rough. You 'took' it? The pain?"

"You can't just get rid of pain or illness, it's like energy. Has to be transferred."

"To you?" he clarifies, taking off the goggles.

"Well yeah. But not directly - if I was experiencing the pain then and there then I wouldn't be able to focus on the spell. I store it instead, like a debt sort of thing. And then it's worked off gradually by…experiencing it, I guess. I do the same thing with most illnesses - a broken arm for example takes about a day or so for me to get through."

His eyes dart back and forth with thought and then focus in your direction, brow creased in a frown.

"You absorbed a month's worth of the pain of a terminal illness that you now have to go through in order to get rid of it? Are you a dumbass?"

He's really making friends with that word, isn't he?

"It's not that bad. I water it down so it's long term dull pain instead of immediate agony. And it's worth it to help people - Narine deserves to live what little life she has left without pain. Her whole family does."

"And you don't? You…do this every week? For multiple family members with this illness. Hang on," he realises, standing. "Is this what you were offering me? When you said you could heal me?"

The subject is never far from your mind, and you've assumed all this time it's the same for him. An awkward unspoken thing. Hovering expectantly in the corner of your conversations.

"...Yes. Viktor - I would love to heal you. Or try. And failing that, I'd love to take away the -"

"No."

Your face burns at the anger in his voice and for the first time you're glad somewhere small inside that he can't see you. His gaze falls to the table his hands are planted on, his flicks and loose curls of chestnut blocking your view.

"I'm sorry for raising my voice - but no. I could never let you go through this."

You steady yourself and push on anyway.

"Go through what exactly? Can't you even tell me what it is you have?"

His shoulders hunch tighter and for a second you think he's going to yell again. Instead his voice comes soft and quiet; you have to lean close just to hear him.

"The details do not matter, because you are not going to be doing anything about it. Through my work I hope to fix myself and others in the same position, rest assured the situation is not entirely hopeless. But I would sooner die tomorrow than allow you to endure this for me."

You're not sure what to do with that.

The plan has always been, in the back of your mind, to pull every inch of pain and malady from his body the second you're able to touch him. You're not sure when that'll be, how many iterations of the spell it'll take to make a fully functioning window.

You're loathe to ignore his wishes. But the idea of leaving it here feels the same as accepting his fate.

"At the end of the day it's your choice. But I can't pretend like I wouldn't prefer to help you as much as I can. Cause I would. I avoid the topic because you seemed so uncomfortable when I first brought it up but it's actually on my mind a lot. I would love to help."

He turns, leaning and sitting back against the desk so you can't see his face.

"Why did you retreat to Niole? Why are you in hiding?"

He really is a genius, isn't he?

"Sometimes what I do is dangerous. Debt builds up, my body can't always pay it off. In most of the places I've lived, people had expectations. High ones. And...it became clear at a point that if I couldn't meet them then I would be forced to."

You exhale the tension in your chest with the admission. Detailed memories are pushed aside in favour of focusing on the present. Viktor turns with knowing sadness.

"I'm so sorry. I had hoped you came from a community of others like yourself but these magic books you taught yourself with, the way you never talk of other witches or family. You live by yourself just outside the friendliest culture we know of. It seems you've been alone a lot, and when you haven't been alone you've been taken advantage of. I would not sully our friendship with the same…transactional dynamic. Even if it wouldn't hurt you to do it - which it would - I can't."

"But it would be worth it, you are worth it. To me."

Viktor cocks his head like you finally said something he can't understand. You put a hand over your mouth to stop the flow of words before you regret it.

You thought you'd been holding back, sneakily leaving out parts of your story. For a guy who hardly notices whether he's eaten that day, his perception of you is crystal clear.

To feel exposed, with him at least, is not the unwelcome feeling you've been scared of.

"I meant what I said when we did the spell - you have more to give the world than a healing hand."

In the silence that follows his back seems to catch up with him and he lowers himself unsteadily back to his seat and his head falls into his hands with a tired sigh. It's a glaring reminder of everything that's brought you here.

You recall blood dripping down his shaking fist and his hard stone gaze, cast in the blurry blue of that first half formed window.

Standing determined every time you've seen him since, no regard for the ache in his back aside from the irritation that it might impede his work. His all important work. Helping people. Heroics that go beyond saving cats from trees. Improving health and happiness for countless people, for generations to come.

"I just want to see your vision come to pass. It would make me happy. I would bear every moment of pain easily if it meant ten years, twenty years, thirty years more of you, your vision. I know what you're going to say," you keep going as he tries to cut in. "But I don't care. Have you heard the ballad of the prince of stars?"

"I - no, but -"

"If a thousand cuts might keep one star in the sky, then a thousand more stars shall shine above me when I'm done."

"I'm not a star," he replies after a moment, a little defeated.

Viktor runs his eyes over the window. Something like sadness creases those brows you love so much.

"Is it bad? Now? From last night?"

You can't lie to him. So you opt for evasion instead.

"It's not usually this bad. I removed a curse on top of a month of pain - and that's on top of a recent appointment with Kav where I also overdid it a little. Normally it's more -"

"Please."

Damn.

"It's bad."

The admission comes a little easier than you thought it would.

"I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could make you tea and send you soft things like you've done for me. I wish I could get this right," he adds, swiping papers to the ground with a frustrated backhand.

"Y'know you need to stop doing that. Wait until I'm there to pick it up for you."

He finally smiles again at that, shaking his head ruefully as he bends to gather the papers and scattered pencils.

"So you're taking me up on my invitation?"

You think back to that time he mentioned you coming to Piltover. He considers that an invitation? It was really more of a suggestion, an offhand joke. But if he really meant it as an invitation then…

"Maybe."

"And are you planning on doing anything in Piltover besides picking up after me?" he follows up, rearranging all his papers the way they were before.

"I haven't really thought about it. I was kinda focused on helping you with the work. Maybe you could show me the sights."

He chuckles, half listening and half re-reading a diagram.

"I don't get many days off."

Your breathing stalls as you try to catch your brain up with why you're feeling a little hurt by that simple response. Of course he's busy. Important work. You know that. An easy answer for the knot in your belly doesn't present itself, so you push it aside.

"But yeah I've been meaning to ask - if maybe now you'd be okay with giving me a little more information? If the scry suddenly closes all I have to go off of is that you're in Piltover and…you work with some guy called Heimerdinger."

He smiles at that.

"Ehh…okay. Professor Heimerdinger is a council member, I'm employed by him as an inventor here at Piltover Academy. Here's my address," he adds holding up an old envelope so you can copy it down. "My spare room is quite small so - although there are many hotels you could also stay in, if you'd prefer," he hurried to offer, running an awkward hand through his hair. 

"Hm. Is your bedding situation at home as dire as it is in your lab?" 

That seems to relieve some of his nervousness. 

"No, I have plenty of quilts, I promise. I may need to show the place a broom though."

"Don't clean up on my account. I mean if you could see into my room you'd know I'm not exactly pristine myself, even before that spell we tried caused a small hurricane."

"Does magic have any applications in cleaning?" he wonders aloud.

"Kinda. The time it would take to craft a spell to tell a broom how to neatly sweep up properly, how to know what's dirt versus what's decorative, what to do with the dirt - it isn't really worth it. It's pretty useful for getting out stains, getting blood out of cloth and such though."

Viktor glances up at you with some concern at that last part. 

"Nosebleeds," you supply. "Cost of doing business."

"We have that in common," he murmurs, smiling down at a textbook. "Although I wish I had magic to help me fix my less than flawless white pillowcases.."

You go on talking. You advise him on how to wash out blood. He gives you directions to Piltover by boat. 

Talk turns back to the work, to the runes and the equations.

Then you get distracted explaining the difference between curses, hexes and spells.

Then back to work, back to the next iteration of the spell, the next experiment.

Viktor complains for a while about Heimerdinger, and general attitudes towards science and magic within Piltover.

The talk flows effortlessly, though definitely not in any kind of straight line.

You're on the verge of dropping off for a nap when there's a cheery knock at your door.

"Shit, shit, shit. I totally forgot I agreed to this. I kinda have an appointment."

Viktor looks up skittishly like he's the one who has to entertain sudden guests. 

"Would you like me to give you some privacy?"

"I don't really mind but if it means you'll go get something to eat from the cafeteria then sure. Coming!" you call.

You struggle into something presentable, tripping over a toppled chair in your hurry.

"Everything okay?" Viktor asks.

"Needed - pants - "

He looks up, a little confused but quickly turning back to his desk.

You manage to reach the door fully clothed and fling it open.

Mara and her company await you. Kav, Fevra, and an octopus's armful of children.

"Right. Hello everyone."

The plan Mara had quickly arranged with you on her way out last night. Removing the curse from the other children as soon as possible.

They spill into your home, each clasping with you quickly, some pausing to impress upon you their gratitude for last night.

"Everybody just ignore the giant magical hole thingy, don't go near it, and please definitely don't touch it," you hurry to warn them.

The last thing you need is some Meila child accidentally getting disintegrated on your watch..

Viktor steadfastly keeps his head down, and you feel a little tickle of introverted jealousy. Getting to ignore everyone and focus on sketching out some runes sounds nice right about now.

Instead you're setting up what little seating is available in your small home. Telling the uncle that yes, he can help himself to your biscuits. Lining the children up by age so you can work easiest to hardest, youngest to oldest.

Mara brings the youngest to you first, swaddled in a knitted blanket and snoring away.

Delan, fourteen months old. Just said his first word a week ago.

"Will it hurt him?" the baby's mother asks from somewhere behind you.

"Unless something goes wrong, no. I'll be running Anae constantly in the background, plus he's the youngest so the curse should have a loose grip. All going well I'll be able to pull it from him without him even waking up."

Your calm bleeds through to Mara, who nods at you surely and holds him out to you a little.

You quickly do a scan of the room. The door is open, so there's a good air flow. Candles have been lit all day to recharge you, and you've had plenty of honey. It's a little awkward to be working in front of Viktor for some reason, but you push past it to focus.

"If he does stir, you'll need to hold him still."

Mara nods.

You peel back the blanket and unbutton the top of his vest. And there it is, just like on the others. A curse they've always thought of as nothing more than a little birthmark.

Just like with Narine you close your eyes and reach out for the strands of the curse, slowly unwrapping them.

You're excited to see it's practically nothing, hardly spread up the baby's neck. Carefully you extricate each small tendril, until you're left with the weak centre.

It slides away from Delan much easier than with Narine, like slowly pulling a blanket off a bed.

This time when you open your eyes, the curse takes the form of a sapling, just barely breaking out of its seed. Again you contain it immediately in wards.

"Is that it?" Fevra murmurs.

You sigh with relief as the baby is passed back to ecstatic parents.

"Not quite. There's seven more curses."

Next up are Irabell and Idrick, both two years old.

They're fidgety, and too young to really absorb the atmosphere of tension rendering everyone else stiff and quiet.

"We might be better off laying them on the coffee table one by one," you suggest.

Their parents struggle to get Irabell to lie still for a minute before Kav steps into his role as fun uncle.

"Wanna see a magic trick?" he offers, receiving an enthusiastic nod. "Alright watch this."

He cycles through some simple slight of hand and illusions while you go about removing the curse.

It goes as smoothly as Delan's did, and just as painlessly. And when Idrick takes her place, just as astounded by the same simple tricks, his removal goes just as well.

"Nice trick, might make a witch of you yet, Kav."

"Thanks, sweetheart but I'm not quite as magical as you," he chuckles, while the next toddler steps up.

Frannie, due to turn four next month.

She's quiet, and although she follows your instructions to stand very very still you're worried she'll be a wriggler.

"Mara, Kav."

They follow the half spoken request and each stand at Frannie's sides with gentle hands on each shoulder.

"Stay still, kiddo," Kav murmurs, pulling a silly face at her.

She finally breaks a smile and relaxes a little. Mara whispers in her ear and following a little nod she pulls the collar of her shirt down a bit so you can put your hand over the mark.

"This one might sting a bit. Have you ever had…like when you fall down and you bump your knee and there's a scab?"

Frannie nods, and shows you a freshly skinned elbow.

"Oh no, how did you do that?"

"I like climbing," she answers, her little voice coming out bolder than you'd expected.

"Ah, you're a brave one - well this'll be nothing to you then."

There's a few encouraging murmurs from behind you and Frannie finally steadies under you enough to get started.

The strands of the curse are getting more and more intricate as the kids get older.

It takes longer to unwrap it from her, and as you get to the core she's a little wobbly as predicted.

Kav starts asking her about where she likes to climb. Frannie starts talking about the birds that nest in that patch of trees in the town square, but as you pull gently at the curse's centre she starts to falter.

Despite keeping Anae running in the background the pain is leaking through.

Frannie's dad joins Mara and Kav, holds her hand as you push on.

"How bad is it?" he asks, helpless.

"It's - sore," she mumbles, and you're reminded of how young she really is.

When the curse finally tears free she gasps, but more from shock than pain.

Her dad scoops her up the second you move away and she shyly hides in his chest while Mara checks to make sure she's alright.

Her curse is a larger sapling, a small pod just barely budding from one stem and it's easy to see the progression when you lay it beside the others. You lean closer and spot a black vein of rot along one small stem.

"You see something?" Kav asks.

"I can't be sure but it kinda looks like the curse was about to…spill. See here? I think she avoided the bleeds, just by a hair."

There's a grim murmur of gladness as everyone silently acknowledges the good news but also that there are three more children between them and real relief.

"Next?"

Viktor clears his throat. "Uhm…excuse me -"

All eyes turn to the scrying window across the room, a glowing work of magic somehow not the centre of attention. Viktor is standing, awaiting your reply.

"Give me a minute guys."

Kav launches into entertaining the other three kids, all old enough to know what's going on and more nervous for it.

You carefully pick up the scrying stone and carry Viktor outside where you can take a quiet moment.

"Something wrong?" you ask.

Viktor exhales uncomfortably. "I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I thought I could just quickly…"

"Yeah?"

He's quiet again, looking over his desks like the answers are there.

For a moment you catch yourself in deja vu. Outside, cast in wildflowers. And him, staring off under dark brows. Magic all around.

"I'm worried about you."

When he finally finds words it brings you back to the present. To the concern painting those brows as he looks awkwardly in your direction.

"You've pushed yourself a lot lately, you've passed out multiple times, you said yourself it takes a toll. I don't mean to overstep - you know your limits - it's just…Hm. I find myself in the position of being the one to say slow down, be careful, don't push too far. It always irks me to hear it but now that I have to sit here and observe, I can't help but say it anyway."

You know exactly what he means, and if it was anyone else you probably would be annoyed. Work minded as he is, he can be kind of…sweet at times.

You're beaming.

"Not to turn the tables, but you should remember this feeling, this is how I feel every time I'm watching you stay awake when you should be resting."

He sours a little at that, throwing you a sarcastic look you're growing to love.

"Mm-hm."

Wow.

His attitude gets a laugh out of you, which in turn makes him smile a little.

"Fine. I'll bear it in mind," he relents, shoving his face back in the papers and books and out of view.

"Good. So, thanks for the check in but I'm really doing okay. I actually recharged a lot this morning for some reason - if I need to stop I will."

"Good. Just, if you don't mind one last delay - how bad is it?"

You pause, fighting with the temptation to lie to him for the first time.

"Bad. But not as bad as yesterday. There's minimal pain to take and the curses are fairly easy to extract once you get into the groove."

"I have more questions but they can wait. I'm sorry again to have delayed you."

"It's alright, your concern is…" you flounder for the right word, embarrassed suddenly.

"Hey, the kids are getting fidgety, are you ready to keep going?"

"Yup, coming!"

"Sorry," Viktor repeats, before getting fully back into his work.

You head back inside, throwing a curious glance behind you.

You feel weirdly energised. Must have been the sunshine.

—

The next two take longer, almost as long as Narine.

No one heads home, all parents and children stay together, squished into your home to wait for everyone to be safe.

The second of the remaining three children endures much more pain from the removal, collapsing unconscious into his father's arms when you finally pull the curse free.

"I don't know if we should risk this," the final child's mother whispers to Mara. "The witch is tiring and getting sloppy. I won't see Nomire suffer like that."

"'The witch' is perfectly capable actually," Kav snarks back. 

"Actually you have a point. I am getting tired. But I can do it. We might not have time to wait for another day."

Voices layer as more parents chime in, each with their own opinion. Viktor glances up but quickly averts his gaze again.

And you are drained, hard not to be after so much at once. But it needs to be done. Now that you're so used to sensing them you can practically feel that last coiled curse from across the room.

Nomire is mute. When they step forward, the rising argument stops. What polite discussion passes for an argument in Niole anyways.

They pull down the collar of their shirt and stare at you expectantly.

"You have your answer," Mara states, side eyeing Nomire's mother.

Kav stops you before you move forward and hands you a spoonful of honey.

"Here."

"Thanks."

It's quiet and tense again as you move forward.

"You'll need to sit or lie down."

Space is made for Nomire on the sofa. Their mother sits behind them. It's a sweet gesture but we're all uncomfortably aware it's really so she can hold down their arms when the thrashing starts.

Nomire is one of the only children you haven't had much contact with. Their mutism mixed with your general awkwardness especially with children - plus their mother being overprotective? You've barely met them thrice since living here.

Kav is their only immediate relative other than their mother. Elder half brother. It's an unusually tense situation and not spoken about much despite the open honest nature of Niolians.

He takes the position of holding down their legs.

"Ready?"

A small nod.

Like the others you place your hand over the mark and feel around for the curse.

You smooth your face into a mask of concentration while you try to make sense of what you're feeling.

It's big. Bigger than Narine's even though she's two years older. It's no tiny sapling just starting to bud. Even if you could remove it, you've no doubt the flower would be in near full bloom.

You glance up at Nomire, who stares back with some knowing.

"Well?" their mother prompts.

You ignore her and keep feeling it out.

The roots are dug deep, wrapping all four limbs and most of their organs. When you follow it up their neck however you realise how truly hopeless the situation is.

The seams of several stems have split, roses blooming black at their tips, spilling with foulness. There's something containing it, something stretched thin like butter over bread.

It's like a rudimentary Anae, thrown up like an arm over your face in hard rain.

"Nomire…did you do this?" you whisper.

"Do what?" their mother asks sharply.

They frown. They don't know.

"There's a magic here. It's not mine, it's not the curse. It's protecting them. Have there been other witches in Niole?"

"Not in Nomire's lifetime," Kav answers.

"Can you remove the curse or not?"

"..No. Even if there wasn't some other magic holding it down, this curse has already spilled. It's in full bloom. Not to worry you but the bleeds should have taken them years ago. If I removed the magic protecting it, the bleeds would likely take them immediately."

The news is not well received. 

"So Nomire could die at any moment?"

"What are you going to do about this?"

"Can't you try anyway?"

In amongst the cacophony you see Viktor stand and walk away. You briefly hope he's finally getting dinner.

Nomire reaches for your hand on their chest and pats you.

Right, like you're the one who needs comfort right now.

"So anyone older than say Narine can't be helped, essentially? And anyone in the future has to go through this same process? What does that mean, for the future? Nia and Kyne are trying for a baby you know."

Mara runs her hands through her hair frantically. "I don't know, I really don't know."

Kav is busy trying to help someone calm the twins, they're crying their eyes out. Tension like this isn't often seen here.

You don't have the heart to yell to get their attention, not in front of the kids.

So you hold up your hand and let a soft light flood like a lamp.

It works. The room falls silent and all eyes turn back to you.

"Listen, I think you should all head home. I've done what I can. I'm so sorry I couldn't do more. Nomire is safe - for a day or fifty years I have no idea and no way of finding out. I will keep taking the curse from new babies if I'm still - if I can."

"Why wouldn't you be able to?" Fevra pipes up.

"Well. I might not always be here. I could fall ill myself. Who knows."

"You're leaving?" Mara infers, not falling for your awkward sidestepping.

"No, n - not necessarily, I mean…I don't know. There's - I met someone."

"The guy in the painting? Your boyfriend?"

Not this again. It was bad enough when someone said it last night.

"Viktor's not my boyfriend, he's an inventor."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive concepts," Kav counters. 

Shit, shit…

"Look I really don't mean to be rude but I really am tired - I could use some alone time."

"Are you leaving or not?" Fevra demands. "We can't exactly remove the curses ourselves."

"Fevra. Come on. Get moving."

Mara herds everyone out, chiding them when they try again to hound you about the future.

Kav stays behind.

"Ignore them. They're just worried. They don't really expect you to be out permanent free doctor. Don't worry about it, sweetheart."

You accept his warm hand on your shoulder with an unsure smile.

"You sure? They seemed pretty annoyed at the idea of me leaving."

"They're just upset at the idea of losing our beloved witch. Folks don't often leave Niole and..we really have come to care for you. It won't be the same without you here. But hey you'll have your - y'know, your -"

"His name is Viktor," you quickly interrupt. "And yeah I'll miss you too. But I mean, I don't even know what's going to happen yet."

"Keep us posted," insists, heading out. "Don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?"

"Of course."

You keep up the smile until he's gone and the door is closed behind him. Until the faint sounds of arguing Meilas fades down the meadow.

And finally sigh.

So much for a day of rest.

"Can you please go back to bed now," comes Viktor's voice, and when you turn he's leaning into view.

He's still here.

"You first. Also you're still here?"

"I never left. I was just - I had some things to organise and - and I was using the blackboard," he explains, dipping out of view again.

"So you could still hear?"

"I was trying not to. I was afraid I'd say something rude. That kind of behaviour is exactly why I don't want you trying to do that for me," he says, and you can tell he's holding back real anger.

At least he's focusing on the less embarrassing part of what got said while you thought he was away…

You start about cleaning up what you can. Cups to the sink, cushions back on the sofa, chairs stacked away. It's not much but it's what you can hope to get done with your limited energy.

"They weren't really being like that. They're just worried about their kids."

"And their kids, and their kids. And hang you if you ever say no, right?" he adds, leaning back into frame to throw you a look.

"I doubt Niolians even know how to tie a noose. How goes the science anyways?"

Viktor lets out a sigh himself. "Not great. Although there is something kind of promising. I might have figured out a way to expand the properties of the scry to include physical - that's not fair by the way, distracting me like that."

"Oh I'm sorry, you weren't done defending me?" you laugh, rumbled.

"No, actually," he admits, returning to his seat.

He looks a little unsteady, like even standing for that long has his body aching.

"But now that you've started talking shop you can't resist, right? Especially if I throw a few topical terms your way? A little word association?"

"That would never work," he insists, but his grin dares you to try it.

"Hextech."

"Oh no."

"Experiment."

"Please…"

"Equation."

His laughter tapers off at that one as he retakes his usual more serious expression.

"Actually that's what I wanted to tell you, I figured out a way to stitch additional intentions into the runes, add new parameters, change the ones we didn't get right last time. It's theoretical now but we should start experimenting with passing stuff back and forth. We'd work up to us actually trying to touch the scry, start out with other organic matter, like plants and such - tomorrow if you'd like?"

You stifle your laughter in the silence that follows his ramble but he must hear it anyway. He really can't resist nerding out can he?

"Yes, very funny," he realises, shaking his head with a good-natured smile. "Are you free tomorrow or not?"

"Of course. How did you work it out?"

He hesitates. "Lie down and I'll tell you. If you want."

"Is that your smooth way of trying to get me to rest? Cause like I said earlier - you first."

Viktor rubs his eyes tiredly. He'd usually fight you on that but he looks like he's considering it.

"Mm. Maybe we both take a lie down then. I'll tell you how I figured it out and you can maybe tell me more about that ballad, the one about stars?"

With most of the mess at least pushed aside, you finally retake your place in your pile of blankets and lie down to rest.

"Sure. It's not actually a ballad, it's a poem about a ballad that the prince wrote for his secret lover. Before you get comfortable - would you have another tea?"

He holds up the flask.

"One step ahead of you."

Good.

You mutually settle down. It feels good to see him like this, getting all wrapped up in thick blankets, propped as he needs to be on soft pillows.

The temperature of the lab can't exactly be felt from here but you'd bet it's cold in there. You never hear the crackle of a fireplace or the rumble of a furnace. It's an academic space, it's not designed with the kind of insulation a home needs.

And that's what it is. You're not sure you'll ever actually get the chance to take him up on that invitation to stay at his actual place but there's no way it'll feel as much like him as his lab does. Viktor finds his home in scrawled equations and deft held tools.

You can sense it all the way across the world, and instead of relating you feel a strange ache. Sure your little cottage in its beautiful meadow with the lovely town nearby is…nice. But you're not sure it's ever been home to you like that. Not really.

"You really don't have to try to come here, you know."

"What?"

He's sat up, again removing the brace he's forgotten he's wearing. 

"What you said earlier. To the others, about maybe coming to see me. I feel a little guilty, like I'm a bad influence trying to steal you away from a safe, comfortable life. I know you've mentioned before about wanting to visit Piltover, wanting to come help me. I take issue with how your friends spoke to you earlier but - you don't have to leave them all behind just to try and help some scientist on the other side of the globe. I know I got excited talking about the physical capabilities the scry could develop but there really is no obligation to -"

"Viktor."

He blinks. "Y - yes?"

"I appreciate the concern. But actually I was just thinking the opposite. I was just thinking about how this place doesn't really feel like home. About how maybe - maybe I want to seek out somewhere that does. Right back to thinking maybe I really am done hiding here."

Viktor smiles at the ceiling. "Oh. In that case I hope you do stop by Piltover on your search for a home."

And help out a scientist while you're there.

Who knows where home really is. All you know is that watching him settle into a place that is so clearly home to him has you aching for the same feeling.

"Mm. So, the equation?"

"Right," he starts, lighting up.

He springs into a long explanation of his idea.

Essentially he wants to patch the errors and holes in the current scry like adding stronger links to the middle of a weak chain. If it works, it'll expand the capabilities. So instead of you being able to see and hear him and him only being able to hear you, it'll open up every sensory avenue both ways.

"Which is when I realised - can you smell the lab? Machine oil, the dust, the sandwich on the desk, have you ever smelled anything from here?"

"No," you answer, trying to think back.

"But I can smell you! Not - not you, directly," he quickly amends. "I mean - I can smell the meadow, I can smell flowers and the rain over there. When you make tea, dinner, I can smell it. I hadn't noticed it but the olfactory exchange only goes one way just like the visual one. It's what I've been missing, what we didn't account for the first time we tried to fix the spell. This could really work."

When he finally finishes presenting his updates you take a deep breath as if you're the one who just finished a long spiel.

"I look forward to trying it out. Tomorrow?"

"Yes. Tomorrow. If…if you'll have the energy."

He takes on a guilty cast as if he only just remembered that just like healing, scientific magic is going to take a toll on you.

"I will, don't worry. Plenty of time to rest and recharge before then."

"You do sound…sleepy," he comments, glancing over with a small smile.

"Sorry - oh, can I tell you about that ballad another time? I can feel myself drifting off."

And it's true. Like other times Viktor's soft ramblings have left you heavy and warm under blankets, ready to sleep.

"Of course," he murmurs, closing his own eyes.

He doesn't look sleepy. He looks exhausted. Like lying down and closing his eyes isn't even a respite. Like even now his body screams an agony he can't escape.

You're tempted to broach the subject again, try once more to convince him to let you help. And again you're held back by the need to respect his wishes.

All you can do now is hope he'll change his mind by the time your hand can touch his.

Chapter Text

When he hears the ruffling of you arranging your bed he sighs and stretches heavily.

"Heading to bed? I'll join you in an hour or two."

"I'm not sleeping, just getting comfy."

"Mm-hm," is his only response.

When you look he's folded his arms and cocked his head to the side a little.

"I mean it, I'm staying awake this time, I'm just - it's cold is all."

"Of course."

Again his tone says he's got his doubts. So does his smirk.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm not falling asleep. Just you watch."

"Mm-hm," he repeats, looking back to his book.

You look back at your own book, shaking your head a little indignantly, determined to be right about this.

"I'm not."

"Okay."

You're starting to think you've never met someone so adept at smirking. There's no arrogance behind it either, he just knows he's right, which makes it all the more annoying. And cute.

Your heavy lids and sluggish limbs take his side. Traitors.

As the minutes pass and you suppress another deep yawn you start to think you should've just agreed with him. He's right about so many things, why'd you have to fight him on this? A glance at him glancing up at you reminds you. That smirk still lingering a little.

After a while there's a low hum. You thought it was perhaps a bird at first.

But as the volume rises little by little you realise it's him.

The melody is soft and lilting, halting often as he stops to take breath or gets too distracted by what he's reading.

It's distracting, lulling, entirely unfair. You're starting to drop off, and making vague plans in your head to scold him for purposefully making you fall asleep in the morning, when he starts to sing. For that, surely you can stay awake.

Quiet at first, so quiet you can hardly make out the words.

"...seem sometimes as if they'll never end…"

You reach out to the scrying stone on your bedside table and pull it closer, set it right beside you on your pillow to hear him better.

"…after sunlit days, one thing stays the same

Rises the moon…"

He pauses, almost forgetting he's singing, leaning closer and frowning at the book. When some answer presents itself he relaxes back and starts up again. 

Against your will, you start to fade shut eyed.

"...close your weary eyes..."

You're not sure at what point you fall asleep, only that his soft voice carries you there as carefully as you might in cupped hands carry a fallen bird back to its nest.

—

It's the quiet that does it, and the habit of being here alone.

Some child-like superstition has him occasionally spooked by the drafty halls and creaky doors of the old academy. He's pushed to fill the silence and there's not much of a way besides singing.

He mostly just cycles through lullabies he remembers from when he was young. They're familiar and form a comfortable background noise while he works. It's a habit he falls back into from time to time.

Like now.

At some point he notices how loud he's being and tapers off, blinking tiredly. He's about to offer you some embarrassed explanation but a soft snore interrupts before he can even begin.

He leans closer and quickly works out you must have fallen asleep much closer to the scry than usual. There's a fruity smell he can't quite place. Berries, honey. It's lovely.

When you make a soft snorting noise in your sleep, he backs away, aware that his face close to yours is probably not what you want to wake up to. In his hurry he rolls his ankle and knocks several books to the floor in an attempt to grab onto the desk and stay upright.

He stares at the scry apprehensively.

But you don't even stir; your breathing stays deep and even. You must really have been tired. Cute.

—

"Viktor, sit."

"Shh."

"Viktor. We've done everything we can do with the time we've got. There's no time for another experiment."

"I disagree."

He approaches the window with the sapling anyway.

"But how are you going to explain it if - what if something goes wrong? We've covered how we don't like to discourage one another but -"

"I know. I just can't stop now. On my head be it," he insists, laying out a cloth under the window.

"Fair enough. Will you have some tea? When you're done? Please?"

"Yes, yes, of course," he says, distractedly waving you off.

He's been drinking it more and more, almost always when you remind him it exists. It does seem to be helping, even a little. He's a little less stiff when he's had two or three cups in a day, and seems to feel the difference when he forgets it altogether.

You watch him sciencing his sciency things. Pulling levers. Goggles down. Cute. 

The test subject sapling is placed down on the part of the desk where you can't see it, in a prototype Viktor made for long distance transport of small objects. Apparently it's similar technology to the Hexgate, piggybacking off of the Hexcore. You've learned a lot in the last few days since you were given a deadline on how much time you can spend together free of watchful eyes, although you're still not sure exactly what the Hexcore does.

Viktor tried again with Heimerdinger but it didn't do any good. Every time you do an experiment together or even have a chat he's technically breaking the law and no amount of polite meetings will change that.

Sky awoke two days ago, then took the rest of the time off to recover further. Jayce wanted to get back the moment he woke but collapsed the first day after pushing himself - Councillor Merdada has been keeping him under the watch of her personal physician ever since. 

Heimerdinger and Sky will be here any minute for her first shift as Viktor's babysitter.

He throws you less than thrilled looks when you make that joke but it's true.

Her primary purpose here is to make sure Viktor can't communicate or work with you in any way. A fact you're none too happy about considering how much you enjoy both of those things.

Not that you yourself have been doing much of the latter, so much as just watching him work and helping as much as you can with words alone.

You haven't talked about it much since performing the new equation the other day and he hasn't pushed. But you've needed a lot of recovery time after doing so much magic.

The adapted spell worked, but only a little. He still can't see you. Physical contact still hasn't been made. And it still isn't big or strong enough to manage transport of a person. But hey at least you can now smell his dusty lab. Great. Hardly worth diarying about.

Viktor is less discouraged than you though. He took the progress in stride.

"Good science takes time," he shrugged, already sketching more ideas.

Your bed has been your faithful companion, bread and honey your main food source. You've done little more than lay around waiting to feel somewhat normal again.

It's an unspoken agreement. The second you're well enough, you're going to try again. Though you get the feeling he's thinking on a bigger scale than you, ever ambitious.

"Quickly, Viktor."

"Yes, yes. Be ready."

With the usual glowings and whirrings and crackling of hextech you've grown used to, he holds up the sapling.

Poor thing.

Every other unfortunate little plant has disintegrated, gone up in smoke or just straight up shrivelled and died on contact with the window.

As he winds a lever out of your view with the other hand, the sapling starts to lift from his hand. It's not quite the same harnessing of breeze that you use to get stuff through. It's more like directed air pressure.

"Be ready," he repeats, straining from the effort of cranking the lever.

And you are. Because as the sapling reaches the window, instead of being destroyed it comes through, straight into your hands.

Viktor stares into the void expectantly, pulls his goggles up as if that'll help him see better.

"Do you have it? It's gone, do you have it?"

You nod dumbly, staring at the sapling landed safe and whole in your hands, then recall he can't see you.

"Right, yes, yes it's here, I'm holding it. It worked, you were right," you add, losing your wonderment to a wide grin.

"Yes! I knew it," he cheers, doing a little celebratory spin. "Let's try a bigger plant."

Before he can go for the poor climbing flower sitting on another desk, the door swings open with its familiar creak.

He habitually draws a cloth over a bunch of stuff on his desk, covering up whatever he's currently withholding from Heimerdinger.

"Viktor?"

"Professor Heimerdinger. And Miss Young. Welcome."

"Hi," Sky greets, with a short nod.

You clam up as planned. The less Heimerdinger knows about this situation the better. That includes your existence and the fact that the window is how you communicate.

Heimerdinger comes into view. He's...small. Tiny and fluffy, in a little suit and everything. His ears are adorable. You've seen drawings of similar species before but you've never met one. You can't remember the name or much about them.

He waddles closer, a small equally fluffy little creature peancing after him. You recognise it even less so, though it's very cute.

"Dear boy. Have you been up all night again?" he asks, reaching up to pat Viktor's arm. 

His tone is kind, almost fatherly. From Viktor's description he sounded crotchety and overbearing. You were expecting… Well. Not a fluffy little guy checking Viktor over with the concern of a helicopter parent, that's for sure.

"No, Sir."

Liar.

"Good, good. Well, Miss Young is back, fit and fighting as they say and ready to help you out," he offers, something smug in his tone.

Viktor smiles cordially, though it's a little tight at the edges.

"Of course. I had another desk brought in for you. Your own workstation."

Sky looks past him to the desk, mouth open in shock.

"For me?"

"Of course. Whilever you have a real job here you needn't stand around like an assistant."

You're used to the smooth sarcasm dripping from his words, but not the venom behind the smile. Sky seems to miss it, too excited by how deep the draws are in her desk.

Heimerdinger squirms uncomfortably. Clearly he expected Viktor to explain Sky's babysitting duties to her, to break the news that this isn't truly a promotion of any kind, that if not for Viktor's determination to keep working on an illegal project she'd still be running messages and cleaning up after him.

Viktor has other ideas. He folds his arms, throwing Sky a smiley nod of encouragement when she babbles happily over her shoulder about the comfy chair he acquired for her desk. While Heimerdinger dithers awkwardly, trying to put together words.

"Mm. Viktor - uh, you might explain Miss Young's new job to her," he finally prompts.

"Right," she says, seeming to remember the situation. "Are we working on….that?"

She points in your direction. Viktor snorts. The little fluff ball at Heimerdinger's side growls lightly up at the scry.

"Unfortunately not, that project is on hold until it can be made safe to explore. Instead, we will be pursuing other, safer, applications of hextech."

You struggle not to laugh at how bored Viktor looks by that description. Meanwhile Sky takes on more excitement, questions brimming. Before she can speak again, Heimerdinger finally seems to shake himself and step in.

"Actually, Miss Young - there may have been a misunderstanding. The main cause for the shift in responsibilities is - well, I feel Viktor would benefit from a kind of supervisory presence. Until certain projects can be approved by the council."

She appears to deflate a little, her eyes dropping and her posture crumpling.

"Oh…so…?"

"This," Heimerdinger begins, pointing at the window. "Is dangerous. It is not to be worked on. Miss Young, I'm trusting you to help Viktor focus his energies in the right places."

She throws a confused look Viktor's way, who continues his tight cooperative smile.

"I'll be off then! We'll debrief this evening," Heimerdinger adds on his way out.

It's hard to watch the droop in her shoulders, her hands coming together to that nervously gripped position behind her back. She puts herself back together as she puts together what he means.

Babysitting.

"Yes, Sir."

"Oh," Heimerdinger tacks on. "And put a curtain up. The less anyone sees of that thing the better."

Rude.

"Of course, Sir."

Viktor waves with faux nicety as Heimerdinger exits the lab, then turns to Sky and smiles with genuine apology.

"I'm sorry, Miss Young. You deserve a real promotion, not these mind games. But I mean it, you needn't stand around like an assistant. There's real work to be done here."

"Like that?" she asks, pointing again in your direction.

"I'm sorry, Miss Young, but we really aren't permitted to work on that."

She stares anyway, as if transfixed by the shifting tunnelling colours. 

In the days since Heimerdinger told Viktor he'd have a watcher, you've been preparing.

The squeaky joint on the bed has been oiled.

The walkway you use to get around your home has been cleared of clutter.

Dishes and breakable ornaments have been boxed up or set aside safely. 

Floors that aren't covered by rugs have spare curtains and blankets draped so your feet are as padded as possible.

Sky could be 'assisting' for weeks, if she hears you trip over a loose book she's going to have questions.

Everything is perfect.

"Is it because there's a witch in there? Because I did some reading and I - well I assumed I'd be helping you work on fixing the scrying spell."

There's an awkward silence in which Viktor seems to go back and forth between different emotions, never quite getting any words out.

Sky plucks that missing note from her bag and holds it out to him.

"Took me a while to figure out if you were speaking in code or something but - it's so cool you've made contact with Niole, I don't think Piltover has ever done that before. But don't worry, I know no one can know, I would never impede your work, not ever. And - I know I - I'm sorry I overstepped but I would really like to help out. I had some ideas…"

She trails off, losing confidence as Viktor's silence continues. 

The padded floors were for nothing then, you decide as you open your mouth. 

"Well personally I'd say we can use all the help we can get."

Sky jumps like a ghost just appeared.

"Sorry," you quickly add. "I know it's a little creepy. Disembodied voice coming from the swirly hole covered in runes and all. I mean you no harm, I swear."

She laughs, a little amazed. "No, no - I just didn't know you were here right now - it's nice to meet you. Although technically I know you from the notes and I'm sure you've seen me at least once so we do kinda know each other in a sort of way, I'm sorry - Viktor, are you okay?"

Right. Cause he's still caught in a stunned silence. He blinks, looking between you and Sky.

"You're…not going to tell Heimerdinger?"

Sky stares at him like she's questioning ever admiring his genius, a fact becoming more and more obvious.

"Of course not. Your vision is…I want to help. Imagine what you could do if your - your friend in there could come to Piltover and help you with hextech. Heimerdinger has your best interests at heart but he can be a little too protective at times, right? So no. I won't tell him. I promise."

Viktor rubs his face and sighs with relief.

"Alright. How caught up are you on rune -"

"Completely. I found some books in the library, matched them to the stuff in the notes. It's fascinating. But don't let me interrupt! Just do whatever you were already doing and just give me whatever I can help out with?"

She's so nice you suspect she may share Niolian blood.

You wait for Viktor's reply. It's his gig. 

"We're just running some experiments on transporting organic matter through the scry. The plants were disintegrating on contact but using the Hexcore I've found a way to bridge -"

"The sensory gap setting the limitations on what the scry can do, wow that's amazing," Sky marvels, getting closer and helping herself to a good look. "The runes are so much clearer than they were in those early sketches - the lines of the scry are neater too. How many iterations did it take to improve this much?"

Viktor's science brain finally catches up with and takes over his dealing with social things brain and they go back and forth, Viktor filling Sky in on the details of what we're trying to do and her nodding along in awe. He leaves out anything you might not want advertised to Sky but by the time he's done her eyes are wide and wonder filled like she just heard a magical bedtime story.

You listen with some humour, chiming in with details and answering some questions yourself.

"If you're really curious I gave Viktor some books, you're welcome to borrow them," you laugh after the fourth question about witches.

She sighs dreamily. "That would be wonderful. Oh, I'm sorry! I'm monopolising our time with questions - we should get to work. Heimerdinger is one 'bad feeling' away from shutting you down altogether."

Viktor deflates a little at that. He describes Heimerdinger as his employer but his disapproval clearly means more to him than just that.

"Ehhh...yes. Yes," he agrees, heading to his desk. "We just had the first successful transportation of a sapling from here to there."

"Using this?" she asks, examining the Hexcore. "What exactly is it?"

"Good luck, I'm still struggling to get my head around it myself. It's like…it's a device that adapts the runes based on what you're trying to do."

"Exactly," Viktor praises. "It's an adaptive matrix. I haven't really got it working yet but I was able to use what it can do at this stage to connect with this - a miniature imitation of the Hexgate - to facilitate the passage of matter through the scrying window. You read the notes, correct?"

"Yes! Uh…sorry about that. Really."

Viktor glides past it, too focused on the science.

"So you recall that my friend was sending the notes by harnessing ambient air in their home. Altogether, this set up allows me to levitate small items towards the window and like I said, one sapling finally made it through safely. We were about to try again -"

"- with a bigger subject to see if you can replicate the results on a larger scale, with the eventual goal of intraportal travel? Why not just use the Hexgate?"

You speak up. "I could technically travel to the nearest port and come to Piltover that way but the creation of portals for quick, small scale global travel has a lot of applications that could help a lot of people. Supplies to hospitals, injured people out of warzones. It would be amazing if we could refine what we have into a usable format."

Viktor smiles faintly in your direction as you echo his exact dream to Sky. Cute.

Sky nods and clocks the table across the way covered in various foliage.

"And those are the test subjects we'll be using. Alright, I think I'm all caught up."

Viktor steadies his cane under his arm, a sure sign he's prepared to be on his feet for however long this takes. Hopefully Sky will be able to reign him in where you can't.

"Viktor," you prompt, and from your insistent and concerned tone as well as your expectant silence after, it's clear he knows exactly what you mean.

"Fine. Alright."

With an impatient sigh he turns on heel and obediently puts together a fresh pot of tea.

Sky bounces nervously on the balls of her feet while she waits. Her gaze is fixed to the floor and she chews her lip nervously.

In the silence it catches up with you that she likely knows from the notes exactly what he's making and why. 

Someone else who knows better than to broach the topic of his illness then.

Viktor quickly returns, flask full and steaming in hand.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

"Uh - got room for one more?"

You can't see from here but from the voice and Viktor and Sky's twin expressions you're sure it's Jayce.

Jayce gets closer and peers into the window with some amazement, but a lot of apprehension. He runs his eyes over the still-in-progress hexcore and finally turns to Viktor with a wide grin.

"I can't believe you'd work on something so incredible without me. How's it work? Someone wanna explain?"

"Not it," you and Sky chime simultaneously.

Viktor takes his stool and a deep draught of tea.

"Alright. One more time. From the top."

—

It takes hours, so many that the sun is dipping by the time real progress has been made.

Of course efforts have been slowed by Jayce and Sky needing the occasional monologue from Viktor to fill in the gaps of their knowledge. Not that you mind one bit.

A few more plants lay in a pile of dust on the floor, a few more have found a home on your windowsill. Wins and losses.

You can see why Jayce and Viktor are such good friends, and even more what brought them together in the first place. When it comes to science they finish each other's equations and love long talks on the fundamentals of mathematical formulae.

You might even feel extraneous if not for Sky and her nervous friendly chatter filling their focused silences. Viktor was right to be worried about her figuring everything out from just a couple of notes - she is no fool. Jayce and Viktor are both geniuses and she makes three. If not for your magical knowledge you'd feel quite like a spare part.

Sky is quietly curious about you and your situation, politely holding back her questions. 

Jayce on the other hand has to be restrained like an excited dog on a leash. As passionate as they are for science, Jayce clearly has some connection to the arcane. Viktor keeps him in check with regular scoldings whenever he gets too distracted questioning you about your magic.

Dream team. And it's going well. Turns out when you're not just two exhausted idiots sketching runes in the middle of the night you can actually get things done.

"Are you ready?"

"Yep."

Again you cup your hands and again the flowers come through whole and safe. 

"Got it. All good."

"That's consistent positive results, I think we're ready to try," Sky offers, practically vibrating.

They exchange excited looks, but all eyes fall on Viktor for the final decision.

He shrugs. "I agree. But first a break."

You mock gasp. "You're suggesting we take a break? You? King of the all nighter?"

"Now that's magic," Jayce laughs and claps Viktor's back enthusiastically.

Sky checks her watch. "The cafeteria should still be open. Your usual sandwiches?"

"You're not an intern anymore you really don't have to go get our food," Viktor chides softly.

She shrugs. "I don't mind, I have an in with one of the cooks, I'll make sure we don't get stale bread. It won't take long."

With an awkward nod in your direction she shoots off.

Jayce scoots his chair closer to Viktor's desk.

"Am I allowed to ask questions since we're taking a break?"

Viktor shoots you a sympathetic look that says good luck with that.

"Of course," you allow anyway.

It's the least you can do - it's your fault he's been out of action for basically a week. With the distance between you, there's nothing to be done about the fading welt on the side of his head besides indulging his arcane questions.

So far you've covered the basics of witchery, of magic in general. He knows a lot of what Viktor knows, but clearly has a lot more questions queued up.

"How many witches and sorcerers and mages and - how many arcane people are there? How many have you known?"

"I don't think anyone's keeping track and a lot of us are nomadic but I'd guess thousands at least world wide. I'm not sure. I've been somewhat sheltered but I'd say I've met a few over the years, many more without even realising it I'd bet."

He looks a little disappointed. "In that case I doubt you'd know a specific sorcerer if I described him to you?"

"It's not impossible. Go ahead."

You listen while you get a snack for yourself. Your own mug of tea and your own honey sandwiches.

Jayce describes a time from his childhood when he and his mother were alone and in danger. A strange sorcerer appeared and opened a portal, transported them to Piltover where they were able to live safe lives. He frowns as he struggles to piece together the exact cloak he was wearing, the exact runes he cast, the way it appeared.

"I'm sorry," you say around a mouthful of bread. "He doesn't sound familiar. That portal though - an arcane storm that big, strong enough to blind-transport two people? He sounds powerful."

Jayce nods along, hanging on every word.

"And - you, are you powerful? By arcane standards?"

You chuckle at that. "No. Not really. As healers go I've taken care of some pretty serious cases, but by arcane standards in general? I'm small fry compared to others."

"But you can do things other than heal right? Why not work on those to get them to the same level?" Jayce presses, making notes in his journal.

Viktor smirks down at his own work, evidently amused to see you get grilled in the same manner by Jayce as you did by both him and Sky.

"Most in touch with the arcane have specialities. Some are predestined, passed down through a family line. Sometimes you just naturally follow a certain path as a child that comes easier than others. In some cases…it's a choice."

Jayce raises his brows expectantly. Viktor looks up from under his, equally curious.

"Yes, in my case it was a choice," you admit, bemused. "I showed promise early on as an elemental. But I chose to heal. It was just what was right for me. Anyways regardless of your speciality there are still basic tenets of magic that you learn. Levitation, scrying. Being highly skilled in all areas would be as difficult as trying to master every language. Any other questions?"

"I know you said you don't class yourself as a powerful witch - do you have any defensive magic? Those basic tenets you mentioned, are any of them combat related?"

Some tension pulls Viktor's shoulders together but he doesn't look up or say anything.

"It's complicated. Medical professionals make certain oaths when they get certified, about how they're going to care for people and how they'll use their knowledge. Witches are no different - if a healing witch were to use their abilities to cause harm it would be the rankest misuse of the arcane. I do have some combative spells, but they're quite weak. They're the magical equivalent of shoving someone, a solid right hook maybe. Nothing you might consider a weapon or genuine threat to the safety of others. If I absolutely have to fight I mostly rely on evading and blocking."

"Mm."

After some frantic scrawling, Jayce looks up again.

"And how come you're on your own in Niole? Is your family -"

"Jayce," Viktor interrupts, standing abruptly. "Would you mind catching up to Sky and adding a strawberry slice to the food order?"

Jayce blinks and smiles.

"Uh. Sure. Back soon."

He stands and pats Viktor's shoulder before heading the same way as Sky. There's some relief in his expression you're familiar with. Getting Viktor to eat anything more substantial than a stray apple is a triumph.

When the door is closed behind him, Viktor retakes his seat.

"You don't have to keep answering his questions. His curiosity is a bottomless well."

"That makes two of you," comes your instinctive reply, which he smiles at. "I can see why he's your partner."

"Was," Viktor corrects. "Jayce worked with me today because he's still on medical leave. Tomorrow he'll be right back to his political work."

"Right, catch me up there? What does he do again?"

Viktor sighs. "He was voted onto the council not too long ago, under the reasoning that he could help keep arcane technology safe from misuse."

"Is that not what he's doing?" you prompt, curious.

"At first. With every passing day it seems more and more that he's perhaps…losing focus. Then there's Councillor Merdada. He's fond of her."

You're not, you infer silently from the bitter edge to his words.

"Between the two of them and Heimerdinger - and all of them really - it seems to me that the council finds itself controlling that which should be freer and letting run rampant that it should be more responsible for. It's not like I could run Piltover myself but - well, I don't know that increased military presence and ignoring the issues in the undercity is the right way to do it. He keeps saying he's going to help them, do what we set out to do. I don't know - I shouldn't be - I don't know why I'm telling you all this," he winds down, losing some of the angry momentum he was building for a second there.

"It's okay. What's a little venting between friends?"

He smiles half heartedly at that.

"It does sound stressful," you go on. "The undercity…what's that?"

"Home. To me at least it used to be. It's…not quite as gold paved and shiny as Piltover. There's a lot of poverty, illness and suffering. Crime festers there helplessly."

"Illness," you repeat quietly, before you can think better.

He runs a hand through unwashed hair and looks up at you from tired eyes under firm brows.

"It's the pollution. Noxious gases, sick waters, spoiled food. I am just one of many. I aim to be one of few."

And Jayce isn't helping with that so much these days. Rough.

As is usual when Viktor talks about his dreams, your chest sings with a need to see him get there, get well.

"I'm sorry you've gone through that. You and the rest of the Undercity. I've gotten so used to Niole, it's been a while since a government has left me disillusioned."

He chuckles at that. "Disillusioned indeed. I feel like a fool every time I ask Jayce how a council meeting went or which way they ended up voting. I can hardly bear to visit the Undercity and see the hardship. But he tells me politics are complicated. Heimerdinger agrees."

"You don't?"

"Clean water, food and air. For everyone. It appears quite simple to me," he shrugs, with no small roll of the eyes.

Hard not to break into a grin at his brazen attitude. 

"Maybe you should be running things. Big chair, loud speeches. You'd be great at it."

He balks at that. "Absolutely not. I'm not much of a one for public speaking. I'm not much of a talker at all really."

It's your turn to laugh out loud, at which pulls a face.

"What? It's true. I'm told I'm 'antisocial'."

"Not to me you're not. You've quite literally talked me to sleep. More than once. Whoever told you you're antisocial just doesn't know how to talk to you."

Viktor's face drops out of view as he leans down to tend to some paper or other.

"You," he begins, clearing his throat. "You think so?"

He sounds so unsure, so surprised.

"Of course, Viktor."

In the quiet you think of the Undercity, of many more like Viktor. There's not much you can do for the quality of the food, air and water but - the sick. You could help the sick. Quietly to avoid anyone finding out you're a witch, one at a time if need be.

The logistics would need to be worked out - you've no idea how far the Undercity is from the lab, how many are sick, how you'll explain your presence aligning with miraculous recoveries cropping up all over the city. Perhaps a mask…

"You can't heal everyone."

"What?" you ask, startled.

He's looking up again, eyes hardened. There's not much negotiable in his expression. You can't quite find the word you're looking for to describe it.

"Just reminding you of what you said yourself. I want you to come here so that you aren't hiding away, so you can live your life, and help me out with hextech if you'd really like to. Not so you can slog through the Undercity taking care of every individual sick person let down by the council, carrying all their pain and illness for your trouble."

Mind reader.

"I appreciate the concern. I think you have a point. It's not the most efficient way of helping after all - and if I wasn't sure Heimerdinger would have me shot I'd ask to speak to this council myself."

He cocks his head. "I just realised I have no idea what you look like. Are you visibly distinguishable as a witch?"

"Oh no not really. I just doubt our ability to keep it under wraps. I give it…hm, a day before he'd find out."

"That's a valid worry," he realises, brow furrowed with a whole new problem to solve. "How will I explain your sudden presence? Perhaps we can pass you off as a Niolian ambassador, the council will certainly open every door for you if they think they're finally making contact with Niole. It's not lying…technically. You are from Niole. Ish."

"Should I be concerned that dishonesty is so often your solution? I mean are you actually going to eat that strawberry slice you sent Jayce for?"

"Yes," he insists, then hesitates. "Probably. I don't have a huge appetite. And anyway I'm only dishonest in service of the greater good - Jayce's questions were starting to skew too personal. He's so wrapped up he doesn't think."

Again Viktor turns a little bitter as he thinks of Jayce and their soured partnership. You're about to offer some thin platitude when you notice colour in his face.

"Viktor. Your nose."

"Oh."

He grabs a rag from a desk draw and presses it to the bleed, checking every few seconds to see how bad it is.

It's the second one today.

"I'm fine," he follows up, probably sensing your concern.

"You really should try to eat more. Strawberries are very good for you - if you can't manage the whole slice at least pick the strawberries off."

"Strawberries aren't going to fix this," he laughs, his teeth and the skin of his muzzle bloodied.

"I guess I just want to feel helpful," you admit.

He sets the rag aside as the nosebleed calms.

"You are being helpful. With the kind of progress we've made today we should be able to establish physical contact with the next iteration of the spell."

Predictably the mention of work immediately has him getting up and heading to the blackboard.

"Are you ready? Rested? We can delay until tomorrow if you need more time to prepare."

He's the one who should be resting.

"I'm ready. Are you?"

"Definitely. Heimerdinger is right on our tails, we have to stay ahead of him. And besides I'm far too excited not to try this as soon as possible. Who knows, by the end of the day I may be able to see you, I could even hold your hand."

You choke on the water you'd started sipping.

"W - what?"

"In the - through the window I mean - "

If he was stammering and stuttering towards an explanation, it's lost as the lab door swings open and Sky and Jayce march in with food laden trays.

"Food has arrived!"

"Everything okay?" Sky asks, noticing you're still trying to clear your throat.

"Fine," Viktor manages. "What's all this? I thought we were just having sandwiches."

"When the kitchen staff heard Sky was promoted they wanted to celebrate."

Jayce lays out the food on an adjacent desk and you're a little jealous at how good it all looks. 

Sky adjusts her glasses nervously. "The way Heimerdinger phrased it, it's more like…"

"Babysitting?" Viktor offers, throwing you a wry look.

"Well I think it's great - I know it feels demeaning now but I'm sure it'll open the door for more opportunities. Viktor, here," Jayce offers, holding out sandwiches.

Viktor hesitantly steps away from the work and accepts.

"I'm so excited I can hardly eat," Sky admits. "To witness the arcane in such a raw form, it's an honour."

"The last time we didn't really get to savour it," Jayce chuckles.

You're swept by guilt as you recall what he means.

"So sorry about that by the way - I had no idea it was going to be that dangerous, I though that kind of arcane feedback was only going to happen on my side."

They both shrug it off with the same carefree attitude Viktor did, like it's all worth it in the name of scientific exploration.

"We'll be better prepared this time. Starting with not standing directly in the path of the scry."

"That's a good point, perhaps we should wheel in one of the shields from the bigger labs."

"Shields?" you echo.

"It's a large metal divider on wheels that we sometimes use if an experiment is particularly dangerous. Like when we made the hex claw," Jayce recounts fondly.

"Hex claw?" you echo again.

As they explain what it is and how they made it, you struggle to focus. You're too busy watching how much of that sandwich Viktor is getting down.

His appetite seems to worsening.

He must be reading your mind again because he throws you a knowing look. 

"Are all of your inventions going to have 'hex' at the start of them?"

"Okay, look -" Viktor starts, already getting defensive.

The door to the lab slams open.

In sprints a familiar tiny fluff ball. You hear Heimerdinger in the hallway, finishing up his conversation with what you guess is a passing colleague.

Viktor and Jayce freeze.

Sky throws down her sandwich and dashes over to the blackboard, turns it so the new scry equations and notes are swapped for some machine schematics.

Her smart thinking spurs on the other two, jumping up and scrambling to look busy with decidedly un-you related things. 

You sit there quietly. There's really not much you can do from here. As usual your helplessness is not a welcome feeling.

Familiar with his small footsteps you can hear Heimerdinger approaching before you see him.

"Boys! And Miss Young."

Viktor turns and in his hurry rolls his ankle and lands awkwardly on his cane with a sharp hiss. The notebook he was trying to hide thuds to floor alongside him, loose pages fluttering all over the place.

"Viktor -"

"You okay? Need a hand?"

"Dear me, are you alright?"

They all gather, each offering their support. He waves them off like they're just concerned mother hens and pulls himself up on his cane.

"I'm fine, I'm fine - please, my pages."

They help him get his notebook back together while you stew. You're not even there and you'd bet there's a bruise forming where he landed on his cane.

"Oh, let us do it, Professor," Sky tries, hurrying to get to the pages before Heimerdinger.

"Nonsense!" he replies, stooping to help anyway.

"How serendipitous you'd appear just now, Professor, we have plenty of sandwiches if you're hungry?" Jayce offers, trying to keep the conversation off of the work.

"What's this?" Heimerdinger asks, holding up one of the sheets, and you all hold your breath.

He flips it to show Viktor.

"Oh. That's…the Hexcore."

"I thought you'd already seen it," Jayce offers, with a nervous laugh. "When you - when you saw the rest of it."

You were half asleep and exhausted at the time but you vaguely remember Viktor describing that day, the day Heimerdinger visited.

The memory is foggy but…

"I knew he would not be receptive to both the Hexcore and the scry and you at the same so of course I made use of all your blankets to cover anything up I didn't want him to see."

You wish you'd stayed awake long enough to hear it all. Who knows how much Heimerdinger has seen.

"Come come then, show me how it works," Heimerdinger prompts, curious. "It does work independently of that, yes?" he adds, throwing a look your way.

Shit.

"Of course," Jayce starts. "It's an adaptive - rune matrix. And it's…uh…"

"The next step in hex tech progress, as soon as Viktor can finalise it," Sky embellishes, inching forward from her habitual position in the background.

Heimerdinger looks her up and down like he's just noticed she's here.

"Dear girl, you're covered in dust! In fact you all are. What is that?" 

His eyes drop to where his pet is rolling around in the ashy remains of about a dozen different plants. Underneath the scry.

"What…"

Viktor stumbles suddenly, falling to his knees and clutching his stomach with a restrained groan.

Again all hands reach forward to help. And again you have to sit and wait.

"What's wrong?" 

"I'm not sure," he gasps, curled in on himself. "I don't know. It just - it hurts."

"Miss Young, if you wouldn't mind running downstairs for -"

"I think I should go to the hospital," Viktor admits, still not getting up.

Heimerdinger balks at that, you all do. You're not sure but their reactions seem to confirm it - Viktor has never willingly gone to a doctor if there's a chance he can just wait it out.

You wish you could just speak up, try to help. But what can you do? And there's not much you'd accomplish by talking anyway. And it'd mess things up with Heimerdinger, risk his job, his home.

"Okay, okay - I'll send for - I'll be right back, I'll get us there," Jayce promises, sprinting for the door.

Heimerdinger half follows him, stepping back and forth nervously like he's not sure what to do.

"Is it - how bad is it? Do you think you can - oh my," he panics, when Viktor only responds with another pained groan.

Sky picks up his cane. "Can you walk? Do you need crutches? A…chair?"

She says that last word like it's dirty, like a secret.

Viktor pauses, with his face tucked down so all you can see his hair.

"Yes."

She backs away numbly, then heads for the door.

"Professor, you'll have to come too, you have the only key to the medical equipment office because Kara is on her break right now," she realises aloud.

Heimerdinger dithers back and forth again, torn between wanting to stay and look after Viktor and needing to go get that done.

"I'll be okay," Viktor assures. "But hurry."

"Y - yes, yes of course, don't you worry we'll be right back!"

They speed away, leaving the lab quiet but for Viktor's laboured breathing.

"I'm okay," he murmurs over his shoulder to you, once he's sure they're gone.

"Tell me what's wrong, maybe I can figure out what it is and offer some kind of advice," you immediately insist.

He laughs croakily. "No, I mean - I'm actually okay."

As you watch him stand and go for his cane and the rest of the pages that hadn't been picked up yet, the penny drops for you.

"Resorting to dishonesty again, Viktor, really? All this to get out of a conversation?" you accuse good-naturedly.

"And eating the strawberry slice," he adds with some smugness, pointing to where it got knocked to the floor in the kerfuffle.

You breathe a deep sigh of relief, shaking your head.

"You were worried?" he notes, amused.

"Of course I was. I'm glad you're not actually hurt. Although that first fall looked pretty painful."

Viktor gives a short sniff of laughter. "Actually yes. That did hurt. It gave me the idea though. I can't have Heimerdinger shut me down. Not now, not when we're so close."

"You know they'll be back any second with a wheelchair and an insistence on taking you to the hospital, right?"

"I'll talk my way out of it. Chalk it up to dehydration."

"Is this or is this not the first time you've used your chronic illness to get out of a tight spot?"

He gives you a wry look.

"I've dealt with this pain and illness all my life, may as well get some use out of it. I'll discharge myself from the hospital and we'll be back tonight to keep working, you just relax. Charge up, drink water," he adds, and the sternness in his voice is actually hilarious.

"Take your own advice. But yeah, I will. Are you absolutely sure you're alright? You do look pale."

He pauses, rubbing his eyes. "I'm fine. I may take a nap when I get there - hospital beds in Piltover are surprisingly comfy. Please stop worrying over me."

There's a rattling and fast approaching set of voices in the hall. No time to worry.

"Goodbye," he nods, strangely formal all of a sudden. "Rest up."

"You too, Viktor," is all you can get out before the doors burst open and Heimerdinger scampers in, blustering and blathering.

"Go, go, over here - Viktor - you're up, are you alright? How bad is it???"

Viktor makes a show of holding his stomach again, leaning hard on his cane.

"It's…not so bad now," he offers, tone pained.

He's a good actor. 

"Oh hush, he's putting on a brave face - come on, Viktor, in the chair and we'll take you -"

"No," he denies, too fast. "I mean - I can walk."

Heimerdinger crosses his arms, regarding Viktor with the same stern expression he was giving you a moment ago. Again you wonder about the nature of their relationship. It must have taken a while, to become such a fatherly presence for Viktor.

And it works.

Viktor glares at the chair with no small degree of disgust.

"Just to the doors then."

Sky averts her gaze as he eases himself down into the chair and props up his feet on the stirrups.

"Come come then, let's get a move on. It can wait Viktor," he admonishes, when Viktor reaches for the bag he prepared.

"It's - I need it, my medication."

"Oh, y-yes. Sorry."

Heimerdinger hastily passes the bag.

You catch a little smirk at the corner of Viktor's mouth.

Absolute liar.

You'll have to watch him for that.

They wheel him away and he throws a pained look over his shoulder, like it hurts to be leaving behind everything he cares about, all his work.

Chapter Text

With the oncoming experiment weighing heavy on your shoulders, you find yourself unable to relax. Viktor would be annoyed - he did specifically ask you to rest. But luckily he and his eyebrows are in a hospital right now.

You try cleaning your little cottage up but…every pile of clothes you fold, every stack of books you neaten - it all feels pointless. It's just stuff. Belongings you've collected because you either thought you needed or wanted them.

Dusting them off and sweeping the floor, you almost feel like you're tidying someone else's things. You find yourself questioning every need and want your heart ever reached for before…

Nevermind. Too heavy to think about right now. And you do need to rest.

You find yourself walking out of your cottage full of things you don't care about towards something you do know you care about - Niole, and the patients you look after there.

Mara is out the door and wrapping her arms around you before you even knock. You're the only resident who hesitates on the stoop after all. Everyone else in Niole knows to walk right in without dallying.

“How are the kids?” you ask reflexively as she guides you inside.

“Oh, they're okay. The littler ones don't really understand what's going on - y'know with Narine And everything. But they pick up on stuff, you know children always do,” Mara says, already brewing you tea and cutting you a slice of pie.

“Narine…” you echo gently.

You weren't going to bring it up, but since she already has you may as well find out how she's doing.

Mara’s expression tightens, just barely.

“She's still with us. She's not had any pain yet, but if you could make sure -”

“Of course. She won't suffer. I promise.”

An uneasy silence falls as she slides me the tea and pie and I finally clock it.

“Where are the others? Where's Kav?” I ask. 

Not once have I been in this household and heard it silent. But today it's resoundingly quiet.

Mara's expression flickers once more and then crumples altogether.

“Oh, sweetheart. I wasn't going tell you until - it just happened this morning,” Mara sobs, her red cheeks growing redder with emotion as she loses control.

Your heart thumps hard. You put down the mug slowly and it seems to take forever to hit the table but you really don't want to break it and then you're out of your chair, up the stairs, Mara trailing behind you and pleading incoherently, your hand reaching for the doorknob even as your eyes fill and your vision goes blurry -

Inside is Narine, laid on the master bed. Her chest rises and falls soft and slow. Her cheeks are dusted pink. 

And by her side on a fold out cot…Kav. Still and pale and unsmiling. A book open on his chest, a blanket over half of him.

Around both bed is half the family, on their knees in prayer. Niolians aren't typically given to religion, and especially not the Meila family, but on this occasion it's not hard to understand turning to deities.

“He said he wanted to stay with Narine - he had a feeling, you see. We thought he could sense it was her time,” Mara whispers, squeezing your shoulder gently as she comes up behind you.

Fevra stands and approaches you and from the deadly glare you worry for a moment she's going to lay you out. 

Instead she hands you a folded letter.

“He addressed it to you,” she mutters in a monotone, before pushing past you and storming out.

The house rattles as she slams the door shut behind her. You stare down at the letter and blink rapidly, though the blinking doesn't help with your blurry vision. The tears refill your eyes as quick as you blink them away. Your chest heaves with the effort of breathing, of trying to stay calm. The only way you manage it is by reminding yourself how embarrassing that would be, to break down here in front of everyone.

“Are you alright, love?” Mara asks, still in tears herself.

You can't answer, because if you did then you really would start crying your eyes out.

You numbly step past the kneeling relatives and go to Kav, brushing their hair out of his face and caressing his cheek. He's cold. They haven't moved him since it happened.

You turn to Narine and take her sleeping hand in yours.

One of the others stands and starts to protest before his husband drags him back down.

“Stop. Narine needs the help.”

“A fat lot of good that help did for Kav,” he complains anyway, reluctantly staying back.

“I'm sorry,” you croak, and you hope that'll be enough to sate their curiosities and angers because you know you can't summon any further words.

Your magic gathers with a familiar crackle in your fingers as you perform anae and draw the pain from Narine. There's not much of it. You barely even feel anything as her pain is added to your debt and the spells saps only a tiny fraction of your energy.

An ill omen.

It means she doesn't have much time left.

But everyone knew that already.

No one is surprised when you draw your hand away after only a few seconds. No one protests further when you hide your mouth with your hand and quickly duck out.

Mara follows you to the garden, wrapping her shawl tighter around her chest. The laugh lines all over her face are stiff.

“Kyne lost her baby. Sorry to pile it on, love, I just thought - well. You don't have to worry about stripping any more curses for a while. Just rest. And come by any time,” she adds, with a very faint smile.

“I'm sorry,” you repeat, this time a brief guilt ridden sob tearing out of your chest.

Mara softens and comes close and hugs you to her chest the way only a parent knows how.

“I know, love. We all are. We all wish we could -” she starts to reassure, faltering as she struggles not to join you in tears. “That's life sometimes, isn't it? Magic or no, you were just as helpless as we were. We can let ourselves be low for a minute but then we better get our chins up, hm?”

You sniffle softly and nod. “I know. But…”

You look up at the open window and your chest tightens again.

“They're upset right now but I'm sure they don't blame you. Not really. I think they thought…you'd been treating Kav so long and he'd lasted so many years that maybe he'd be one of the lucky ones. It's not your fault that he wasn't,” Mara adds, squeezing your upper arms softly as she holds you steady. “I'll send Fevra to let you know when the funeral is happening. I know you don't usually attend but…Kav wanted you there. He said so, many times.”

“Thank you,” you whisper weakly, already feeling sick at the thought of standing beside everyone Kav loved and knowing each of them will be blaming you for his end.

Mara cups your cheeks and gently swipes her thumbs under your eyes, clearing away your tears.

 “A million miles away,” she sighs. “You always are. Don't lose sleep over this, love. You can't fix everything.”

Those words echo in your ears on the walk home. 

You've heard them many times. 

You can't fix everything.

But why not try?

You pause on the trail, glancing down. Rosemary. Without thinking you bend and take a plant of it, roots and all. 

Your hands cup around it gently as you carry it home and pot it in soil, watering it generously.

Among everything in your cottage, all the detritus you've gathered around yourself, it feels real.

—

You're awoken to scuffling and quiet cursing.

“Son of a…”

"Language," you sleepily murmur, sliding out of bed with no small degree of regret for the hours of rest you're about to lose.

You peer through the scry and he's there, sneaking like a teenager on his way to a party. Tripping over books, in the middle of the night, to perform illicit scientific activities. Because of course he is.

“I hope you're well rested, because we're going to get this scry working. Tonight,” Viktor declares, in a terse, determined tone.

A quiet beat passes and he clears his throat, losing some of the power in his stance.

“Did you…fall back asleep?”

“No, no, it's just - you gave me chills,” I chuckle back. “You really think we can do this tonight? Bridge the gap?”

His gaze softens into a hopeful crooked smile.

“I do.”

“Jayce and Skye?”

“Asleep, and they think I'm still at the hospital. It's better that they're not here. If this goes wrong…If Heimerdinger catches us…”

He's right. Best keep the risk contained to just you two. As helpful as the others have been, you know the guilt would just eat away at Viktor if anything happened.

You think of Kav, the funeral, the letter -

And quickly push it aside.

“Got it,” you reply softly. “Just the two of us then.”

“Y - Yep,” Viktor nods, clearing his throat slightly.

You pick up your staff and the scrawled sheets of runes you've been working on, feeling the adrenaline of experimentation replace your tiredness.

“Then let's.”

You try to be as silent as possible, pausing and wincing every time a loud clang echoes through the lab in case it attracts unwanted attention. Luckily there's nothing on your side to cause noise besides the odd few crickets outside.

The runes are refined, the hexcore is calibrated, he's had his tea and you’ve had plenty of honey.

You should be able to pull this off.

“What if we fail again?” Viktor murmurs.

You blink in shock. “I'm sorry, are you doubting your own genius? First I've heard of it.”

He smiles softly and sits down, looking up into the swirl of the portal.

“Ehh, ignore me.”

“No, no, no,” you reply, unwilling to let him backpedal. “Come on, eyebrows. You can talk to me.”

He sighs and looks down at the papers on the desk. There's a moment of quiet in which you worry you've overstepped in some way, gotten overly familiar.

“I do have a lot of faith in myself, in my work,” he eventually explains. “That faith is…a heavy burden sometimes. And, heavy or not, there will come a time when I cannot get by on faith anymore. I just hope I can leave something of myself. Help people. Before then. You know?”

“Yes. I know. It must be exhausting.”

“It is.”

The wrinkles at his brow smooth out a little and his shoulders slump as he lets a deep breath go.

“Thank you,” he tacks on. “For not offering me solutions every time I whine. Most start talking about new treatments or special doctors every time I so much as sniffle. You have tended to refrain from forcefully offering your help. Mostly. I appreciate that.”

He smiles up at you gratefully and your chest physically aches that he's thanking you for something so basic.

“It's not what you need to hear. As much as you love logic it's not the answer to everything. And you weren't ‘whining’. Sometimes you just need to be heard,” you murmur back, fidgeting with the wooden grooves of the staff in your hands. “And - I know some people get weirded out by magic. I try to stop offering to heal people after they say no.”

“It is not the magic I protest to, you know that - it’s the mechanics of it. I won't have you shoulder more pain on my account, it's - agh. We shouldn't get into it right now. In any case, thank you. For…hearing me,” Viktor chuckles. .

There's another quiet moment, both of you staring roughly at the same spot. You'd almost think he was seeing your eyes.

“We should…” he adds, standing and clearing his throat again.

“Right, we should -”

“Yes, yes.”

“Okay. I'm ready if you are.”

He takes a second, looking around at the lab as if for the last time. He looks so incredibly tired.

“Yes. Let's do it. I can't wait to see you.”

“Wh - what?” you reply, the stack of runes you'd started reading slipping from your hand, scattering all over the floor.

“Hm?” Viktor hums, eyes widening when he remembers what he said. “Oh, I…well. I can't wait - for the spell to work. So we can - uh -”

“Create instant portal travel for the good of all,” you fill in.

“Yes, yes, exactly,” he nods quickly. “Do you have the runes ready?”

“I dropped them,” you mutter as you kneel and gather the papers.

“Why?” 

“Just - I'm ready, you're ready. Let's do this,” you reply hastily, scrambling to your feet and picking up your staff again.

He runs a hand through his hair and lets out another nervous puff of breath. “Right.”

“You should get back. Last time was kind of a mess. Actually I regret putting all my stuff back all neat now,” I chuckle.

“I'll move when I need to,” Viktor nods. “I'll work the hexcore, you work your magic. After three.”

After he counts your lips start moving on autopilot, your mouth knowing the words of magic you need without you consciously needing to recall them. Your staff shakes in your hands with the sheer amount of energy being drawn into it. The runes around the portal glow brightly and as Viktor turns the winch for the hexcore, arcane light blooms. 

Everything is lit in blue and white, you can barely see for how bright it is.

Just like last time your belongings start to fly all over the place, a vicious wind picking anything and everything up and churning it between your place and his.

“Viktor, down!” you yell.

He either can't hear you over the din or he's unwilling to listen. He stays where he is, churning the winch faster and faster as the spell crescendos.

The spell takes off before you can scold him. Black lights crackles and explodes from your staff.

The blast is even stronger than the first time and you're knocked on your ass again. You blink away the grogginess and struggle your feet quickly.

Viktor sways on his feet. “It didn't work. I can't see you,” he says quietly, weakly. “I don't know what I did wrong, if it's the rune or - or maybe it's just not meant to be.”

“Viktor, sit down. This has been a lot, you -”

“I failed,” he sighs, leaning over his desk on both hands. “Again! Again.”

He picks up a book and throws it as hard as he can at the portal.

You yelp as the book flies straight through and smacks right into your face, the sharp corner of the spine narrowly missing your eye.

Viktor flinches at the sound. “Did that…?”

“It came through,” you marvel, clutching your face. “Without the hexcore, without levitating it. It came right through.”

“I am so sorry,” Viktor laments, brows pinched with guilt. “Are you okay?”

“Viktor, it came through. It didn't disintegrate,” you spell out.

Viktor looks up into the portal as that sinks in.

“So…”

At the same time, in the same fit of idiotic hope, you both delve your hands into the portal.

It's…

“Cold,” Viktor notes, frowning. “Am I…Is my arm over there?”

“No,” you murmur, feeling around with your own hand. “It's strange. It's like putting your hand out the window in the dead of winter night. So cold.”

“Yours isn't here either.”

You both frown and must be wondering at the same time - if you’ve both stupidly put your hands in, then why aren't they touching?

“Did you go for the centre?”

“Yes, you?”

“Yeah.”

There's nothing. It feels like night coldness but not like air. There's no breeze, nothing to touch. You both lean in deeper, your arms disappearing up to the shoulder in the iridescent portal.

And then you feel it, feel him. Viktor’s hand, soft and warm in the cold.

“Viktor?” you murmur. “That you? If that's not your hand I'm going to scream so loud.”

“It's me,” he chuckles tiredly. 

His hand holds yours, strong and sure. 

You're both quiet for a moment.

“Don't even think about it,” he warns, his tone light and amused.

“I'm not!” you quickly reply, which is only half a lie.

You are thinking about it. His hand is in yours. It would be only so easy to perform anae quickly. If he tried to pull away you could hold onto him tighter - in his state you're easily stronger - and you could say it was instinct - and -

No. It wouldn't be right.

“Okay maybe I'm thinking about it. Just a little,” you grumble. 

“Well stop it,” Viktor chuckles. “I'm holding your hand for science, not so you to heal me.”

“For science,” you echo with a grin.

His face is alive with excitement and you can practically hear the gears turning.

“I can feel it though,” you add, unable to restrain yourself. “Your illness. Your pain. It’s…a lot that you’re carrying. If you’d just let me take it - or half, or a quarter -”

“No,” he interrupts, in that firm scolding tone, like an owner catching their dog chewing something they shouldn’t.

And, “Fine, fine,” you relent, almost sulkily. 

It’s more than a lot. The pain he’s carrying should have him debilitated. He should be writhing in bed inconsolably, on high strength meds. Instead he’s here with you, holding your hand, for science. He must have been carrying this chronic pain for a long time to be so used to carrying it without flinching, without complaint.

“This is really weird,” he murmurs.

“It is? I can stop.”

He chuckles. “I mean it's weird that we are able to make contact like this over such a long distance.”

“It's hardly the first time.”

“But physically. It…feels more real now. Also I can't say for certain but I'm pretty sure your toothbrush landed in Jayce’s cold tea.”

You laugh together breathlessly and slowly let go of one another. It's too cold inside the portal to hold on any longer.

“We did it. Sort of.”

“Yay.”

_____

You rest together, both musing in the quiet as you both clean things up.

With the portal now physically open both ways, some of his stuff is strewn in amongst the mess on your side.

“Are you missing a diary?” you ask, picking up a leatherbound book, sealed shut with a strap.

“Yes,” he answers, dropping the clothes he was picking up and approaching the portal. “Pass it through?”

“Is it that important? Are you sure you wanna risk it?”

“Yes. Please,” he adds, sticking his arm into the void expectantly.

You think about teasing him for a moment or maybe even sneaking a peek but he looks pretty urgent about it so quickly push the childish urges aside and decide to give it back.

You mirror him, handing the diary through. You hold it out until you find his warm hand searching for yours and he takes it back.

He looks relieved and slips the diary into a drawer.

“You got a bunch of poems in there or something?” you chuckle, happy to joke around now that he's got it back.

Viktor lets out a little huff. “Hardly a bunch.”

What an interesting qualifier.

You're about to prod for more details when he holds up the plushie you lost the first time you tried this spell.

“Would you like your Lucky back? He's good company,” Viktor says, moving closer to the portal.

“Nah, you hold onto him for now. You need all the warmth you can get over there.”

He smiles and tucks the plush dog back into his bedding pile.

You keep going, gradually tidying up and handing back all the stuff that got mixed between you. Books, blankets, the odd scarf or scientific device.

“Is this…These are yours,” Viktor chuckles, looking away politely as he holds up…oh gods.

He holds the small bundle of cloth out into the portal and you accept it, face burning.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“So how do you think it works? The in-betweeny bit between each side of the window?” you quickly ask, eager to distract him.

“Well I was assuming it would be more like an actual window but it appears to work more like a tunnel. I'm tempted to stick my head in and look around but…even I'm not willing to go that far for science. Yet. I'm not sure what's inside. Perhaps no oxygen, no light. It's certainly cold in there - akin to outer space,” Viktor immediately rambles, neglecting the pile of books at his feet to stare into the swirling portal, pondering. “The hexcore, and this connection you've helped form with it to my lab…it may be bigger than I initially thought.”

"I did put out a sort of magical feeler, see if I could sense anything. It's almost like there's…more."

"More?"

"Inside. Like…it's like there's more…area, a place, inside. More of it. Like a room hidden behind a bookshelf, or a face behind a mask. I can't make out what it is. It's different. Cold. It's not just a straight shot tunnel from me to you. It feels vast.”

Viktor looks intrigued to the point of delight.

“Did you sense…life? Any presence? Other portals?”

“No,” you answer, amused by his eagerness. “Just cold. Do you…think it'll be enough?”

He’s quiet for a moment, looking down at one of the earlier equations he drew.

“To convince Heimerdinger not to shut us down? Potentially. If I frame it correctly. And perhaps beg,” he adds, optimistic but with a note of gloom.

Us.

He sighs heavily, planting his hands on his lower back as the fatigue appears to hit him.

“You should -”

“Have some tea and go to bed, I know, I know,” he groans. “I will. But I have explaining to do. The others still think I'm at the hospital. Tomorrow I'll…mm. More work.”

It seems to be all he ever gets to do, work.

You both settle down for what little remains of the night, the scent of that pain relieving tea drifting between you.

“So,” he murmurs, covers drawn to his chin. “Have you made a decision? It seems we aren't far from you being able to come here, if you should like.”

You sigh at your ceiling. “I don't know for sure.”

The quiet deepens and without even looking at him, the annoyance radiating off him amuses you.

“I know you don't like not knowing. You want answers, quantifiable data. I don't have it yet.”

He huffs quietly but fails to find a good retort.

“I do want to,” you continue quietly. “It's just…now that we know my magic is the key to removing the Meilas family curse from each new baby…”

“You feel beholden,” he surmises. “A difficult position to be in, certainly. But isn't that feeling exactly what you went there to escape?”

“Yeah.”

You chew your lip as you turn the problem over in your mind, trying to see it from all angles and figure out what to do with it. 

“Ráno moudřejší večera,” he murnurs after a moment, the words sounding somehow harsh and lyrical at the same time.

“That's beautiful but I have no clue what it means,” you reply, grinning at your ceiling.

“Something my babi used to say,” he mumbles, his words slipping together as fatigue takes him. “Basically…sleep on this. The morning is wiser than the evening so don't fret on it now, hm?”

“Fair enough. Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Mmm..”

You glance at Kav’s folded letter tucked into your jacket pocket across the room and feel that pang again. The wash of coldness aching to the bone as you remember a dear friend is gone, and will never return. 

Your eyes prick with tears you don't allow to fall. The bed squeaks softly as you turn on your side, able to look over and see through the window to Viktor. 

He's right, you probably should sleep on it. But looking at him and imagining him still and pale and unsmiling, dead, just like Kav, is…unacceptable. You have to go to Piltover. You have to find a way to save him. You have to.

Chapter Text

“ - hear me? Hello? Are you there?”

It's Viktor’s voice; you'd know it anywhere. But, before your half asleep brain can even register the words he's saying, a handful of books come flying through, landing on your bed with soft thumps.

“Woah, hey - what are you doing?” you chuckle sleepily, sitting up.

He looks concerned, upset even. The brows are in full force today, pinched together above a paler than usual worry struck face. When he hears you, he sighs in relief and mutters something darkly in another language.

“You were… Are you okay?” he asks, sitting back down at his desk. 

“Yeah, I'm fine. I was sleeping. What's going on? Why the books?” you ask, stretching comfortably.

You pick up the books and stack them. Mathematical journals, way beyond your levels of understanding.

He shakes his head. “It's…it's fine. Would you pass them back through?”

The void between each end of the scry is just as cold as last time when you stick your arm in, handing the books back. 

“Did you think I was gone or something?”

“No, no, it's…ehh, really. Nevermind. What…what do you have planned today?” he tacks on, concern lingering at the edge of his features.

“Probably just recharging. And I might head into town to check on Narine.”

“How are they? The Meilas,” he prods.

Always so perceptive. You can see in his face that he knows you're withholding something.

You glance at Kav's letter and feel a rising sick feeling.

“...Yeah. They aren't happy with me right now, I - I let them down again. Kav died,” you get out, the words sapping the moisture from your mouth and shrinking your voice to a croak.

Viktor's expression softens with understanding, his thumb absently tracing the corner of one of the books.

“That's not your fault. From what you've told me, the illness is hereditary and incurable. You never promised more than to remove their pain, at your own expense. I'm…so sorry that you lost your friend.”

“Thank you,” you manage, stiff with pent up emotion. “I just…I don't know. You should've seen their faces. I've seen that look before.”

Accusatory. Telling you in no uncertain terms that it's your fault, you didn't try hard enough, and that the blood is on your hands. It's hard not to agree.

“I don't like the way they treat you,” Viktor says suddenly, fingers drumming quickly on his desk.

A tense beat passes. He's made no secret of his dislike for anae. He can't believe someone could let you carry their pain for them, let alone a whole family expecting it for not just a small headache or cut, but a potentially limitless chronic illness. 

“I'm sorry,” he adds quickly. “I don't mean to…go on about it again. I just…don't like thinking of you hurting so much. Kav. Did you get to say goodbye?”

“No,” you answer softly. “He did leave a letter but…”

“You're not ready?” he infers gently.

“...No.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It may take time. Be generous giving yourself it. If you would like some time alone, I -”

“No,” a third time. “Please, I…it's not what I…I do need to head into town for the funeral. But then I want to keep working. I think I need this right now.”

Viktor nods again and gets up, wheeling one of the smaller chalkboards closer.

“Very well. Eat a breakfast. Go to the funeral. Tend to anything you need to. And then, later…we can try to figure out these runes again. And….”

“Mm?” 

You wipe what little tears managed to gather in your eyes and shake off the grief and guilt for the moment. Viktor hesitates, before shaking his head.

“...Nevermind.”

—--

The funeral is morose. It's what you'd expect anywhere else in the world. But in Niole, where people will literally run from the next street over to excuse you after a sneeze, it's a little surprising. The cold blade of grief stabs just as sharply, no matter where it aims its steel.

It's not possible for everyone to come, as much as they'd like to. Funerals in Niole are immediate family only, with a street party style wake afterwards that everyone is welcome to. It's a high honour to be invited when you aren't directly related.

That doesn't soften the tension you feel as you arrive late to the ceremony though. Faces accusatory and suspicious in equal measure watch you as you descend the aisle towards the casket. It hasn't been long but decomposition has already stolen much of your friend from you. Kav’s eyes are already sunken. His smile unstitched from the corners of his mouth. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes have softened, stripping away years he spent laughing and grinning. 

You tear your eyes away, unenthused for this pallid echo to be the way you remember him, and place a sprig of rosemary on his chest beside the other plants and flowers given. Your eyes dart to his for the last time, as if hoping he may open them, before you turn away and duck towards your seat beside Mara. She takes your hand immediately, a mother welcoming a stray under her warmth without hesitation. 

“There'll be a hymn, but you don't have to sing along if you don't know the words,” she whispers softly. 

“Thanks.”

Fevra is on the other side of her. Face white with barely checked anger, eyes fixed straight ahead on the legs of Kav’s casket.

You recognise a lot of faces but try not to peer around too much. Even the extended Meila family are here today.

The priestess takes her place at the front. She's masked and veiled in silks and tulles. It's rare to see her, and even rarer to be permitted in her presence as an outsider. All this time and the friendliest people you've ever met have tactfully kept you separate from their religion and its practices. Even Kav never told you much about it, calling it ‘old fashioned waffle’. 

She begins a lilting song that rises and falls with ease, her voice gracefully even. The others sing along, their own voices tremulous with upset. It feels old, like it precedes you in a way you can't quite comprehend.

When it stops you almost expect applause, only for the hall to fall back into the same blue silence.

“Another tragedy. Another loss. Undeserved. Unfair. Unforgivable,” she adds, as her gaze briefly falls on you. “I have consulted the stars many times for answers. For some sign, some message from the gods. Something we must do to right this. Something we must give to earn reprieve. I cannot find it. When I plum for answers in myself, the stars, the sky, there is only emptiness.”

There's softly murmured agreement around the room. You feel more out of place than ever. If it wouldn't call attention to you even more, you'd consider combat crawling up the aisle and out the door to escape the unspoken feeling of accusation.

Viktor's words replay softly in your ears. It wasn't your fault.

It balms the anxiety. For a moment.

“And so we must look elsewhere for answers,” the priestess goes on, her gaze again lingering on you. “We -”

The doors open, one of the eldest Meila brothers standing pale and breathless.

“Mara - “ he cries, stumbling forward, unable to get far before his knees buckle.

Both sides of the aisle reach to help him up, Mara being guided through to see what's wrong. She kneels and holds his hands, trying to calm him to the point of speech.

You watch, feeling helpless. Always so helpless. You may as well be on the other side of the world.

A glance over your shoulder shows the priestess hasn't taken her eyes off of you.

It makes you uneasy. Uneasy like how in a town known for gregarious and welcoming people, you've never been permitted to so much as hear details about the religion, let alone attend any kind of ceremonies.

Your focus is pulled back to Mara and her brother as she manages to coax one word out of him.

“....Narine -”

The hall erupts.

—

Sky moves forward to take Viktor’s arm and help him back to his seat. 

“You didn't have to stand up for me with Heimerdinger…I'll be okay,” she murmurs, standing beside him when he sits. “It's you I'm worried about.”

Viktor waves her off, eyes falling on the Hexcore.

“You've waited more than long enough for a real position around here. I won't let him fire you. Or shut it down. Not when we're so close…” he adds, gaze drifting up to the window distantly.

A beat passes as Sky chews her lip, following his gaze.

“Our friend is busy today, I take it,” she murmurs.

“Yes,” Viktor nods, expression softening as he thinks of the funeral. “Lucky for us. I highly doubt they would've stayed quiet back there. Heimerdinger not knowing about our witch is pretty much the only ace we have up our sleeves. Beyond shutting me down, I think he may actually take a hammer to the Hexcore if he knew.”

“Perhaps…” Sky begins, hesitating. “Perhaps he has a point.”

Viktor's gaze snaps to her, eyes widening in surprise.

“Not - not about disliking the work,” Sky quickly clarifies. “It's just…he's our elder. He has experience with these things, he's seen a lot in his time. Maybe he knows something we don't and is just being stubborn about telling you.”

Viktor snorts softly and pours himself a cup of tea. The scent soothes his nerves the second the vapours hit his nose, the taste even more so.

“Stubborn is the correct word. I fear Heimerdinger’s long held position has caused his ego to cloud his decisions. I mentioned witches in passing not long ago and his reaction was…intense.”

Sky wishes to talk longer, talk deeper. Instead she brings his notebook and pen to him and leaves the words she wants to say sitting in the warmth behind her ribs.

“Heimerdinger said I should go home for the day. I'll…see you when I can,” she murmurs as she heads for the door.

Viktor feels a little blood trickle from his nose and turns to the Hexcore, eager to avoid her seeing it. She'd only worry and hover and worry some more. It will pass.

“Y - yes. Thank you, Miss Young.”

The door closes and he sighs heavily. His fingers come away from his nose bloodied and sticky. Another reason the witch’s absence is for the best today - always so worried.

Viktor sits in front of the Hexcore, vision swimming as he stares at it darkly. The light of it seems to deepen the bags under his eyes. All he can feel is the crushing weight of his dreams, seemingly weighing him down like rocks dragging him into deep water.

The blood at his nose doesn't stop like usual. Instead it continues to drip slowly, like syrup. His hand feels heavy, like even lifting it to wipe his nose would be an effort. Even holding his head up feels harder and harder.

He slowly starts to slump over his desk, a vignette casting darkness over his gaze.

—

The walk back to your home is tense. You keep glancing over your shoulder, unable to see far enough to spot the gathering crowd of people around the Meilas’ house, but with enough sense to feel the bubbling rage growing there. 

Narine is gone.

And right after you told them she had a little more time. 

Even Mara couldn't properly look you in the eye as she hurried you to the edge of town and told you you'd best head home. The guilt feels like heavy packed dirt in your chest, like you're the one being buried today.

At least you got to say bye to Kav. Sort of. Even if he didn't look like you remembered him in the coffin.

The second you get home you lean heavily against the door, eyes shut as you try to find relief from the guilt. In the search for a better state of mind, you find yourself needing Viktor's advice.

You head through to the scry and gaze through, trying to see if he's in his lab. At first it looks as though no one is in there, but you soon realise he's at the desk, just laying down, barely out of sight.

“Viktor,” you say, your voice coming out shaky and unsure.

He doesn't stir.

Something feels…off. The light of the Hexcore bounces off his pale skin in a more erratic way than usual. You can hear it pulsing, clicking softly as it rearranges itself over and over.

“Hey, eyebrows,” you try again, more urgently. “Viktor, is everything okay?”

He stirs, just barely, and raises his head. His eyes are blank and unseeing, mostly closed. He lolls backwards and falls out of his chair, collapsing to the floor.

“Viktor!” 

You reach your arm into the cold dead space between your end of the window and his but you can't reach to his side, let alone reach him.

Experiments be damned, there's no choice - you have to get to him now. You curse under your breath and turn to reach for your staff, which…isn't where you left it. 

The uncomfortable panic growing in your chest tightens, but before you can mutter a spell to summon it, you feel something hard slam into the back of your head, and the light of the scry fades as your gaze darkens to nothing.

—

When you open your eyes, you're immediately aware of a numbness from the elbow onward. Your hands are tied behind you at the wrist, and you can barely wiggle a pinkie.

It feels…cold. Like you're standing out in the snow. But from the way the air feels musty you can tell you're inside. Your eyes open and the dim light of a few candles on the floor provide little idea of your environment. Smooth, sloped walls give way to uneven ground. It's almost like a cave, but the walls are carved neatly with thousands of symbols you don't recognise. The ceiling is littered with wind chimes and glass candles held up by string. 

You try to get up but it's not just your hands that are tied - there's rope at your waist, binding you to a chair. Easy enough to get out of with the right spell if you -

“Do not think of using your heathen magic in this place,” comes the lilting voice of the priestess.

You've barely seen her, let alone spoken to her, and yet her strange accent is immediately recognisable. It's hard to see with your vision fuzzy and your head still ringing from the attack, but you'd guess she's behind you.

“You’ve already desecrated this town enough. The temple of Odyreu must not be tainted as well.”

“Then it seems counterintuitive to have brought me here,” you reply, voice weak.

Her voice seems to warp through the space, in and around the bends and curves of the strange walls like she's just an echo.

“Perhaps. And yet there's something I need from you.”

Your chest tightens as a sudden rush of cold air flurries past your ear, sounding almost like a hiss, before she appears before you, silks billowing. Her brow is pinched tight with distaste, eyes mad and underlined darkly.

“Narine was beloved by more than just the Meila family. She was a treasure to all of Niole. You assigned yourself the role of protector, and you…failed.”

Clutched in her hand is your staff, and some of your notes from -

Viktor.

It's difficult to think through the fog of the likely concussion and the priestess’s words but the moment you remember Viktor needs your help, everything seems to sharpen into focus like you've been doused with ice water.

“What do you want?” you demand, pulling at the ropes to see if there's any weak spots. “Someone's hurt, I have to help him -”

“You cannot help anyone, that much is clear,” she sneers sharply. “You have been granted power, beyond what you deserve. And you've squandered it.”

It should be simple to just use magic to escape. But with your head ringing, your hands bound, and this creepy temple pressing in on you it feels difficult to even reach for your magic.

“That's mine,” you point out petulantly, as she sets your staff down on the altar.

“Not anymore,” she shrugs, turning her back on you. “I'm sorry to have to do this. It isn't technically killing but still, it is violent enough that it brings me sorrow. This is unnatural for one of Niole. And yet, I have no choice but to dissolve you, to merge your magic with mine.”

You fix the back of her head with an irritated glare. Viktor could be dying right now. That blood from his nose… He needs you. 

“That’s not going to work. Magic isn't like mixing paints; you can't just put whatever together and expect it to work. Witchhood is not a token that can be transferred to someone else, it's what I am, down to the bones,” you explain in quick desperate words, hoping logic can maybe help her understand.

Those hopes crumble as you watch her drag out a large iron cauldron.

“Funny you should say that. Down to the bones…that's exactly what I'm going to reduce you to.”

There's no amount of logic to fix the crazy in her eyes.

You start to whisper a spell, the words forming quickly -

-but not quickly enough as she whirls in an instant, jamming a short branch between your teeth like the bit gag of a horse.

“Blasphemy,” she snarls, performing a religious gesture you don't recognise. “The sooner we are rid of you, the better. Why they ever allowed you over the threshold, I'll never know.”

All you can do is roll your eyes and give a muffled, sarcastic retort.

“They won't hate me for this. Our people are so full of forgiveness; they will see this for what it is. An appeal to God, to trade the life of a vile witch for the end of the Meilas curse. They will celebrate me,” she goes on dreamily.

She finishes dragging the cauldron into the centre of the room, over a dark pit that she throws a match into. She strikes a match and fire blossoms beneath the cast iron, casting a sickly glow over the smooth walls.

Her rambles go on and on and on as she spends forever filling the cauldron with water, herbs, and flowers. The fantasies she's preoccupied with seem to be based on the idea that Niole is a heavily religious place. But you've barely heard mention of it other than in passing. The Meilas certainly aren't zealots. Your confusion mounts as she starts to chant again. At the funeral, you'd thought it odd. But who were you to judge? Now, moments away from being turned into soup, you start to question the strange language.

There are words of the old gods. And the new. And a few from a language you're sure originates far to the east. She uses a few words you're sure are known to trolls, and a phrase you're certain is slang from one of the north western countries. She even throws in a rhyme that comes from a children's story about celestials. There are more you don't recognise. The languages, dialects and accents she chants in seem to blend into one another, forming one homogenous script that somehow sounds right in her sonorous, uncanny voice.

This is…wrong. Off. Why ramble on about her precious Odyreu and then speak a hundred tongues at once??

Sweat beads at your forehead and trickles uncomfortably to the neck of your clothes. The strange concave spaces, the heat of the fire, the steam as the water heats - it's like being trapped in a sweat lodge, with all sense of time slipping away. You're not even sure how long you were unconscious, how long since you were dragged away from your home into this religious crackpot crockpot nightmare.

And your thoughts keep coming back to Viktor, unhelpfully.

With her distracted, all you can do is watch her every creepy move and try to wiggle a finger free of the bindings. Your skin crawls as you watch her add wood to the fire, her impatience showing as she waits for the water to boil with a tapping foot.

Charming. She's waiting for it to be hot before she throws you in.

Have you ever felt this before? Desperate envy for the gentle end of a frog not feeling itself boil.

—

“I'll be…I'll - I'll come right back, Viktor. I won't be long, okay?” Jayce asks, squeezing his hand. “You'll be okay while I'm at the cafeteria, right?”

Viktor pulls his own hand free, turning away slightly, as much as the rickety hospital bed allows.

“It is fine, Jayce. You didn't know.”

Jayce’s expression crumples into shame again anyway, his hands fidgeting uncomfortably with the hem of his shirt.

Another uncomfortable silence swells as Jayce tries to swallow the guilt. Not only did he not know his dearest friend’s illness was worsening, but he wasn't there to help him when it took its toll. And on top of that, he wasn't just ‘busy’, he was with Mel. All night.

Thankfully, he's been in the hospital for a few hours now.

“I should've been there,” he repeats morosely.

“This is why my work is important. Why I cannot stop. Why I want…” Viktor trails off for a moment, coughing into his fist. “Why I need our witch friend to make it here.”

“So. It's happening?” Jayce asks softly, hopefully, perhaps glad for the slight change in topic. "You're…?”

Viktor stares at him. “Going to work together? Yes? I know it will be dangerous, a witch in piltover. But we've discussed various disguise and cover story options - what, Jayce?? What is this face you make?”

Jayce balks, looking down at the corner of the hospital blanket.

“N - nothing, I just thought you were going to say you were....”

He lets a beat pass before following up, unable to stop himself.

“...Going to live together?”

“Considering they do not have anywhere to stay in Piltover…yes,” Viktor replies stiffly. “I cleared out my spare room last week, I just…I'm waiting for confirmation. I don't want to pressure them or be…too overzealous. Plus that will make working together easier - what? Again, this face of yours?”

“Nothing, nothing, I was just curious,” Jayce replies, staring off as he seems to work something out behind his eyes. “They seem to care for you. A lot.”

“Oh don't start on about that,” Viktor huffs softly, turning a hard gaze to the ceiling.

Jayce raises his brows. “You…already know?”

“Of course I know. They must have mentioned it to you while my back was turned. I am not allowing them to use their anae spell on my damned illness, Jayce. It would be highly unethical, letting someone I've come to - someone I - well, you know. My friend. A friend. I'm not going to let my pain pass to someone else. It's barbaric, not to mention…”

Jayce listens patiently as Viktor embarks on a spiel about something he wasn't even talking about, still working things out in his head. In the end, he decides to just let Viktor keep on down the path of misunderstanding, figuring it's not his place. He's already let Viktor down once today, he's not about to put his foot in it now.

“....Ham or chicken sandwich?” Jayce eventually manages, resorting to caregiving as an additional means of apology.

“Chicken.”

The moment he leaves, Viktor sighs faintly. 

The hospital. Again. There's nowhere he'd rather be right now than in front of his chalkboard pitching a new equation for the scry. Hearing a voice from a world away, the voice of his dear friend.

“Has to be done, I’m afraid, Jayce..”

He lasts only a moment more before sliding out of bed with a quiet grumble and the resolve to sneak out and head back to the lab.

—

Staffs, wands, words. They channel the magic that already exists within you and every other living thing; they direct it, shape it into something precise and functional. Of it you can form a shield. A fierce poison. It can be a scalpel. It's the only way mortals can hope to wield magic without being torn apart by the torrent.

Viktor is unconscious at his desk, or worse for all you know. It's possible someone found him by now - who knows how long you were unconscious. But it's also possible he's still there, bleeding out, succumbing to an illness that you could’ve fixed by now if he’d just let you.

So really there's no choice at all. It's been made for you.

The priestess is distracted, chanting over the simmering water as it draws closer to a boil. The chants seem to pound in your temple. She’s still holding your staff. You have your own chant. Viktor, Viktor, Viktor. His name is playing on a loop in your head. 

You wait till she tosses a furtive glance your way to make sure you’re still restrained, till she turns back to the pot and keeps chanting. 

No staff, no hands, no words. No choice.

You tuck the thought of Viktor into the very back of your head and try to think through the steam, the fog, the pain in your head where she hit you. Safe behind your thoughts so you can focus on the stupid idiot buffoon risk you’re about to take.

The stick she stuffed into your mouth as a makeshift gag creaks under the pressure as you grind your teeth down on it hard to hold it in place. There’s no speaking it aloud right now, and so you close your eyes and imagine what you want. It’s tempting to do something drastic. To want to explode her head or throw her against the wall or blow that damn fire out. But anything too intense could backfire spectacularly.

So you start small. The runes swirl in thought behind your eyes, the ones you’d write if you could. Whispers in your head recount the words you’d speak if you could. You craft in your mind’s eye a tiny beam of heat, no wider than a little finger, no harsher than sunlight. Your hands tremble with the effort of maintaining control. One wrong move and your tiny beam could warp into a volcanic blaze destroying everything within ten feet.

It’s something children do, when they’re exploring the basics of physics. Viktor probably learned it as a toddler knowing him. Refracting light through glass. For you, the small glass jars holding the candles on the ceiling are just barely convex enough and will have to do. The beam shines through the glass as you direct it, and absorbs the heat as it does. The glass concentrates the beam, which you aim behind your back where your wrists are tied. 

The strength of the beam is difficult to gauge and temper; it wobbles when your focus does. Burns the skin of your hands as you blindly aim for the ropes restraining you. Pain tightens the features of your face as you try not to give away any sign you’re trying something. She’s oblivious, still screeching her unnerving mixture of languages over the water. The boil is starting to roll, you don’t have much time.

Sweat soaks the back of your neck as you work, finally lining the beam up with the ropes. It takes everything you have to keep focus, to stop the beam from growing in strength. More than ever you wish for the familiar stability of your staff between your hands. The ropes start to loosen - 

“Your eleventh hour draws near, witch,” the priestess declares. Your eyes snap open, concentration wavering. “Any final words?”

Just a little more…

“Answer me,” she snaps impatiently, peering suspiciously at your glazed over expression. “What are you doing? I must -”

The beam finally burns through the knot and the ropes tying you to the chair slip free, allowing you free. Her face twists with horror as she backs away, clutching at the staff uncertainly. You manage to rip off the gag but there’s no time because she’s already raising the staff and pointing it right at you. She jabs it forward impotently as if it’s a spear, clearly expecting you to whisper some magic words and knock her on her ass. But…like you told Jayce, your magic is not combative like that.

“Stop,” you say instead, keeping distance to avoid startling her. “I know what you are. You can’t stay here.”

She cocks her head, as if surprised. 

“Excuse me? I am the Priestess of -”

“Of nothing,” you snap harshly. “I heard your chants. You’re a polypist.”

Her face whitens with mortification and ire as the word seems washes over her.

“How dare you? I - I’ve - this is a temple to Odyreu,” she insists in a desperate hiss.

“No it’s not. I’ve never even heard of an Odyreu. You have symbols and practices and chants and beliefs from dozens of different religions. And you’re making it the problem of a town who’ve done nothing but shelter strangers like us.”

That caught her even more off guard.

“Your accent. You’re not from here either. Are you?” you probe, genuinely curious. “But you were here when I arrived. What’s going on? Since when are my friends a part of your religion? It’s time you admit the truth.”

The priestess tightens her grip on your staff. You can’t lunge at her. A) she’d probably overpower you and b) if she fires the staff by mistake it could wipe out half the town.

“Fine,” she snaps, voice warping from the soft lilting cadence to a rough hissing. “My sister was really a priestess here. Ever the faithful. I took her place and gradually drew the town to the light, to the correct way to believe. My way. I’ve sampled every scripture, served every saint, tended every temple. I can unite them, all of them. Imagine it..”

“By force,” you infer, disgusted. “You can’t do that. Niole has people that are swayed to you because they’re kindly and happy to listen. But other towns and cities won’t be so easily conquered. What…what are you? What did you do to your sister??”

She steps carefully around the room and you follow suit, trying to keep at least seven feet between you. Keeping her talking is at least giving you more time to try and think of a plan.

“I took her place. Her voice. Her skin. Boiled her up and consumed her,” she gloats, voice thick with glee. “Became her. She wasn’t as simple as your average priest or worshipper…she was like you. And she didn’t go easy, tried to curse me. Luckily I dodged it, passed it to someone else.”

Curse.

You freeze in place, mouth drying as you realise with a sense of horror what she’s saying.

“The curse on the Meila bloodline…is your doing? It was for you? You’ve stood by and let them - watched them suffer - watched them die. Watched babies, entire branches of their family die?” you ask numbly, appalled.

The priestess - the polypist, the vile creature - laughs. 

“Yes. Yes, of course I did. And provided each of them a place to pray for it to end. Unity,” she adds, as if it makes sense. 

A threat claws up your throat and bursts out before you can stop yourself.

“I’m going to tell them everything. And then you’ll have no followers for your freakshow slop of a religion.”

Her eyes narrow, skin bubbling like there’s something horrid inside her trying to get out. She smirks stubbornly and raises your staff, aiming it right at you.

Frantic words are lost on her as you try to warn her about the dangers of wielding magic unpracticed. Your hands raise placatingly - and pointlessly - as your staff, your precious, well-oiled, well looked after staff, which you’ve had since you were very small…explodes. The end of it shatters in a hailstorm of wood splinter stakes and bright blue light. You see her face whiten under the beam of light for a brief second, her eyes whiter than bone, before she’s engulfed by it.

The force of it knocks you back against the wall and you hit your head - again. Luckily this time you just about manage to grip onto your consciousness, vision ringing and flickering. You push up from hands that almost buckle and stagger to your feet. The gag falls away, freeing your mouth. With some surprise you notice it’s snapped clean in two - you must have bitten through it when the blast happened.

Most of the candles have blown out, thin streaks of warm smoke filling the strangely shaped cavernous rooms. The few that remain bathe the priestess in dim light. What’s left of her at least. She’s not moving. Not breathing. Her flesh is burned beyond even magical repair. It doesn’t take a witch to know that. It’s too gory to look at directly, and you’re sure you’ll pass out altogether if you do. So you stoop and pick up what’s left of your staff, a few blackened sticks and chunks, and flee.

The sound of the wood cracking is faint and echoey, your ears still recovering, still hearing the blast happen over and over. Your feet take you in the direction that your nose can smell night air. Night? Already? Narine’s funeral was…

Viktor. The thought untucks itself from the back of your mind and swims to the front, reigniting urgency within you. 

Heat licks at your back and you realise a stray candle must have set light to those strange walls, another thing to spur you on.

Finally the walls give way to an opening, where you stagger out onto cold grass, dew dampening the knees of your pants. Coughs tear out of your throat - must have inhaled more smoke and steam and craziness than you’d thought.

“- is she?? Hello? Where is the priestess??” comes a demanding voice. 

It’s hard to raise your head but you do it anyway, finding standing over you one of the Meila uncles, as well as a dozen other Niole residents. Most stare at you, on the ground, remains of your staff in hand, some staring behind you at the priestess’ shrine, which is now ablaze beyond repair, smoke already billowing high into the pale clouds above.

“She - she - “

You barely get the words out before the crowd, descend on the shrine, desperately calling for water. A few of them hurry inside, only to return and tell between harsh coughs that the priestess has…definitely passed.

It’s hard but you manage to get up again just in time to realise some of them, the people who have accepted you as one of their own, are now gathering around you. Asking, demanding really, what you did. Why you did it. Why you’ve killed her.

Your eyes are watering from the smoke and it’s still hard to breathe, let alone speak, and Viktor, Viktor, Viktor - so you push past them weakly and try to keep going.

“Where are you going??”

“You can’t just - what about the shrine?”

“Can you help her? Can you bring her back? Please -”

Some of them follow you, pull at your arm even. 

But it’s Mara’s voice, cutting through the din, that makes you stop.

“Were we wrong? To open our home to you?” she asks, voice trembling like it does when she’s really, very angry. “My Kav is gone. My Narine -”

She stops to take a shaky breath and you force your stinging eyes to meet hers.

“Bring them back. Both of them. Please, I - I’ve seen you do incredible things and I just know you can.”

Her words fade into a ringing silence as the demands from her and the rising mob grow more frantic. More desperate. More bitter.

The nicest people in the world - literally, anthropologically considered the culture most given to kindness - and your magic has their shouts overlapping, their hands reaching out to try and hold you in place and make you do what they want. The pressure, the rage, the grief - it’s too much. 

“I - I can’t,” comes your hoarse gasp. “I can’t, I’m sorry, I wish I could undo it all for you, but I can’t.”

That only seems to drive their fury colder, harsher. They close in like wolves.

It takes you back to the last time this happened, the last time you let yourself get too close, get too wrapped up in the affairs of a community, let your magic become their only hope and prayer against the fate of death. 

One of them - you recognise him as that same man who almost lost his temper when you were stripping the Meila children of their curse as best you could - finally reaches out and shoves you. For a moment, all you can hear is the shouts of the others tending to the rabid fire back at the shrine.

The crowd seems to take a breath and pause, united as one organism, with one train of thought. Violence is anathema to everything the people of Niole believe in. It’s something they’d never consider a valid response to anything. You’ve seen sour rivals settle the rankest of disagreements with a terse handshake. But the crowd seems unified in one conclusion: The loss of Narine spells the end of their patience for this curse.

And who else to cast the fraying of their temper upon but you, the failure of a witch that couldn’t help them?

It’s Mara who screams first, a crude wordless bay in the back of her throat as she pushes forward at your shoulders with both hands, sending you stumbling backwards and tripping over yourself. Your eyes prick with fresh anguish as the others follow suit, pushing, shoving, shouting, pleading. You can’t find it in you to even fight back, already feeling you deserve it.

It’s when one of them bends to snatch a rock from the ground that you realise it’s time to run. You turn, the back of your shirt grabbed at by rough hands as they try to pull you back. The nape of your neck is damp with blood and your legs are weak. The sight of Mara, your pseudo mother in this place, actually turning her hands on you has your stomach in knots and your hands shaking. Someone kicks the back of your leg and you crumple to the ground, quickly surrounded by loud voices and hard blows raining on you from all angles.

A hand slips through the crowd and grabs your wrist, deftly dragging you out of the crowd and to your feet in one move. Your vision shudders into focus as you wonder if your saviour is in fact someone angrier, someone who wants to finish you off themselves but…

“Fevra?” you choke out, still holding her hand.

Her face is pinched with determination, but there’s no hate in her eyes.

“Go,” she insists, pushing you ahead.

The crowd are paused, confused and annoyed by Fevra’s interruption. They gather close again already as you start to back away, Fevra holding her arms out to stand guard between.

“Move, now,” Mara snaps, eyes narrow with enmity. “Now, Fevra.”

“Why are you helping the witch??” another relative demands.

Fevra glances over her shoulder at you before facing the crowd again. 

Hard-faced Fevra. Fevra that never wanted you here in the first place. Fevra who was always the last to clasp you and the first to complain about you coming over all the time. Fevra who never let you heal her, not even a splinter.

“For Kav.”

The words make your ribs feel too tight.

Fevra glances at you over her shoulder impatiently and snaps, “Fucking go. What are you standing around for?? Run."

You look at Mara one more time, and there’s something like regret in her expression, even as she pushes to try and get past Fevra to take another crack at you.

You look over the firelit silhouette of Niole one more time before you take off, unsteadily running out of the town gate and down the path to your home on the moors. Past the berry bushes, the apple tree, the mushroom rocks. The daffodils, the brook, so idyllic. 

And the spot where the first scrying window to Viktor opened.

Where the rosemary grows.